Emily had asked to be awakened early, and when she was called, she rose from her bed feeling little refreshed. Her sleep had been troubled by uneasy dreams, the kind that often disturb those already burdened with sorrow.
Yet, when she opened her window and looked out upon the woods glowing beneath the morning sun, and breathed the pure, fresh air, her troubled thoughts began to calm.
The whole scene seemed filled with life and comfort. She heard only gentle and beautiful sounds—the distant morning bell of a convent, the soft murmur of the sea, the songs of birds, and the lowing of cattle as they slowly moved between the trees.
The peaceful beauty of the morning touched her heart. As she leaned against the window, waiting for her father, St. Aubert, to come down for breakfast, her thoughts naturally formed themselves into a poem.
The First Hour of Morning
How sweet it is to wander through the shadowed forest paths when the first light of dawn appears in the east and slowly awakens the sleeping land.
Every little flower that had bowed beneath the cold tears of night lifts its head, opens its delicate petals to the morning light, and releases its fragrance into the gentle air.
The fresh breeze carries the sweet perfume of the earth. The songs of waking birds rise among the trees, while bees hum beneath the green branches, a woodman’s voice echoes in the distance, and herds call softly from the fields.
Far away, the ancient mountain peaks appear through the opening leaves, and beyond them lies the mist-covered ocean, where passing sails catch the scattered rays of sunlight.
But what value are the beauty of the forest, the sweetness of spring, the music of the wind, and the lovely forms of nature if health no longer allows the heart to rejoice?
O gentle morning hour, only you can bring back happiness, restore life’s warmth, and allow the weary soul to smile again.
Emily was soon interrupted by sounds below. Someone was moving around the cottage, and she heard Michael speaking kindly to his mules as he led them out from the small shelter beside the house.
As Emily left her room, she met her father at the door. St. Aubert was already awake, but he looked no more refreshed than she did.
She guided him downstairs into the small sitting room where they had eaten the previous evening. A simple but pleasant breakfast had been prepared, and their host, La Voisin, and his daughter stood waiting to greet them.
“I envy you this cottage, my good friends,” St. Aubert said warmly.
“It is so peaceful, so comfortable, and so clean. And this air you breathe—if anything in the world could restore failing health, surely it must be this.”
La Voisin bowed gratefully.
“Our cottage may indeed be envied, sir,” he replied with French politeness, “because you and Mademoiselle have honored it by staying here.”
St. Aubert smiled kindly at the compliment and sat down at the table. It was covered with cream, fruit, fresh cheese, butter, and coffee.
Emily watched her father carefully. She could see that he looked extremely weak.
“My dear father,” she said gently, “perhaps you should delay our journey until this afternoon. You need more rest.”
But St. Aubert seemed deeply anxious to return home.
“No,” he replied. “I feel no worse than I have lately. The cool morning air will make the journey easier for me than any other time of day.”
He continued speaking with La Voisin, thanking him for his kindness, when suddenly Emily saw a terrible change come over his face.
Before she could reach him, he fell back in his chair.
For several moments he appeared unconscious. Then he slowly recovered from the faintness that had overcome him.
But he was too weak to continue.
After struggling against his illness for a short while, he finally whispered:
“Help me upstairs. I must rest.”
Emily was immediately filled with the same terror she had felt the night before.
Though she could barely control herself, she tried not to show her fear to her father. She placed her trembling arm around him and helped him back to his room.
Once he was lying in bed, he asked that Emily be brought to him.
At that moment she was alone in her own room, weeping bitterly.
When she entered, St. Aubert motioned for everyone else to leave.
They were alone.
He reached out his hand and looked at her face with such deep tenderness and sorrow that all her courage disappeared.
Emily burst into tears.
St. Aubert tried to remain strong, but he could not speak. He only held her hand tightly and struggled to hide the tears gathering in his own eyes.
At last he found his voice.
“My dear child…”
He paused.
“My dear Emily…”
Again he stopped.
He lifted his eyes toward heaven as if praying for strength. Then, with a calmer voice and a solemn expression, he continued:
“My dear child, I wish I could make the truth I must tell you less painful. I wish I could hide it from you for a little longer, but that would be cruel.”
“Soon we must part.”
“Let us speak of it now, so that our thoughts and prayers may prepare us both to endure it.”
His voice trembled.
Emily pressed his hand against her heart. She could not raise her eyes to him.
“Let me not waste these precious moments,” St. Aubert said, trying to regain control.
“There is something of great importance that I must tell you. There is also a serious promise I must ask from you. When this is done, my mind will be more at peace.”
“You have noticed how anxious I have been to return home, but you do not know all my reasons.”
“Listen carefully to what I must say.”
He paused.
“But before I continue, promise me something.”
“Promise me this as the promise of a dying father.”
The words struck Emily with sudden terror.
For the first time she fully understood the danger of his condition.
Her tears stopped.
She stared at him with unbearable grief.
Then a sudden weakness overcame her, and she fell unconscious in her chair.
St. Aubert cried out.
