A second letter from M. Quesnel announced the arrival of himself and
his lady at the Villa Miarenti; stated several circumstances of his
good fortune, respecting the affair that had brought him into Italy; and
concluded with an earnest request to see Montoni, his wife and niece, at
his new estate.
Emily received, about the same period, a much more interesting letter,
and which soothed for a while every anxiety of her heart. Valancourt,
hoping she might be still at Venice, had trusted a letter to the
ordinary post, that told her of his health, and of his unceasing and
anxious affection. He had lingered at Tholouse for some time after her
departure, that he might indulge the melancholy pleasure of wandering
through the scenes where he had been accustomed to behold her, and had
thence gone to his brother's chateau, which was in the neighbourhood of
La Vallee. Having mentioned this, he added, 'If the duty of attending
my regiment did not require my departure, I know not when I should have
resolution enough to quit the neighbourhood of a place which is endeared
by the remembrance of you. The vicinity to La Vallee has alone detained
me thus long at Estuviere: I frequently ride thither early in the
morning, that I may wander, at leisure, through the day, among scenes,
which were once your home, where I have been accustomed to see you, and
to hear you converse.
I have renewed my acquaintance with the good old
Theresa, who rejoiced to see me, that she might talk of you: I need
not say how much this circumstance attached me to her, or how eagerly
I listened to her upon her favourite subject. You will guess the motive
that first induced me to make myself known to Theresa: it was, indeed,
no other than that of gaining admittance into the chateau and gardens,
which my Emily had so lately inhabited: here, then, I wander, and meet
your image under every shade: but chiefly I love to sit beneath the
spreading branches of your favourite plane, where once, Emily, we sat
together; where I first ventured to tell you, that I loved. O Emily!
the remembrance of those moments overcomes me--I sit lost in reverie--I
endeavour to see you dimly through my tears, in all the heaven of
peace and innocence, such as you then appeared to me; to hear again the
accents of that voice, which then thrilled my heart with tenderness and
hope. I lean on the wall of the terrace, where we together watched the
rapid current of the Garonne below, while I described the wild scenery
about its source, but thought only of you. O Emily! are these moments
passed for ever--will they never more return?'