The monk who had visited Emily before returned that evening to comfort her. He also brought a kind message from the abbess, inviting Emily to stay at the convent.
Emily did not accept the invitation at once, but she sent back her grateful thanks.
The gentle words of the monk soothed her suffering. His kindness reminded her of her father, St. Aubert, whose calm and generous spirit had always comforted those around him.
He spoke to her of the eternal presence of God, who watched over all human lives and saw the souls of the departed as clearly as those still living on earth.
Emily said quietly:
“In the eyes of God, my dear father still exists as he did yesterday. He is only dead to me. To God and to himself, he still lives.”
The monk left her much calmer than she had been since her father’s death.
Before going to her small room for the night, Emily gathered enough courage to visit her father’s body.
She stood beside him silently.
His face was peaceful and calm, showing the final serenity that had remained after life had left him.
For a moment, she turned away, frightened by the stillness of the face that had always been full of warmth and expression.
Then she looked again.
She could hardly believe that the beloved features before her could no longer respond to her.
She stared at him with disbelief.
She took his cold hand.
She spoke to him.
She continued looking at him.
Then suddenly, the strength that had held her together disappeared, and she burst into overwhelming grief.
La Voisin heard her sobs and entered the room.
He tried to lead her away, but Emily heard nothing.
“Leave me,” she begged.
After he left, she remained alone with her father.
She allowed her tears to flow freely.
As evening darkness filled the room and slowly hid the body from her sight, she continued leaning over him until exhaustion finally overcame her and her sorrow became quieter.
Again La Voisin knocked at the door and begged her to come to the common room.
Before leaving, Emily bent down and kissed her father’s lips, just as she had always done when wishing him good night.
She kissed him again.
Her heart felt as if it would break.
A few painful tears escaped her eyes.
She looked toward heaven, then back at St. Aubert, and finally forced herself to leave.
When she returned to her lonely room, her thoughts remained with her dead father.
Even as sleep slowly came over her, the images of her grief continued to fill her mind.
She dreamed that she saw St. Aubert approaching her with his gentle expression.
He smiled sadly and pointed upward.
His lips moved, but instead of words, Emily heard beautiful music coming from far away.
Then his face became filled with the peaceful joy of a heavenly being.
The music grew louder.
Emily suddenly awoke.
The vision had disappeared.
Yet the music remained.
She listened carefully.
She wondered if it was only a dream.
She sat up in bed and listened again.
It was real.
A solemn melody rose into the night air.
It paused for a moment, then returned with a sorrowful sweetness before slowly fading away, as though carrying her soul toward heaven.
Emily immediately remembered the mysterious music of the previous night and the strange story La Voisin had told her.
She remembered her father’s thoughts about the spirits of the dead.
Everything St. Aubert had said about life after death now returned to her heart.
How great the change was!
Only a few hours earlier, her father had wondered about these mysteries.
Now he knew the truth.
He himself had become one of those who had passed beyond this world.
As Emily listened, a feeling of supernatural fear came over her.
Her tears stopped.
She rose from her bed and went to the window.
Outside, everything was covered in darkness.
The forest appeared as a heavy shadow against the horizon.
But to the left, she saw the bright planet that the old man had pointed out before.
She remembered his words about it.
The music came again in distant waves.
Emily opened the window and listened.
She tried to discover where the sound came from.
The darkness prevented her from seeing anything below.
The music grew weaker and weaker until it disappeared completely.
She waited.
But it did not return.
Soon afterward, she saw the bright planet trembling above the tops of the trees before slowly sinking behind them.
Filled with sadness and awe, Emily returned to bed.
At last, sleep brought her temporary relief from her sorrow.
The next morning, a nun came to visit her.
She brought another invitation from the abbess.
Emily still could not leave the cottage while her father remained there, but she agreed to visit the abbess that evening, though the thought was painful.
About an hour before sunset, La Voisin guided her through the woods toward the convent.
The convent stood beside a small bay of the Mediterranean, surrounded by wooded hills.
In happier times, Emily would have admired the beautiful view.
She would have noticed the wide sea, the green slopes, and the rich fields and forests stretching along the shore.
But now her mind held only one sorrowful thought.
Nature seemed empty and without color.
As she passed through the ancient gate of the convent, the evening bell rang for prayers.
To Emily, it sounded like a funeral bell for St. Aubert.
Small things deeply affected a heart wounded by grief.
She struggled against the weakness that overcame her and entered the abbess’s presence.
The abbess received her with such motherly kindness that Emily was immediately touched.
Her eyes filled with tears.