La Voisin and his daughter hurried into the room and tried every method they knew to revive her, but for a long time she did not respond.
When she finally recovered, St. Aubert was exhausted from the shock.
Emily gave him a cordial, and after some time he regained enough strength to speak.
When they were alone again, he tried to comfort her.
Emily threw herself into his arms and wept against his shoulder.
Her grief was so overwhelming that she could not truly hear his words.
Seeing her suffering, St. Aubert stopped trying to offer comfort that he himself could barely feel, and silently wept with her.
At last Emily remembered that her sorrow was causing him pain.
She forced herself away from his embrace, dried her tears, and tried to say something comforting.
“My dear Emily,” St. Aubert replied, “we must place our trust in the Being who has protected and supported us through every hardship we have known.”
“He sees every moment of our lives. He will not abandon us now.”
“I feel His comfort within my heart.”
“I leave you, my child, under His care.”
“Though I leave this world, I shall still remain in His presence.”
“Do not weep again, Emily.”
“Death is nothing strange or unexpected. We all know we were born to die.”
“For those who trust in an all-powerful God, death holds no terror.”
“If my life had continued, only a few more years would have passed before nature itself would have taken me away.”
“I would have suffered the weakness and sorrow of old age, and eventually death would still have come.”
“Instead, my child, be thankful that I am spared such suffering, and that I may leave this world with my mind clear and my faith still strong.”
St. Aubert became too tired to continue.
Emily tried once more to appear calm and reassure him that his words had not been spoken in vain.
After resting for a while, he continued.
“Let me return to the matter that weighs most heavily upon my heart.”
“I told you I needed a promise from you.”
“I must receive that promise before I explain the reason for it.”
“There are certain things you must not know, because knowing them would only disturb your peace.”
“Promise me, then, that you will do exactly what I ask.”
Emily, moved by the seriousness of his manner, wiped away her tears.
Though she did not understand why, she promised with a trembling heart that she would obey whatever he required.
St. Aubert looked at her with relief.
“I know you too well, my Emily, to believe you would ever break your word—especially a promise given in such a solemn moment.”
“Your promise brings me peace.”
“Now listen carefully.”
“In the closet beside my chamber at La Vallée, there is a hidden board in the floor.”
“You will recognize it by a special knot in the wood.”
“It is the next board, except one, near the wall facing the door.”
“About a yard from that end, closer to the window, there is a line across the board, as though two pieces of wood had once been joined.”
“To open it, press your foot upon that line.”
“The board will sink slightly, and you can slide it beneath the other board.”
“Below it, you will find a hidden space.”
He stopped to catch his breath.
Emily listened in complete silence.
“Do you understand, my dear?”
Though she could barely speak, she assured him that she did.
“When you return home…” he began.
At those words, Emily suddenly imagined the terrible loneliness of returning without him.
Her grief overwhelmed her again.
She broke into tears.
Even St. Aubert, despite his efforts to remain strong, could no longer hold back his own sorrow.
After a while, he regained control.
“My dear child, do not despair.”
“When I am gone, you will not be abandoned.”
“I leave you in the care of Providence, which has never failed me.”
“Do not make my last moments harder by allowing yourself to be consumed by grief.”
“Teach me instead, by your courage, how to endure my own departure.”
Emily tried desperately to control herself, but the pain was too great.
St. Aubert continued with difficulty.
“When you return home, go to that closet.”
“Under the board I described, you will find a packet of written papers.”
“Remember the promise you have made.”
“You must burn those papers.”
“And I command you solemnly—do not read them.”
Emily was briefly distracted by surprise.
“Why must I do this?” she asked.
St. Aubert replied:
“If it were right for me to explain, I would not have required such a promise from you.”
“It is enough that you trust me and understand the importance of obeying this request.”
“Under that board you will also find about two hundred gold louis wrapped in a silk purse.”
“This hiding place was created during a time when soldiers and wandering groups caused great disorder in the province, and many people used the chaos as an excuse for robbery.”
“But there is another promise I must ask from you.”
“Whatever your future circumstances may be, you must never sell La Vallée.”
“Even if you marry, you must make sure the château remains yours.”
He then explained his financial situation more fully than he ever had before.
“The two hundred louis, together with the money now in my purse, are all the ready funds I can leave you.”
“I have already told you my situation with M. Motteville in Paris.”
“My child, I leave you poor…”
He paused.
“But not without support.”
Emily could not answer.
She only knelt beside the bed, resting her face on the blanket and weeping over the hand she held.
After this conversation, St. Aubert seemed calmer.
But the effort of speaking had exhausted him, and he soon drifted into a weak sleep.
Emily remained beside him, watching and crying quietly.
A gentle knock at the door finally interrupted her.
It was La Voisin.
A priest from the nearby convent had arrived and was waiting downstairs to offer St. Aubert spiritual comfort.
Emily refused to disturb her father but asked that the priest remain at the cottage.
When St. Aubert awoke, his thoughts were confused at first.
After a few moments, he recognized Emily beside him.
