The Count had slept very little during the night. Early in the morning, eager to speak with Ludovico, he went to the north apartments. However, the outer door had been locked the night before, so he was forced to knock loudly.
No answer came.
He called Ludovico’s name, but there was still no response.
The Count was not immediately alarmed. He knew the door was far from the bedroom, and he supposed that Ludovico, exhausted after his long night of watching, had fallen into a deep sleep.
“Perhaps he is only sleeping heavily,” the Count thought.
Leaving the door, he went outside to walk through the grounds.
It was a cold, grey autumn morning. The sun had just risen above Provence, but its light was weak and pale, struggling through the thick mist that rose from the sea and drifted heavily above the forest.
The trees were covered with the soft golden and brown colors of autumn.
The storm of the previous night had passed, but the sea was still violent. Long white lines of foam marked the path of the waves, and the ships near the shore, preparing to leave, stood motionless because there was not enough wind to fill their sails.
The quiet darkness of the morning suited the Count’s thoughts. He walked slowly through the woods, lost in deep reflection.
At the same time, Emily had also risen early.
She followed her usual path along the edge of the cliff overlooking the Mediterranean.
Her thoughts were no longer occupied by the strange events inside the château. Instead, they returned once again to Valancourt.
She had not yet been able to make herself indifferent toward him. Her reason told her that she should no longer love a man whose actions had destroyed her respect for him, but her heart refused to forget.
She often remembered his final expression when he had left her, the sound of his voice when he said farewell, and the sadness of that last moment.
Now, some small association brought those memories back with unusual force.
Tears filled her eyes.
She walked until she reached the old watch-tower and sat down upon its broken stone steps.
Below her, the sea rolled through the mist, its waves hidden and revealed by the moving clouds of vapor. The water crashed against the rocks, throwing white spray into the air.
The deep sound of the waves and the heavy mist rising around the cliffs created a solemn atmosphere that matched her sorrowful feelings.
She remained there, lost in memories of the past, until the pain became too intense.
Suddenly, she rose and left.
As she passed through the small gate of the tower, she noticed some letters carved into the stone beside it.
She stopped.
The marks looked as if they had been cut roughly with a knife, but the shape of the writing seemed strangely familiar.
She examined them more carefully.
Then her heart trembled.
She recognized the handwriting.
It was Valancourt’s.
Below the carving was a title:
Shipwreck
She slowly read the words he had left behind.
The poem described a lonely night beneath the old tower, the dark sea below, the violent storm, and the terror of sailors struggling against the waves.
It spoke of mysterious voices carried by the wind, of spirits appearing among the clouds, and of a distant ship disappearing into the storm.
When Emily finished reading, many thoughts rushed through her mind.
Valancourt had been here.
Perhaps he had come the previous night, for the storm described in his poem was exactly like the one that had just passed.
And since the carving could not have been made in darkness, he must have left only recently.
He might even still be somewhere in the gardens.
These thoughts overwhelmed Emily.
For a moment, countless emotions struggled within her heart.
Yet her first feeling was fear of meeting him.
She quickly left the tower and hurried back toward the château.
As she walked, she remembered the music she had heard near the tower before, and the mysterious figure she had seen there.
In her present state of emotion, she almost believed that the person she had seen and the music she had heard had both belonged to Valancourt.
But reason soon corrected her.
She knew she had been mistaken.
When she entered a thicker part of the woods, she saw someone walking slowly through the shadows.
Her heart stopped.
She thought it was Valancourt.
The figure moved closer.
Emily stood frozen, unable to collect her thoughts quickly enough to avoid him.
Then the person spoke.
She recognized the voice.
It was the Count.
He looked surprised to find her walking so early and gently teased her about her love of solitude.
But he soon realized that her sadness was not something to laugh at.
His manner changed, and he kindly spoke to her about the sorrow she continued to carry.
Emily admitted that his words were reasonable, but tears still filled her eyes.
The Count soon changed the subject.
He told her that he was still waiting for a reply from his friend, the lawyer in Avignon, regarding the estates that had belonged to Madame Montoni.
With sincere kindness, he tried to encourage Emily with the hope that she might recover her rightful property.
But Emily felt that wealth could bring her little happiness now.