The words she wanted to speak failed her.
The abbess gently led her to a seat and sat beside her, holding her hand.
For a while, she said nothing.
She simply waited as Emily dried her tears.
Then she spoke softly:
“My child, be calm. Do not speak yet. I understand all that you wish to say. Your heart needs comfort. We are going to evening prayers. Will you join us?”
“It is a great comfort, my child, to turn toward the Father who sees our suffering, feels compassion for us, and guides us with mercy.”
Emily’s tears flowed again.
But this time, they were mixed with feelings of gratitude and comfort.
The abbess allowed her to cry without interruption.
Her gentle expression seemed almost like that of a guardian angel watching over a suffering child.
When Emily became calmer, the abbess encouraged her to speak openly.
Emily explained why she could not leave the cottage.
The abbess did not criticize her.
Instead, she praised Emily’s devotion to her father.
She only hoped that Emily would spend a few days at the convent before returning to La Vallée.
“You must give yourself time to recover from this first shock, my daughter, before facing another,” said the abbess.
“I know how painful it will be for you to return to the place where you once knew happiness.”
“Here you will find peace, sympathy, and faith to help restore your strength.”
Then, seeing Emily’s tears rise again, she added gently:
“But come, let us go to the chapel.”
Emily followed her.
The abbess introduced her to the nuns gathered there.
“This is a daughter for whom I have great affection,” she said.
“Treat her as your sister.”
Together they went to the chapel.
The solemn prayers and peaceful devotion of the service lifted Emily’s heart and brought her comfort.
Night had almost fallen before the abbess allowed Emily to leave.
When she departed, Emily’s heart felt lighter than when she had arrived.
La Voisin guided her back through the woods.
The quiet darkness of the forest matched her thoughts.
She walked silently until suddenly La Voisin stopped.
He looked around, then left the path and stepped into the tall grass.
“I have mistaken the way,” he said.
He hurried forward.
Emily struggled over the uneven ground and soon fell behind.
Her voice stopped him.
“If you are uncertain about the road,” she said, “should we not ask for directions at that château among the trees?”
“No, ma’amselle,” replied La Voisin.
“There is no need. When we reach that stream, where you can see the light shining on the water beyond the woods, we shall soon be home.”
“I do not know how I lost the path. I rarely come this way after sunset.”
“It is a lonely place,” Emily said.
“But surely you have no bandits here?”
“No, ma’amselle. No bandits.”
“Then what are you afraid of? You are not superstitious, are you?”
“No, ma’amselle… not exactly.”
“But to tell you the truth, nobody likes to go near that château after dark.”
“Who lives there?” Emily asked.
“Almost nobody now. Our lord, the Marquis who owned all these forests, is dead. He had not visited the place for many years. His servants only stay in a small cottage nearby.”
Emily understood.
This was the château that La Voisin had once pointed out as belonging to Marquis Villeroi—the place that had affected her father so strangely.
“It is a lonely place now,” La Voisin continued.
“And yet it was once such a magnificent home.”
Emily asked what had caused such a change.
The old man remained silent.
Her curiosity grew stronger.
“If you are not afraid of the people there, and you are not superstitious, why do you fear passing near the château at night?”
“Perhaps I am a little superstitious after all,” La Voisin admitted.
“If you knew what I know, perhaps you would be too.”
“Strange things have happened there.”
“Your father, Monsieur St. Aubert, seemed to have known the late Marchioness.”
“What happened?” Emily asked with deep emotion.
“Ah, ma’amselle,” replied La Voisin, “ask no more. It is not my place to reveal the private matters of my lord.”
Emily was surprised by his words and his manner.
She did not question him further.
Her thoughts returned to her father.
Then she remembered the mysterious music of the previous night and told La Voisin about it.
“You were not alone in hearing it,” he replied.
“I heard it too.”
“But I have heard it at the same hour so many times that I was hardly surprised.”
“You believe this music is connected with the château,” Emily said.
“And therefore you are superstitious.”
“Perhaps,” said La Voisin.
“But there are other things connected with that château that I remember—and sadly remember.”
He sighed deeply.
Emily wished to ask more, but respect stopped her.
She remained silent.
When they reached the cottage, all her grief returned.
It was as if she had escaped her sorrow only while she was away from the place where it lived.
She immediately entered the room where her father’s body lay and surrendered again to her pain.
At last, La Voisin persuaded her to leave.
She returned to her room and, exhausted by the suffering of the day, soon fell into a deep sleep.
The following morning, when the time came for her father’s body to be taken away forever, Emily went alone to look upon his face one last time.
