His little fortune had been diminished by the necessary expences
of his education; but M. La Valancourt, the elder, seemed to think that
his genius and accomplishments would amply supply the deficiency of his
inheritance. They offered flattering hopes of promotion in the military
profession, in those times almost the only one in which a gentleman
could engage without incurring a stain on his name; and La Valancourt
was of course enrolled in the army. The general genius of his mind was
but little understood by his brother. That ardour for whatever is great
and good in the moral world, as well as in the natural one, displayed
itself in his infant years; and the strong indignation, which he felt
and expressed at a criminal, or a mean action, sometimes drew upon him
the displeasure of his tutor; who reprobated it under the general
term of violence of temper; and who, when haranguing on the virtues of
mildness and moderation, seemed to forget the gentleness and compassion,
which always appeared in his pupil towards objects of misfortune.
He had now obtained leave of absence from his regiment when he made the
excursion into the Pyrenees, which was the means of introducing him to
St. Aubert; and, as this permission was nearly expired, he was the more
anxious to declare himself to Emily's family, from whom he reasonably
apprehended opposition, since his fortune, though, with a moderate
addition from hers, it would be sufficient to support them, would not
satisfy the views, either of vanity, or ambition. Valancourt was not
without the latter, but he saw golden visions of promotion in the army;
and believed, that with Emily he could, in the mean time, be delighted
to live within the limits of his humble income. His thoughts were now
occupied in considering the means of making himself known to her family,
to whom, however, he had yet no address, for he was entirely ignorant of
Emily's precipitate departure from La Vallee, of whom he hoped to obtain
it.
Meanwhile, the travellers pursued their journey; Emily making frequent
efforts to appear cheerful, and too often relapsing into silence and
dejection. Madame Cheron, attributing her melancholy solely to the
circumstance of her being removed to a distance from her lover, and
believing, that the sorrow, which her niece still expressed for the
loss of St. Aubert, proceeded partly from an affectation of sensibility,
endeavoured to make it appear ridiculous to her, that such deep regret
should continue to be felt so long after the period usually allowed for
grief.
At length, these unpleasant lectures were interrupted by the arrival of
the travellers at Tholouse; and Emily, who had not been there for many
years, and had only a very faint recollection of it, was surprised at
the ostentatious style exhibited in her aunt's house and furniture; the
more so, perhaps, because it was so totally different from the modest
elegance, to which she had been accustomed. She followed Madame Cheron
through a large hall, where several servants in rich liveries appeared,
to a kind of saloon, fitted up with more shew than taste; and her aunt,
complaining of fatigue, ordered supper immediately. 'I am glad to find
myself in my own house again,' said she, throwing herself on a large
settee, 'and to have my own people about me. I detest travelling;
though, indeed, I ought to like it, for what I see abroad always makes
me delighted to return to my own chateau. What makes you so silent,
child?--What is it that disturbs you now?'