The next morning, Valancourt had breakfast with St. Aubert and Emily. None of them seemed to have gained much strength from their rest. St. Aubert still looked weak and exhausted from his illness, and Emily could see with growing fear that his condition was worsening. She watched every change in his face with deep concern, and whatever emotion she saw there immediately appeared in her own expression.
When Valancourt had first met them, he had introduced himself and explained his family background. St. Aubert already knew of the Valancourt family. Their estates, now belonging to Valancourt’s elder brother, were only a short distance from La Vallée, and St. Aubert had occasionally met the elder Valancourt during visits in the area.
This familiarity made St. Aubert more willing to accept Valancourt’s friendship. Although Valancourt’s honest expression and gentle manners would have been enough to win St. Aubert’s trust, St. Aubert would not have considered such qualities alone a sufficient introduction for someone who wished to become acquainted with his daughter.
Breakfast passed almost as quietly as the supper of the previous evening. Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts until the sound of carriage wheels broke the silence.
Valancourt immediately stood and went to the window.
It was the carriage that had come to take St. Aubert and Emily away.
Without saying a word, he returned to his seat.
The moment of separation had arrived.
St. Aubert turned to him.
“Valancourt, I hope that whenever you pass by La Vallée, you will honor us with a visit.”
Valancourt thanked him warmly.
“I promise I will never pass by without visiting you.”
As he spoke, he glanced shyly at Emily.
Emily tried to smile, though her heart felt heavy.
They continued speaking for a few more moments, sharing a conversation filled with emotion and unspoken feelings. Then St. Aubert rose and led the way toward the carriage.
Emily and Valancourt followed silently.
After they were seated, Valancourt remained standing beside the carriage door for several minutes. None of them seemed able to find the courage to say the final word.
At last, St. Aubert spoke.
“Farewell.”
Emily repeated the word softly to Valancourt.
He returned it with a sad smile.
The carriage moved away.
For some time, the travelers remained quietly thoughtful. Their sadness was gentle rather than painful, and the silence seemed almost peaceful.
At last, St. Aubert spoke.
“This young man has a very promising character. I cannot remember when I have been so pleased with someone after knowing him for such a short time.”
He paused and sighed.
“He reminds me of my own youth, when every part of life seemed fresh and beautiful.”
Then he sank back into silence.
Emily looked behind them along the road they had traveled. She saw Valancourt still standing at the door of the small inn, watching them leave.
When he noticed her looking back, he raised his hand in farewell.
Emily returned the gesture until the winding road finally hid him from her sight.
After a while, St. Aubert spoke again.
“I remember when I was about his age. I thought and felt exactly as he does now. The world was opening before me then.”
He looked away.
“But now—it is closing.”
“My dear father,” Emily said softly, her voice trembling, “do not speak so sadly. I hope you still have many, many years before you. For your own sake—and for mine.”
“Ah, my Emily,” St. Aubert replied. “For your sake! Well, I hope it may be so.”
He wiped away a tear, forced a smile, and continued.
“There is something deeply beautiful in the honesty and enthusiasm of youth. An old man who has not been completely hardened by the world finds it especially refreshing. It is like the sight of spring to someone recovering from illness. The mind catches something of the season’s happiness, and the eyes brighten for a moment.”
He smiled faintly.
“Valancourt is that springtime for me.”
Emily held her father’s hand affectionately. She had never before been so pleased to hear him praise another person—not even when he had praised herself.
They continued their journey through vineyards, forests, and open fields. The scenery around them was filled with romantic beauty. On one side rose the magnificent Pyrenees Mountains; on the other stretched the vast ocean.
Soon after noon they reached the town of Colioure, beside the Mediterranean Sea. There they rested and ate.
Later, when the heat of the day had faded, they continued along the coast toward Languedoc.
Emily gazed with wonder at the endless sea. The sunlight and shadows constantly changed its surface, while the autumn-colored forests along the shore created a scene of extraordinary beauty.
St. Aubert was eager to reach Perpignan because he expected letters from M. Quesnel. These letters were the reason he had continued traveling from Colioure, even though his weak condition demanded rest.