La Voisin waited patiently below, respecting her grief.
But as the time passed and she did not return, concern overcame him.
He knocked gently.
No answer came.
He listened.
There was no sound.
No sigh.
No cry.
Alarmed, he opened the door.
Emily lay unconscious at the foot of the bed beside the coffin.
He called for help.
She was carried back to her room, where she eventually recovered.
During her unconsciousness, La Voisin ordered the coffin to be closed.
He persuaded Emily not to return to the chamber.
She understood that she needed to preserve her strength for the funeral.
St. Aubert had requested that he be buried in the church of the convent of St. Clair, near the ancient tomb of the Villerois.
The abbess granted this place.
The funeral procession moved toward the convent.
At the gates, they were met by the old priest and a group of friars.
When the solemn music began and the organ filled the church, everyone who saw Emily’s weak steps and forced calmness felt moved to tears.
Emily did not cry.
Her face was partly hidden beneath a thin black veil.
Supported by two people, she walked behind the abbess, followed by the nuns whose sorrowful voices blended with the funeral music.
When they reached the grave, the music stopped.
Emily covered her face completely.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then her sobs could be heard.
The priest began the service.
Emily controlled herself until the coffin was lowered.
When she heard the earth falling upon the lid, a cry escaped her heart.
She nearly collapsed.
But soon she recovered.
When the words were spoken:
“His body rests in peace, and his soul returns to Him who gave it,”
her suffering finally broke into tears.
The abbess took her into her room and comforted her with kindness and faith.
Seeing Emily’s exhaustion, she ordered a bed prepared and asked her to remain at the convent for several days.
Emily had no desire to return immediately to the cottage, the place filled with memories of suffering.
Now that the immediate duties were over, she realized how weak she had become.
The abbess and the nuns cared for her with great tenderness.
But her health had been deeply affected by her sorrow.
For several weeks, she remained at the convent with a slow fever.
She wanted to return home, yet she could not bring herself to leave.
Sometimes she even wished to remain forever near her father’s grave.
She thought that if she died there, she would rest beside him.
During this time, she wrote to Madame Cheron and the old housekeeper, telling them of her father’s death and her own condition.
Madame Cheron’s reply contained more ordinary expressions of sympathy than true sorrow.
She said she would send a servant to bring Emily to La Vallée because she was too busy with visitors to make the journey herself.
Although Emily preferred La Vallée to Toulouse, she could not ignore the coldness of her aunt’s behavior.
St. Aubert had appointed Madame Cheron as guardian of his orphan daughter.
Yet now she was leaving Emily to return to a home where no parent remained to comfort or protect her.
Madame Cheron’s servant made La Voisin’s long journey unnecessary.
Emily was grateful to the old man for all his kindness toward both her father and herself, and she was relieved that he would not have to suffer the difficulties of traveling at his age.
During her stay at the convent, the peace of the place, the beauty of the surroundings, and the gentle care of the abbess and nuns brought her such comfort that she almost wished to leave the world behind and become a nun.
The tomb of St. Aubert made the convent especially sacred to her.
Her naturally thoughtful and emotional character created a beautiful image of religious retirement in her mind.
But as her spirits slowly recovered, that dream began to fade.
Another image returned to her heart.
It was the memory of Valancourt.
His kindness.
His imagination.
His noble expression.
These thoughts quietly awakened hope and comfort within her.
Although she knew such dreams might only be illusions, she could not completely reject them.
Perhaps it was the thought of Valancourt that finally persuaded her to return to the world.
Her father’s respect for him also strengthened her feelings.
Yet Valancourt had never openly declared his love.
Even the hope of seeing him again was so distant that Emily barely recognized how much it influenced her decision.
Several days after Madame Cheron’s servant arrived, Emily recovered enough strength to leave for La Vallée.
Before departing, she went to the cottage to say farewell to La Voisin and his family.
She found the old man sitting outside with his daughter and son-in-law.
His grandchildren gathered nearby, eating their evening meal.
A small table held bread, fruit, and wine.
The peaceful scene was surrounded by resting cattle and sheep beneath the trees.
The evening sunlight softened the landscape.
Long golden rays passed through the woods and illuminated the distant towers of the château.
Emily stopped for a moment.
She looked at the happy family before her.
She saw the peaceful face of old age on La Voisin.
She saw Agnes’s motherly affection.
She saw the innocent joy of children.
Then she looked again at the cottage.
The memory of her father overwhelmed her.
She quickly stepped forward, afraid to remain there longer.
She said farewell to La Voisin and his family with deep emotion.