Without Valancourt, everything seemed empty.
When they returned to the château, Emily went to her room, while the Count returned to the north apartments.
The door was still locked.
Determined to awaken Ludovico, he knocked harder than before.
Still, no answer came.
A deep silence followed.
The Count began to worry.
Perhaps Ludovico had suffered some accident.
Perhaps the terror of the mysterious rooms had affected his mind.
He decided to call his servants and force open the door.
At that moment, he heard some of them moving below.
“Have any of you seen Ludovico this morning?” he asked.
The servants looked frightened.
“No, my lord,” they replied. “None of us has dared go near the north side of the château since last night.”
“He must be sleeping deeply,” said the Count. “The outer door is locked, and it is too far from his bedroom for him to hear us. Bring a tool. We must open it.”
The servants remained silent and frightened.
Only after almost the entire household gathered together did they finally prepare to obey.
Then Dorothée remembered another door.
She explained that a door opened from a gallery near the main staircase and led toward the last room of the suite.
It was much closer to Ludovico’s bedroom.
Perhaps he would hear them there.
The Count went there immediately.
He called loudly.
Again, no answer.
He was about to strike the door open when he noticed its extraordinary beauty.
He stopped.
The door appeared to be made of black ebony because of its dark color and polished surface, but it was actually made from larch wood grown in Provence.
Its delicate carvings and perfect finish impressed him.
“I cannot destroy such a beautiful piece of work,” he said.
He returned instead to the other entrance.
At last, the door was forced open.
The Count entered the first room with Henri and several brave servants, while the others waited anxiously outside.
The rooms were completely silent.
When they reached the main chamber, the Count called:
“Ludovico!”
No answer.
He opened the bedroom door.
Inside, the silence was terrifying.
No breathing.
No movement.
The shutters were closed, and the room was almost completely dark.
The Count ordered a servant to open them.
As the servant crossed the room, he suddenly stumbled over something and fell.
He cried out.
The other servants became terrified and immediately fled.
Only the Count and Henri remained.
Henri rushed forward and opened one of the shutters.
They saw that the servant had fallen over a chair near the fireplace.
It was the chair where Ludovico had been sitting.
But Ludovico was gone.
The Count opened more shutters and searched the room.
The man had vanished.
He looked toward the bed.
Empty.
He searched the small sitting area near the window.
Everything remained exactly as it had the previous night.
But Ludovico was nowhere.
The Count forced himself to think calmly.
Perhaps Ludovico had escaped during the night because he had been frightened by the loneliness of the rooms and the stories surrounding them.
But this explanation failed.
If Ludovico had left, he would naturally have searched for company.
Yet none of the servants had seen him.
The outer door had been locked from the inside.
All other doors were also locked and bolted, with the keys still inside.
The windows were no easier.
Those large enough for a man to pass through were protected by iron bars or secured shutters.
There was no sign that anyone had attempted to escape that way.
It was impossible to understand.
The Count returned to examine the bedroom again.
Nothing had been disturbed except the fallen chair.
On the small table beside it were still Ludovico’s sword, lamp, book, and the remains of his wine.
At the foot of the table sat his basket containing pieces of food and wood for the fire.
Everything suggested that Ludovico had simply disappeared.
Henri and the servant could no longer hide their astonishment.
The Count said little, but his serious expression revealed his concern.
He believed that some hidden passage must exist.
He could not accept the idea of supernatural forces causing Ludovico’s disappearance.
Yet if there was a secret passage, why had Ludovico used it?
And why was there no trace of his escape?
The Count searched behind the tapestries covering the walls.
He examined the bedroom, the sitting room, and the smaller chambers.
But no hidden door was found.
Finally, he left the rooms and locked the last chamber himself, keeping the key.
He ordered a complete search for Ludovico throughout the château and the surrounding area.
Later, he sat with Henri in his study for a long conversation.
From that day forward, Henri’s cheerful personality changed.
Whenever the strange event was mentioned, he became quiet and serious.
Ludovico’s disappearance also strengthened Baron St. Foix’s belief in ghosts and supernatural events.
The mystery increased his fear and curiosity, making him even more convinced of his previous ideas.
The servants of the château became terrified.
Many left the household immediately, and the remaining servants stayed only until replacements could be found.