After they had gone several miles, St. Aubert fell asleep.
Emily, who had placed several books inside the carriage before leaving La Vallée, finally had time to look through them.
She searched for the book that Valancourt had been reading the previous day. She hoped to open the same pages his eyes had touched, to read the passages he had admired, and to feel close to him through his thoughts.
But she could not find the book.
Instead, she discovered a volume of Petrarch’s poems.
It belonged to Valancourt.
His name was written inside.
She remembered that he had often read passages from this book to her, expressing the emotions of the poet with great tenderness.
At first, Emily hesitated to believe what seemed obvious—that Valancourt had deliberately left this book for her and exchanged it for the one she had lost.
But when she opened it, she saw the marks he had made beside many passages he had read aloud. Beneath other lines, describing feelings too delicate for him to speak himself, she found his pencil marks as well.
Then she understood.
Love had guided his choice.
For a moment, Emily felt only the happiness of knowing she was loved.
Then memories rushed over her—the expression on Valancourt’s face, the softness of his voice when he recited the poems, and the feeling of his heart speaking through those words.
She wept over the precious reminder of his affection.
They arrived at Perpignan shortly after sunset.
There St. Aubert found the letters from M. Quesnel that he had expected.
But the moment he read them, his expression changed completely.
The contents had clearly caused him deep pain.
Emily became frightened.
She gently asked him what had happened, but he answered only with tears and quickly changed the subject.
Though she respected his wish not to explain, Emily was deeply troubled by his manner and spent a sleepless night filled with worry.
The next morning, they continued their journey along the coast toward Leucate, a town on the Mediterranean border between Languedoc and Rousillon.
During the journey, Emily returned to the subject of the previous evening.
Seeing how deeply affected she was by his sadness and silence, St. Aubert finally decided to explain.
“My dear Emily,” he said, “I did not wish to destroy the pleasure you found in these beautiful scenes. I intended to hide certain matters from you for a little longer, though eventually you would have had to know them.”
He paused.
“But your anxiety has defeated my purpose. Perhaps your imagination has already caused you as much pain as the truth itself will bring.”
“M. Quesnel’s visit brought me terrible news. You may remember that I once mentioned a man named M. Motteville of Paris. You did not know that most of my personal fortune was entrusted to him.”
“I had great confidence in him, and I still hope he is not completely undeserving of my respect.”
“But many unfortunate events have combined against him.”
He lowered his voice.
“And I have been ruined with him.”
St. Aubert stopped for a moment, struggling to control his feelings.
“The letters I received from M. Quesnel contained others from Motteville. They confirmed everything I feared.”
After a long silence, Emily asked quietly:
“Must we leave La Vallée?”
“That is uncertain,” replied St. Aubert. “It depends on the agreement Motteville can make with his creditors.”
“My income was never large, you know. Now it will become very small indeed.”
He looked at his daughter sadly.
“But it is for you, Emily—for you, my child—that I suffer the most.”
His voice broke.
Emily smiled lovingly through her tears.
“My dear father, do not grieve for me or for yourself. We may still be happy. If La Vallée remains ours, we will be happy there.”
“We will keep only one servant. You will hardly notice the change in our circumstances.”
“Do not worry about losing the luxuries that others value so highly. We never depended on them for happiness.”
“Poverty cannot take away our love for each other. It cannot lower us in our own eyes, or in the eyes of those whose opinions truly matter.”
She continued gently:
“My dear father, poverty cannot take away the pleasures of the mind either.”
“It cannot prevent you from teaching me courage and kindness. It cannot prevent me from comforting the father I love.”
“It cannot destroy our love for beauty and greatness, because nature itself remains open to everyone.”
“The mountains, the forests, the skies, and all the wonderful sights of the world belong to the poor as much as to the rich.”
“So long as we have what we truly need, what do we have to complain about?”
“We will keep the greatest treasures of life—the gifts of nature—and lose only the meaningless decorations created by wealth.”
St. Aubert could not answer.
He pulled Emily into his arms.
Their tears flowed together, but they were not tears of despair.