The old man loved her like a daughter and shed tears.
Emily wept as well.
She avoided entering the cottage because she knew the memories would be too painful.
One final sorrowful visit remained.
She wished to see her father’s grave again.
To avoid being seen, she waited until everyone in the convent had gone to rest.
At midnight, a nun brought her the key to a private door leading into the church.
They descended a narrow staircase together.
The nun offered to accompany her to the grave.
“It is a sad thing to go alone at this hour,” she said.
But Emily gently refused.
She wanted to be alone with her sorrow.
The nun gave her the lamp and reminded her:
“Be careful in the east aisle. There is a newly opened grave. Hold the light low so you do not stumble.”
Emily entered the silent church alone.
For a moment, fear came over her.
She almost called the nun back.
But she was ashamed of her weakness and continued.
The cold air of the church surrounded her.
Moonlight entered through a distant Gothic window.
The silence and darkness would normally have frightened her imagination.
But grief filled all her thoughts.
She hardly noticed her own footsteps.
She almost forgot the open grave until she reached its edge.
A friar had been buried there the previous evening.
The memory of the monks chanting his funeral prayers returned to her.
She hurried toward her father’s grave.
In the moonlight, she thought she saw a shadow moving between the pillars.
She stopped.
She listened.
No footsteps followed.
She decided her imagination had deceived her.
St. Aubert’s grave was simple, marked only with his name and the dates of his life.
Emily remained there until the bell called the monks to morning prayers.
Then she wept a final farewell and forced herself to leave.
After this sorrowful night, she slept more deeply than she had for a long time.
When she awoke, her mind was calmer and more resigned.
Yet when the moment came to leave the convent, all her grief returned.
The memory of her father and the kindness she had received there held her heart.
The abbess gave her many affectionate assurances.
The nuns also expressed sadness at her departure.
Emily left the convent in tears, followed by sincere wishes for her happiness.
For many miles she traveled without noticing the scenery around her.
Whenever something caught her attention, it only reminded her of the last journey she had taken with her father.
The day passed in sadness and exhaustion.
She spent the night in a town near Languedoc.
The next morning, she entered Gascony.
Toward evening, she saw the plains near La Vallée.
Familiar sights appeared before her.
With them came memories of happiness and pain.
Through her tears, she looked at the Pyrenees glowing beneath the evening light.
She remembered that her father had once admired the same view beside her.
“There are the cliffs he loved,” she whispered.
“There is the pine forest he admired.”
“There is the little cottage beneath the mountain where he told me to remember the scene and draw it.”
“O my father, shall I never see you again?”
As she approached the château, memories multiplied.
At last, the home itself appeared among the beautiful landscapes St. Aubert loved.
Emily gathered her courage.
She dried her tears.
“This is not a moment for weakness,” she said.
“How often my father taught me to resist even noble sorrow.”
“If he can look down upon me, I hope he will see that I remember his lessons.”
The château came closer.
The evening light touched the chimneys.
The old oak trees partially hid the building.
Emily sighed.
“This was his favorite hour,” she murmured.
“How peaceful and beautiful everything appears.”
Again she tried to remain strong.
But then she heard the cheerful music of a dance—the same music she had often heard while walking with her father beside the Garonne.
Her strength failed.
She wept until the carriage stopped at the little gate.
She looked up.
Her father’s old housekeeper stood there.
Manchon came running toward her, barking happily.
When Emily stepped down, the dog jumped around her with joy.
“Dear ma’amselle,” said Theresa.
She stopped, unable to continue.
Emily’s tears prevented her from answering.
Manchon ran toward the carriage, searched inside, then jumped out again.
“Ah, ma’amselle,” said Theresa sadly.
“My poor master!”
“Manchon has gone to look for him.”
Emily broke down.
The dog ran between her and the carriage, confused and unhappy.
“Poor creature,” Theresa said.
“You have lost your master too.”
“But come, my dear young lady. You must be comforted.”
Emily held the old servant’s hand and tried to control herself.
She asked about Theresa’s health.
But she hesitated before entering the château.
No loving father waited inside.
No familiar smile welcomed her.
The home that had once filled her with happiness now seemed silent and empty.
Slowly she walked toward the door.
She stopped.
Then continued.
Again she stopped.
Finally she entered.
The halls seemed abandoned.
She crossed quickly, unable to look around.
Then she opened the door of the room that had once been hers.
The evening darkness filled the room with solemn sadness.
Every familiar object spoke to her heart.
She sat by the window overlooking the garden, the same place where St. Aubert had often sat beside her.
After crying for some time, she became calmer.