Despite every effort, the search for Ludovico failed.
After several days of investigation, Annette lost all hope, and everyone in the château remained filled with confusion.
Emily was deeply affected by what had happened.
The tragic death of the former Marchioness and the strange connection she believed existed between the Marchioness and her own father had already troubled her mind.
Now Ludovico’s disappearance added another mystery.
She felt genuine sorrow for losing him, for his honesty and loyalty had earned her respect and gratitude.
Emily began longing to return to the peaceful convent.
But whenever she mentioned leaving, Lady Blanche expressed sadness, and the Count gently discouraged the idea.
Emily had developed a deep affection and respect for him, almost like the feelings of a daughter toward a father.
With Dorothée’s permission, she finally told him about the strange figure they had seen in the room of the late Marchioness.
At another time, the Count would have dismissed such a story as imagination.
But now, after everything that had happened, he listened carefully.
When Emily finished, he asked her to promise that she would say nothing about it.
“Whatever these strange events may mean,” said the Count, “only time can reveal the truth. I will watch everything that happens in this château and do everything possible to discover Ludovico’s fate. Until then, we must remain careful and silent.”
He paused.
“I myself will spend the night watching in the north chambers. But we will tell no one until the proper time comes.”
The Count also called Dorothée and asked her to remain silent.
She then told him the full story of the Marchioness de Villeroi’s death.
Some details were already known to him, but others clearly surprised and disturbed him.
After hearing her account, the Count withdrew to his study and remained alone for several hours.
When he returned, Emily was startled by the seriousness of his expression.
She said nothing.
A week after Ludovico’s disappearance, most of the Count’s guests left the château.
Only Baron St. Foix, his son Monsieur St. Foix, and Emily remained.
Soon afterward, another visitor arrived.
It was Monsieur Du Pont.
Emily immediately felt troubled and decided that she must leave for the convent.
The happiness visible on Du Pont’s face when he saw her showed that his old love for her had returned.
The Count welcomed him warmly and introduced him to Emily with a smile, clearly hoping to support his friend.
But Emily’s cold and reserved manner quickly changed Du Pont’s expression.
His happiness disappeared, and sadness replaced it.
The next day, he found an opportunity to speak privately with Emily.
He declared his continued love and asked again for her hand.
Emily felt genuine sorrow.
She tried to soften her refusal by assuring him of her respect and friendship.
But she left him deeply unhappy.
Feeling more determined than ever to leave the château, Emily went to speak with the Count.
“My dear Emily,” he said, “I am deeply concerned by the illusion you are encouraging. Your heart has suffered a great wound, and you believe you can never recover. But if you continue to feed this sorrow, it may become a habit that will darken your entire future.”
Emily smiled sadly.
“I understand what you wish to tell me,” she replied. “But I know my own heart. I feel that I can never love another person, and that I can never regain peace if I enter into another engagement.”
“I know you feel this now,” said the Count, “but time can overcome these emotions unless you continue to protect them through loneliness and constant remembrance.”
He became serious.
“I understand your suffering because I have known love and loss myself.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I have suffered too. But those days have passed, and now I can remember them without pain.”
Emily looked at him gently.
“Then why do those tears appear?” she asked. “They seem to plead my cause.”
“They are only the remains of an old sorrow,” replied the Count. “A sorrow that might have driven me to despair if I had not fought against it.”
He took her hand.
“You must not surrender yourself to grief. Monsieur Du Pont is a worthy man. His family and fortune are honorable. I believe he could bring happiness into your life.”
Emily continued to weep.
“There is happiness still waiting for you,” the Count said.
After a moment, he continued:
“I do not ask you to force yourself to forget your feelings immediately. I only ask you to stop returning constantly to painful memories, to allow your mind to be occupied by present things, and to believe that happiness may still come.”
“Please do not encourage Monsieur Du Pont to hope for what I cannot give,” Emily replied. “I can follow your advice in many things, but I cannot promise that my heart will change.”
The Count smiled faintly.
“Then leave your heart to me,” he said. “If you trust my advice in other matters, perhaps you may one day trust me in this.”
He promised not to prevent her from returning to the convent, but asked that she continue visiting him and his family.
Emily thanked him with tears of gratitude and sadness.