After such heartfelt words, nothing more needed to be said.
They remained silent for a while.
Then St. Aubert slowly returned to his usual conversation, though Emily could see that his peace was only partly restored.
They reached the beautiful town of Leucate early that day. However, St. Aubert was exhausted, and they decided to stay there overnight.
In the evening, he gathered enough strength to walk with Emily and view the surrounding landscape.
From the heights, they could see the lake of Leucate, the Mediterranean Sea, part of Rousillon, the Pyrenees Mountains, and the wide fertile lands of Languedoc, glowing with the colors of the ripe autumn harvest.
They watched farmers gathering grapes and heard their cheerful songs carried by the wind.
The scene filled them with temporary happiness.
St. Aubert had originally wished to return home immediately, but he delayed because he wanted Emily to enjoy the journey and hoped the sea air might improve his health.
The following day they continued through Languedoc, traveling along the Mediterranean coast.
The Pyrenees remained in the distance like a magnificent background, while the ocean stretched beside them and endless plains disappeared into the blue horizon.
St. Aubert appeared cheerful and spoke often with Emily, but his happiness was sometimes forced. A shadow of sadness would suddenly appear on his face.
Emily’s smile always drove it away.
Yet her heart was heavy, because she understood how deeply his troubles affected both his mind and his weakened body.
By evening they reached a small village in Upper Languedoc where they hoped to stay for the night.
But because it was the season of the grape harvest, every bed was already occupied.
They had no choice but to continue to the next resting place.
St. Aubert’s illness and exhaustion had returned. He needed rest immediately, but there was no alternative.
He ordered Michael, the driver, to continue.
The beautiful fields of Languedoc, filled with harvest celebrations and youthful happiness, no longer brought St. Aubert pleasure.
Instead, the cheerful scene made his own weakness more painful.
As he looked across the landscape, he thought:
“Soon perhaps my eyes will close forever on this world.”
“These mountains, these fields, this blue sky, and this beautiful daylight will no longer be seen by me.”
“The songs of the peasants and the voices of people will no longer reach my ears.”
Emily looked at her father and seemed to understand his thoughts.
Her expression was filled with such deep tenderness that his attention turned away from the beauty around him and returned to the painful thought that he must leave his daughter without protection.
He sighed deeply and became silent.
Emily pressed his hand and turned away to hide her tears.
The sun slowly sank, casting a final golden light over the waves of the Mediterranean.
Twilight spread across the land until only a faint glow remained in the west.
A cool breeze came from the shore.
Emily lowered the carriage window, but the fresh air that comforted healthy people was painful to her sick father.
He asked her to close it.
His illness became stronger, and he grew anxious to finish the journey.
He stopped Michael.
“How far is it to the next resting place?”
“Nine miles,” answered Michael.
“I do not think I can travel much farther,” said St. Aubert. “As you continue, ask whether there is any house where we can stay tonight.”
He leaned back weakly.
Michael urged the animals forward.
But soon St. Aubert became nearly unconscious and called for him to stop.
Emily looked outside and saw a peasant walking nearby.
When the man approached, they asked if there was any lodging nearby.
The peasant shook his head.
“None, monsieur. Unless you wish to try your luck at the château in the woods.”
Then he pointed into the distance.
“But I would not advise you to go there.”
“Who owns the château?” asked St. Aubert.
“I hardly know, monsieur.”
“Is it empty?”
“No. The steward and housekeeper are there.”
After thinking for a moment, St. Aubert decided they would try the château.
The carriage turned toward the woods.
As they entered the dark avenue leading there, Emily felt an unusual sense of fear.
Ancient oak and chestnut trees rose on both sides, their branches forming a shadowy roof above the road.
The silence felt lonely and mysterious.
She remembered the peasant’s strange warning and began to imagine hidden dangers.
She tried to dismiss these thoughts as the result of her own sadness and anxiety.
But the farther they went, the deeper the darkness became.
The road was rough, the ground uneven, and the roots of old trees rose beneath the wheels.
Suddenly Michael stopped.
A figure appeared ahead in the darkness.