When Theresa returned, Emily was able to speak.
“I have prepared the green room for you,” Theresa said.
“I thought you might prefer it now.”
“I never imagined that a month ago you would return alone.”
“My heart nearly broke when I heard the news.”
Emily covered her face.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Do not speak of it.”
“Try the coffee,” Theresa said.
“My dear young lady, we must accept these things. We all must die.”
“Your father was a saint.”
Emily looked toward heaven.
Soon she dried her tears and quietly asked about her father’s poor dependents.
“They have all come to ask about you and your father,” Theresa answered.
She told Emily that some had died, while others had recovered from illness.
Then she pointed outside.
“Look, ma’amselle. Old Mary is coming through the garden. She has looked ready to die for three years, but she is still alive. She saw the carriage and knows you have returned.”
Emily could not bear another sorrowful meeting.
She asked Theresa to tell the woman she was too tired to receive visitors that night.
She sent a small gift as a sign of remembrance.
Alone again, Emily surrendered to her grief.
Every object around her awakened memories.
The plants her father had taught her to care for.
The drawings he had encouraged her to make.
The books he had chosen for her.
The instruments whose music he loved.
Everything brought back the happiness she had lost.
At last, she forced herself to move.
She decided to visit the other rooms of the château, though she feared the memories they would awaken.
When she entered the library, her courage almost failed.
The fading light and shadows from the trees made the room seem even more solemn.
Everything reminded her of her father.
His armchair stood there.
She almost believed she saw him sitting in it.
She quickly controlled her imagination.
Yet a strange feeling of respect and sadness remained.
She sat in his chair.
Before her was his reading desk.
A book lay open exactly as he had left it.
It was the book from which he had read to her on the evening before he left the château.
Emily touched the page.
She wept.
To her, the book had become sacred.
She could never move it or close the page he had left open.
Still sitting there, she thought about death and the mysterious conversation between her father and La Voisin.
Then suddenly the door slowly opened.
A sound came from the darkness.
Emily froze.
Her imagination, filled with thoughts of spirits, created fear within her.
But she soon regained control.
“What should I fear?” she whispered.
“If those we love ever return, they would return only with kindness.”
The silence returned.
She believed her fears had been caused by imagination.
Then the sound came again.
Something moved toward her.
Something pressed beside her into the chair.
Emily screamed.
But immediately she recognized Manchon.
The faithful dog sat beside her and lovingly licked her hands.
Emily realized she could not endure exploring the empty rooms that night.
She left the library and walked into the garden.
She went down to the terrace overlooking the river.
The sun had set.
The western sky still glowed beneath the dark branches.
A bat flew silently past.
The nightingale’s sad song sounded in the distance.
The scene reminded her of verses her father had once recited there.
She repeated them softly.
Then she walked to the plane tree where she and her father had often sat.
They had spoken there about the future life and the hope of meeting again beyond death.
Overcome by these memories, Emily moved away.
Leaning against the terrace wall, she saw peasants dancing happily beside the Garonne.
Their joy contrasted painfully with her sorrow.
They laughed as they always had when she too was happy.
They had once pleased St. Aubert with their music.
Emily turned away.
But wherever she looked, memories followed.
As she returned toward the house, Theresa met her.
“Dear ma’amselle,” Theresa said.
“I have searched everywhere for you.”
“I feared something had happened.”
“How can you wander outside in this cold night air?”
“Think what your poor father would have said.”
Emily tried to stop her.
“Please, Theresa, do not continue.”
But Theresa continued kindly:
“When you grieved for your mother, your father often told you not to suffer so deeply.”
“He said she was happy.”
“And if she was happy, I am sure he is happy too.”
“The prayers of good people reach heaven.”
Emily silently entered the house.
Theresa led her into the sitting room where supper had been prepared.
Only one place was set at the table.
Emily did not notice at first that it was not her own room.
Then she saw her father’s hat hanging on the wall.
A wave of emotion overcame her.
Theresa noticed her expression and moved to remove it.
“No,” Emily said.
“Leave it there.”
“I am going to my room.”
“But supper is ready,” Theresa replied.
“I cannot eat. I will sleep. Tomorrow I may feel better.”
“This will never do,” Theresa said.
“You must eat something.”
“I prepared a pheasant for you. Monsieur Barreaux sent it this morning after hearing you were returning.”
“He was deeply saddened when he heard the news.”
“Was he?” Emily asked softly.
For a moment, her heart felt warmed by the thought that others shared her sorrow.
But soon her strength failed again.
She finally withdrew to her room, overcome by grief.