He moved his lips and reached for her hand.
The sight of his pale face, already marked by approaching death, was almost too much for her to bear.
Soon he recovered enough strength to speak.
Emily asked whether he wished to see the priest.
He said yes.
When the holy man entered, Emily withdrew.
They remained alone together for more than half an hour.
When Emily was called back, she found her father more troubled than before.
She looked briefly at the priest with sadness, almost blaming him for causing her father distress.
But the priest only looked at her with compassion and sorrow before quietly turning away.
St. Aubert spoke softly.
“I wish you to pray with me.”
“And ask La Voisin and his daughter to join us.”
The old man and his daughter came.
They knelt beside Emily around the bed, both weeping, while the priest solemnly read the prayers for the dying.
St. Aubert lay peacefully.
His face showed calm devotion.
Tears sometimes escaped from beneath his closed eyes, while Emily’s sobs interrupted the service more than once.
After the final prayers and the last rites had been given, the priest withdrew.
St. Aubert called La Voisin closer.
He took the old man’s hand and remained silent for a moment.
Then he said:
“My good friend, we have known each other only a short time, but long enough for you to show me great kindness.”
“I cannot doubt that you will extend the same kindness to my daughter after I am gone.”
“She will need your help.”
“I trust her to your care during the few days she must remain here.”
“You know the feelings of a father, because you have children yourself.”
“My sorrow would be unbearable if I did not trust you.”
La Voisin’s tears showed his sincerity.
He promised to do everything possible to comfort Emily.
He even offered to accompany her back to Gascony if St. Aubert wished.
The offer moved St. Aubert so deeply that he could hardly find words to thank him.
The farewell between father and daughter affected La Voisin so much that he left the room.
Emily remained alone with her father.
Though St. Aubert was growing weaker, his mind remained clear.
He used these final moments to guide her future.
“My dear Emily,” he said, “above all things, do not become proud of your sensitivity.”
“Many gentle hearts make this mistake.”
“They believe their ability to feel deeply is always a virtue.”
“But sensitivity can become dangerous if it allows every small event to create extreme happiness or extreme misery.”
“Because life contains more painful moments than joyful ones, those who cannot control their emotions may become prisoners of their own feelings.”
“I know you may think that you would rather suffer deeply than lose your delicate understanding of happiness.”
“But after experiencing more of life, you will understand that true happiness comes from peace, not emotional storms.”
“Real happiness is calm and steady.”
“It cannot exist in a heart that is constantly shaken by every small event.”
“Yet do not misunderstand me.”
“I do not praise coldness or indifference.”
“Insensitivity is a greater fault than excessive feeling.”
“One act of kindness, one useful action, is worth more than all the beautiful emotions in the world.”
“Feeling has no value unless it leads to goodness.”
“A person who enjoys pitying others but refuses to help them when they can do so possesses only empty compassion.”
“How meaningless is sympathy that does nothing to relieve suffering!”
After resting, St. Aubert spoke of his sister, Madame Cheron.
“There is something important concerning your future that I must tell you.”
“You know we have had little connection for years.”
“But since she is now your only female relative, I have placed you under her care in my will until you are of age.”
“I have also asked her to protect you afterward.”
“She is not the person I would most wish to entrust you to, but I had no other choice.”
“Still, I believe she is generally a good woman.”
“Try to gain her kindness and affection.”
“Do it for my sake, because I have always wished to do what was best for you.”
Emily promised that she would obey all his wishes.
“Soon,” she whispered through her tears, “that will be almost the only comfort left to me.”
St. Aubert looked silently at her.
His eyes became heavy.
Emily felt the meaning of that look.
“My dear father!” she cried.
Then she stopped herself, pressed his hand, and hid her face.
Her tears were hidden, but her trembling sobs reached him.
His strength returned for a moment.
“O my child,” he whispered, “let my comfort become yours.”
“I die peacefully because I know I am returning to my Father in heaven.”
“He will still be your Father when I am gone.”
“Trust in Him, and He will support you as He supports me.”
Emily could only listen and weep.
Yet the calm faith in his voice brought her some comfort.
Still, whenever she looked at his weakened face, his sunken eyes, and the signs of approaching death, her heart suffered a pain beyond words.
At last, he wished to bless her.
“Where are you, my dear?” he asked, reaching out his hands.
Emily had turned toward the window so he would not see her suffering.
Now she realized his sight was failing.
She came to him.
He gave her his blessing.
Then, as though it had taken all the strength remaining in his life, he sank back onto his pillow.
Emily kissed his forehead.
The cold touch of death was already there.
Her tears fell upon him.
For one final moment, St. Aubert opened his eyes.
The love of a father shone there again.
But it quickly faded.
He spoke no more.
St. Aubert remained alive until around three o’clock that afternoon.
Then, slowly and peacefully, without struggle or sound, he died.
La Voisin and his daughter led Emily away from the room and tried to comfort her.
The old man sat beside her and wept with her.
Agnes, however, tried too eagerly to help and only increased Emily’s distress.