She promised to follow his guidance in everything except this one matter.
She assured him that she would gladly accept future invitations from the Count and Countess—provided Monsieur Du Pont was not present.
The Count smiled.
“Very well,” he said. “The convent is close enough that my daughter and I shall often visit you. And if one day we bring another visitor with us, will you forgive us?”
Emily looked troubled and remained silent.
The Count laughed gently.
“Do not worry. I will say no more on this subject.”
Emily then went to tell the Countess of her decision.
The Countess expressed regret but did not oppose her.
Emily sent a message to the abbess and returned to the convent the following evening.
Monsieur Du Pont watched her departure with deep sadness, while the Count tried to comfort him with the hope that Emily might someday feel differently.
Emily was relieved to return to the peaceful convent.
There she once again received the kindness of the abbess and the affection of the nuns.
The strange event at the château had already reached the convent, and after supper, everyone gathered in the parlour to discuss it.
They asked Emily to explain what had happened.
She carefully avoided revealing too much and only briefly described Ludovico’s disappearance.
Most of the listeners agreed that it must have been caused by supernatural forces.
One nun named Sister Frances said:
“It has long been believed that the château is haunted. I was surprised that the Count dared to live there. I fear its former owner had some terrible guilt upon his conscience. Let us hope that the virtues of its present owner will protect him from whatever punishment followed the mistakes of the past.”
A young woman named Mademoiselle Feydeau asked:
“What crime was he suspected of committing?”
Another nun, Sister Agnes, who had been silent until then, suddenly spoke.
“Let us pray for his soul,” she said. “If he was guilty, his punishment in this world was enough.”
Her strange tone surprised Emily.
Mademoiselle Feydeau repeated her question.
Sister Frances answered carefully:
“I cannot say what his crime was, but I have heard many unusual stories about the late Marquis de Villeroi. It was said that after his wife’s death, he left Château-le-Blanc and never returned.”
“But I know more,” said Sister Agnes.
Mademoiselle Feydeau looked at her with curiosity.
“Then perhaps you know whether he was truly guilty, and what crime was blamed upon him?”
“I do,” replied Sister Agnes. “But who can judge another person’s thoughts? God alone is his judge, and he has already gone before that judge.”
Sister Frances exchanged a meaningful glance with Emily.
Mademoiselle Feydeau gently apologized.
“If the subject troubles you, I will stop asking.”
“Troubles me?” cried Sister Agnes.
She stood suddenly.
“We speak careless words without understanding their meaning. ‘Troubles me’ is too small a phrase. I will go and pray.”
With a deep sigh, she left the room.
“What does this mean?” Emily asked.
“She is often like this,” Sister Frances explained. “Her mind is sometimes disturbed. She did not truly mean anything by her words.”
“I have never seen her this way before,” said Emily.
“I have sometimes noticed a sadness in her expression,” Emily continued, “but never before heard her speak like this. Poor woman. I will pray for her.”
“Then your prayers will join ours,” said the abbess. “She has great need of them.”
Mademoiselle Feydeau then turned to the abbess.
“What do you think of the late Marquis? The strange events at the château have awakened my curiosity. What crime was he accused of, and what punishment did Sister Agnes mean?”
The abbess answered carefully.
“We must be cautious when speaking of such matters. I will not claim that the late Marquis was guilty, nor will I say what crime he was suspected of committing.”
She paused.
“As for the punishment Sister Agnes mentioned, I know of none that he suffered publicly. Perhaps she meant the punishment that a guilty conscience can create within a person.”
The abbess looked around at the young women.
“Beware such a punishment, my children. It is the suffering of the soul while still living.”
She then spoke of the late Marchioness.
“I knew her well. She was a model of virtue and goodness. Even our religious community could have learned from her example. Our convent received her remains, and I have no doubt that her spirit has gone to a place of peace.”
As she finished speaking, the evening bell rang for prayer.
The abbess stood.
“Come, my children,” she said. “Let us pray for those who suffer. Let us confess our faults and prepare our souls for the heaven to which she has gone.”
Emily was deeply moved.
She thought of her father.
“The heaven to which he too has gone,” she whispered.
Suppressing her tears, she followed the abbess and the nuns into the chapel.