St. Aubert could not clearly see what it was.
“Go on,” he said.
“This is a strange place,” Michael muttered. “There is no house here. Should we turn back?”
“Go a little farther,” replied St. Aubert. “If we find nothing, we will return.”
Reluctantly, Michael continued.
Then he saw the same figure again.
This time St. Aubert also felt uneasy.
“Call to that person,” he ordered.
“Perhaps he is a robber,” said Michael.
“It does not please me,” replied St. Aubert with a faint smile, “and therefore we will return. I do not think we will find what we need here.”
Michael quickly turned the carriage around.
As they hurried away, a strange voice suddenly came from among the trees.
It was deep and hollow, unlike any ordinary human voice.
Michael panicked.
He drove the animals forward as fast as possible, ignoring the darkness and rough road, until they reached the main road again.
St. Aubert took Emily’s hand.
“I am very ill.”
“You are worse?” Emily cried in fear. “You are worse, and there is no help here!”
He rested his head against her shoulder.
She supported him with all her strength.
Michael stopped the carriage again.
Then, in the silence, music suddenly floated through the air.
To Emily, it sounded like hope.
“We must be near some house,” she said. “Someone can help us.”
She listened carefully.
The music seemed to come from the woods beside the road.
In the pale moonlight, she thought she saw the shape of a château.
But St. Aubert was too weak to continue, and Emily could not leave him easily.
Then he fainted.
“My dear father!” she cried desperately.
She begged Michael to bring water from a nearby stream.
When she sprinkled it over her father’s face, the moonlight revealed his pale features, and for a moment she feared he was dying.
Forgetting every fear for herself, Emily left him with Michael and went in search of help.
The night was silent and bright with moonlight.
The music guided her toward the woods.
At first she thought only of her father.
But as the trees grew thicker and darker, she became aware of how alone she was.
The music suddenly stopped.
She had no guide except hope.
Still, remembering her father’s condition, she continued forward.
At last she found a clearing where she heard voices.
They were not angry voices, but they were loud and wild with laughter.
Emily hesitated.
Then she heard Michael calling from behind.
Believing her father must be near death if Michael had left the carriage, she rushed forward.
Soon she saw a group of peasants gathered on a grassy clearing among the trees.
Young women came from nearby cottages.
Music began.
A harvest dance started.
It was the same joyful music she had heard earlier.
Emily could not enjoy the happiness around her, because her heart remained filled with fear for her father.
She hurried to some older peasants sitting near a cottage and explained her situation.
Several immediately stood and offered help.
They followed her back toward the road.
When Emily returned, she found St. Aubert had regained consciousness.
After hearing where his daughter had gone, he had become more worried about her than himself and had sent Michael to find her.
However, he was still too weak to travel.
An elderly peasant who had followed Emily stepped forward.
“The château cannot receive you, monsieur. It is almost empty.”
“But if you will accept the hospitality of my cottage, you are welcome to the best bed I have.”
St. Aubert accepted immediately.
The carriage slowly followed the peasants back through the woods.
The kindness of his host and the hope of rest brought some peace back to St. Aubert.
The moonlight shining through the trees created a beautiful scene.
The distant music of guitars and tambourines no longer troubled him.
Instead, he listened peacefully.
The peasants stopped dancing when the carriage arrived.
When they learned a sick traveler needed help, several young women brought wine and baskets of grapes, each insisting that the guests accept their gifts.
Finally, they reached the cottage of the old man, whose name was La Voisin.
He helped St. Aubert inside and led him and Emily into a small room lit only by moonlight.
The cool evening air entered through the open window, carrying the sweet scent of honeysuckle.
La Voisin soon returned with fruit, cream, and every simple luxury his cottage could provide.
He smiled warmly and stood behind his guest.
St. Aubert insisted that he sit and share the meal.
As they talked, La Voisin spoke about his family.
His words were simple but full of affection.
Emily sat beside her father, holding his hand.
Listening to the old man describe the happiness of his family, she felt both joy and sorrow.
She thought of the possibility that death might soon take away her own beloved father.
