The next day, the arrival of her dear friend brought some comfort back to Emily’s saddened heart. Once again, La Vallée became a place filled with warmth, friendship, and gentle hospitality.
Blanche, however, was no longer as lively as she had once been. The illness and fear she had endured had taken away much of her former brightness. Yet her kind heart and innocent affection remained unchanged. Though she looked less radiant than before, she was still just as lovable and sincere.
The frightening events in the Pyrenees had made Count De Villefort eager to return home. After staying at La Vallée for a little more than a week, Emily prepared to leave with her friends for Languedoc. Before departing, she placed the care of her house in Theresa’s hands.
On the evening before their journey, Theresa came to Emily once more, carrying Valancourt’s ring.
“Please, my dear mistress,” Theresa said with tears in her eyes, “take this ring back. I have neither seen nor heard anything of Monsieur Valancourt since the night he gave it to me.”
Her face showed a fear that she could not bring herself to express in words.
Emily felt her own heart begin to tremble, but she quickly controlled herself.
“Perhaps he has returned to his brother’s home,” she said. “Keep the ring safely until I see him again.”
Theresa reluctantly agreed, though she was clearly unhappy to keep it.
The following day, Count De Villefort, Emily, and Lady Blanche departed from La Vallée. The next evening they arrived at Château-le-Blanc, where the Countess, Henri, and Monsieur Du Pont welcomed them with great happiness and affection.
Emily was surprised to find Monsieur Du Pont there. She was troubled when she noticed that the Count still encouraged his friend’s hopes. Du Pont’s expression showed that his feelings for her had not weakened during their separation.
Two evenings after her arrival, while Emily was walking with Lady Blanche, Count De Villefort asked her to step aside and spoke to her again about Monsieur Du Pont’s hopes.
At first, Emily listened quietly and respectfully. The Count misunderstood her silence and gentle manner.
“My dear Mademoiselle St. Aubert,” he said, “perhaps your feelings for Monsieur Valancourt have changed. Perhaps you may now be willing to consider my friend’s affection.”
Emily’s expression immediately revealed his mistake.
Seeing this, the Count continued with sincere concern.
“I only wish to see happiness come to two people whom I value greatly,” he said. “Forgive me if I speak too freely, but I cannot understand why you would allow a hopeless attachment to destroy the happiness of the most precious years of your life.”
Emily remained silent. Her sadness was too deep for words.
The Count looked at her sorrowful face and finally softened his voice.
“I will say no more at present,” he said. “But I shall continue to hope, my dear Mademoiselle St. Aubert, that one day you will no longer refuse a man as worthy and admirable as my friend Du Pont.”
He left before she was forced to answer.
Emily continued walking alone. She felt slightly hurt that the Count had persisted in speaking about a subject she had already rejected many times. The conversation had awakened painful memories of Valancourt, and she wandered on without noticing how far she had gone.
Soon she reached the edge of the woods that surrounded the monastery of St. Clair. Realizing her distance from the château, she decided to continue a little farther and ask about the abbess and some of her old friends among the nuns.
Although evening was approaching, she accepted the invitation of the friar who opened the gate for her. Hoping to see some familiar faces, she entered the monastery.
As Emily crossed the lawn that sloped from the monastery toward the sea, she stopped to admire the peaceful scene before her.
Some monks sat quietly beneath the cloisters, which stretched beneath the wooded hill. In the fading light of evening, they reflected upon holy subjects, yet they sometimes allowed their thoughts to be lifted by the beauty of nature around them. They did not believe it sinful to admire the world, even after the bright colors of day had faded into the calm shadows of twilight.
Before the cloisters stood an ancient chestnut tree, its great branches spreading wide enough to hide much of the magnificent view beyond. Yet beneath its dark leaves, Emily could still see the endless ocean, with ships passing in the distance. On either side, thick forests followed the winding coastline.
Perhaps this small glimpse of the outside world was allowed to remind the monks of the dangers and changes of life. Having abandoned worldly pleasures, they could look upon the distant scene and feel comfort in knowing they had escaped many of life’s troubles.
As Emily walked slowly, she thought about how much suffering she might have avoided if she had chosen the religious life after her father’s death and remained in such peaceful isolation.
At that moment, the evening bell rang.
The monks slowly left the cloisters and moved toward the chapel.
Emily continued toward the main hall, where an unusual silence seemed to fill the building. The parlour beside it was empty. Since the evening service was beginning, she believed the nuns had already gone to the chapel.
She sat down for a moment to rest before returning to the château. Yet as darkness increased, she began to feel uneasy and longed to leave.
A few minutes later, a nun hurried into the room.
“Where is the abbess?” the nun asked.
She was about to leave without noticing Emily, when Emily spoke and revealed herself.
The nun immediately recognized her and explained the reason for her hurried search.
“A mass is about to be held for Sister Agnes,” she said sadly. “She has been growing weaker for some time, and we now believe she is near death.”
Emily listened with deep concern as the nun described Agnes’s suffering.
“She has often been overcome by terrible fears,” the nun explained. “She would suddenly cry out in terror. But now her fear has changed into a sadness so deep that nothing can reach her. Neither the prayers of the sisters nor the comforting words of her confessor can bring peace back to her mind.”
Emily was deeply moved.
She remembered the wild expressions and fearful words she had once witnessed from Agnes. She also remembered the terrible history that Sister Frances had revealed to her.
Her sympathy and sorrow became almost unbearable.
Since the evening was already late, Emily decided not to visit Agnes or attend the mass. Instead, she left kind messages for her old friends among the sisters and departed from the monastery.
She returned toward the château across the cliffs, thinking deeply about everything she had heard. Only after some time did she force her thoughts toward other matters.
The wind had risen strongly.
As Emily approached the château, she often stopped to listen to the powerful sound around her. The wind swept across the waves below and groaned through the forests nearby.
When she paused on a cliff not far from the château and looked across the dark ocean, barely visible beneath the last light of evening, her thoughts turned toward the mysterious power of the winds.
She reflected:
The Mysterious Voice of the Winds
Invisible forces, you travel through the endless sky,
and no one knows where you begin or where you end.
Mysterious powers, I hear your quiet whispers first,
until your mighty storms rise and fill my ears with fear.
Your voice seems to announce that some greater power is near.
I love to hear you moving through the darkness of night,
when storms roll across the ocean and the waves roar beneath you.
Your wild music joins with the angry sea,
then slowly fades into the distance.
When the storm grows quiet, another sound appears—
a softer voice, like the sorrowful song of spirits mourning what you have done.
Yet soon your peaceful moment ends.
Invisible powers, you rise again through the air.
You speak through the sails of ships,
and the sailors tremble at your warning.
The faint and sorrowful song disappears.
Then I fear your terrible strength.
Do not carry upon your breath the cries of suffering.
Do not bring the sound of ships breaking far out upon the sea.
Do not bring the desperate voices of men calling for help,
or the final cries of sailors sinking into the darkness.
Give me only this, mysterious powers:
As I stand upon these dark and beautiful cliffs,
let me hear the mighty struggle of nature,
the deep voice of the waves,
and the quiet, gentle tears that imagination sheds while listening.