The moonlight, the distant music, and the quiet night deepened her sadness.
“I have only one daughter living,” said La Voisin. “She is happily married and is everything to me.”
“When my wife died, I went to live with Agnes and her family. She has several children, and they are all dancing outside tonight.”
“I hope I may die surrounded by them.”
“I am old now, monsieur. I cannot expect many more years.”
“But there is comfort in leaving this world among one’s children.”
“My good friend,” said St. Aubert, his voice trembling, “I hope you may live many more years among them.”
“Ah, monsieur,” replied the old man, “at my age I cannot expect that.”
“But I trust that when I die, I will go to heaven, where my wife has already gone.”
“Sometimes, on a quiet moonlit night, I almost imagine I see her walking among these trees she loved.”
“Do you believe, monsieur, that those who leave this world may return to visit those they loved?”
Emily could no longer hold back her tears.
St. Aubert answered quietly:
“I hope we may be allowed to look down upon those we leave behind.”
“But I can only hope. The future is hidden from us.”
“Faith and hope are our only guides.”
“I will never give up that hope.”
“It will make the final moments of life sweeter.”
He wiped away Emily’s tears.
“We shall meet again.”
He looked toward the sky, and the moonlight fell upon his face.
For a moment, peace replaced his sorrow.
La Voisin began to speak again.
“You believe, then, monsieur, that we shall meet our loved ones again?”
“Yes,” replied St. Aubert. “Believe it.”
“Separation would be unbearable if it were eternal.”
Then he looked at Emily.
“Look up, my dear child. We shall meet again.”
After a moment, La Voisin changed the subject.
“We are sitting in darkness. I forgot to bring a candle.”
“No,” said St. Aubert. “This is a light I love.”
“Stay with us. This peaceful hour is enough.”
He listened to the distant music.
“Who plays that guitar so beautifully?”
“Is it two instruments, or only an echo?”
“It is probably an echo,” answered La Voisin.
“That guitar is often heard at night, though nobody knows who plays it.”
“Sometimes a voice accompanies it—so beautiful and so sad that people say the woods must be haunted.”
“The woods are certainly haunted,” said St. Aubert with a smile, “but I believe by living people.”
La Voisin continued.
“I have heard it many times near midnight.”
“I have never heard music like it.”
“It reminds me of my wife until I cry.”
“I once opened my window to discover who was playing, but when I looked outside, everything became silent.”
“People say the music comes to warn someone of death.”
“But I have heard it for many years, and I am still alive.”
Emily smiled at the old superstition, but in her present state of mind, she could not completely ignore its effect.
“Has nobody ever followed the music?” asked St. Aubert.
“Yes, monsieur. Some have tried.”
“But the music always moved farther away, until they became afraid and returned.”
“It is unusual to hear it so early in the evening.”
“Normally it comes around midnight, when the bright planet above the turret disappears behind the woods.”
“What turret?” asked St. Aubert suddenly.
“I see none.”
“Forgive me, monsieur, but you do see it. The moon shines upon it.”
“The château is hidden among the trees.”
Emily pointed.
“Do you not see something shining above the dark woods?”
“Yes,” said St. Aubert slowly. “I see it now.”
“Whose château is it?”
“The Marquis de Villeroi owned it,” replied La Voisin.
St. Aubert suddenly became disturbed.
“Are we so near Le-Blanc?”
“Yes,” said La Voisin. “It was the Marquis’s favorite residence.”
“But he disliked the place later and had not visited for many years.”
“We recently heard that he died, and the property has passed into other hands.”
“Died?” exclaimed St. Aubert.
“When?”
“About five weeks ago.”
“Did you know the Marquis, monsieur?” asked La Voisin.
“This is extraordinary,” whispered St. Aubert.
Emily noticed his distress.
“Why is it extraordinary, father?”
But he did not answer.
After a while, he asked who had inherited the estate.
La Voisin said he had forgotten the new owner’s title, but the man lived mostly in Paris.
“Is the château still closed?”
“Almost. The old housekeeper and her husband, the steward, take care of it, but they usually live in a nearby cottage.”
Emily asked:
“The château must be very large. It must feel lonely with only two people there.”
“Very lonely indeed,” replied La Voisin.
“I would not spend one night there for all the wealth of the estate.”
“What do you mean?” asked St. Aubert.
The old man repeated his words.
A deep sigh escaped from St. Aubert.
Then he quickly changed the subject.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Almost since childhood.”
“You remember the late Marchioness, then?”
“Yes, monsieur. Many people remember her.”
“And I am one of them,” said St. Aubert quietly.
“You remember, then, a beautiful and excellent lady.”
“She deserved a better fate.”
Tears appeared in St. Aubert’s eyes.
“Enough,” he whispered.
“It is enough, my friend.”
Emily was amazed by her father’s reaction, but she did not question him.
La Voisin apologized, but St. Aubert stopped him.
“Do not apologize. Let us speak of something else.”
“You were talking about the music.”
At that moment, the sound returned.
“Listen,” said La Voisin.
“The voice!”
They became silent.
A soft and beautiful sound rose through the night air.
It was unlike anything they had heard before.
The voice faded away, and the mysterious instrument followed in a gentle harmony.
St. Aubert listened carefully.
“That is not a guitar,” he said.
“It is deeper, fuller, and more sorrowful.”
They waited.
But the music did not return.
“This is very strange,” said St. Aubert.
“Very strange indeed,” Emily replied.
La Voisin nodded.
“It is.”
After a long silence, the old man continued.
“It has been about eighteen years since I first heard that music.”
He described how he had once walked alone in the woods on a summer night, worried because one of his children was seriously ill.
As he walked beneath the trees, he heard music in the distance.
At first he thought it was a shepherd playing a flute.
But when he reached an opening in the forest, he heard a sound so beautiful that he thought it was the music of angels.
When he returned home and told his family, they laughed at him.
But a few nights later, his wife heard the same music.
The priest, Father Denis, frightened her by saying it was a warning of death.
Emily felt a sudden fear she had never experienced before.
“But my son lived,” said La Voisin.
“Father Denis was wrong.”
“Father Denis?” asked St. Aubert.
“Are we near a convent?”
“Yes, monsieur. The convent of St. Clair is not far away, near the sea.”
“The convent of St. Clair,” repeated St. Aubert.
Emily saw grief and fear appear together on her father’s face.
He looked like a sorrowful marble statue beneath the moonlight.
“My dear father,” Emily said gently, “you forget that you need rest.”
“If our kind host permits me, I will prepare your bed.”
St. Aubert smiled and asked her not to trouble herself.
La Voisin then hurried away to bring his daughter Agnes.
Emily soon learned that, to make room for them, part of La Voisin’s family would have to give up their beds.
She apologized, but Agnes kindly assured her that helping travelers was a pleasure.
That night, St. Aubert told Emily:
“If I am better tomorrow, we will leave early and begin our journey home.”
“I no longer have the strength for a longer journey.”
“And I am very anxious to return to La Vallée.”
Emily also wished to return, but she feared that his sudden desire came from a worsening illness.
St. Aubert went to rest.
Emily entered her small room, but sleep did not come.
Her thoughts returned to their conversation about life after death.
The subject was especially painful now, because she feared her beloved father might soon leave this world.
She sat beside the open window and looked at the endless sky filled with stars.
Her thoughts rose toward heaven and the mysteries of eternity.
The village became silent.
The music and dancing ended.
The woods rested under the still night air.
Only occasionally did she hear a distant sheep bell or the closing of a window.
Soon even those sounds disappeared.
Emily remained by the window, filled with devotion, wonder, and tears.
She stayed there until midnight.
Then she remembered La Voisin’s words about the mysterious planet and the strange music.
She thought again of her father’s unusual reaction to the death of the Marquis de Villeroi and the fate of the Marchioness.
She wondered what hidden connection existed between them.
Her curiosity grew stronger because she could not remember ever hearing her father mention the name Villeroi before.
But the night remained silent.
No mysterious music returned.
At last Emily realized how late it was.
Remembering that she had to rise early, she closed the window and went to rest.