The Mysteries of Udolpho, Ann Ward Radcliffe [best ereader for graphic novels TXT] 📗

can be; your instruction I can obey in almost every other particular, than that of adopting a contrary belief.”

“Leave me to understand your heart,” replied the Count, with a faint smile. “If you pay me the compliment to be guided by my advice in other instances, I will pardon your incredulity, respecting your future conduct towards Mons. Du Pont. I will not even press you to remain longer at the château than your own satisfaction will permit; but though I forbear to oppose your present retirement, I shall urge the claims of friendship for your future visits.”

Tears of gratitude mingled with those of tender regret, while Emily thanked the Count for the many instances of friendship she had received from him; promised to be directed by his advice upon every subject but one, and assured him of the pleasure, with which she should, at some future period, accept the invitation of the Countess and himself—If Mons. Du Pont was not at the château.

The Count smiled at this condition. “Be it so,” said he, “meanwhile the convent is so near the château, that my daughter and I shall often visit you; and if, sometimes, we should dare to bring you another visitor—will you forgive us?”

Emily looked distressed, and remained silent.

“Well,” rejoined the Count, “I will pursue this subject no further, and must now entreat your forgiveness for having pressed it thus far. You will, however, do me the justice to believe, that I have been urged only by a sincere regard for your happiness, and that of my amiable friend Mons. Du Pont.”

Emily, when she left the Count, went to mention her intended departure to the Countess, who opposed it with polite expressions of regret; after which, she sent a note to acquaint the lady abbess, that she should return to the convent; and thither she withdrew on the evening of the following day. M. Du Pont, in extreme regret, saw her depart, while the Count endeavoured to cheer him with a hope, that Emily would sometimes regard him with a more favourable eye.

She was pleased to find herself once more in the tranquil retirement of the convent, where she experienced a renewal of all the maternal kindness of the abbess, and of the sisterly attentions of the nuns. A report of the late extraordinary occurrence at the château had already reached them, and, after supper, on the evening of her arrival, it was the subject of conversation in the convent parlour, where she was requested to mention some particulars of that unaccountable event. Emily was guarded in her conversation on this subject, and briefly related a few circumstances concerning Ludovico, whose disappearance, her auditors almost unanimously agreed, had been effected by supernatural means.

“A belief had so long prevailed,” said a nun, who was called sister Frances, “that the château was haunted, that I was surprised, when I heard the Count had the temerity to inhabit it. Its former possessor, I fear, had some deed of conscience to atone for; let us hope, that the virtues of its present owner will preserve him from the punishment due to the errors of the last, if, indeed, he was a criminal.”

“Of what crime, then, was he suspected?” said a Mademoiselle Feydeau, a boarder at the convent.

“Let us pray for his soul!” said a nun, who had till now sat in silent attention. “If he was criminal, his punishment in this world was sufficient.”

There was a mixture of wildness and solemnity in her manner of delivering this, which struck Emily exceedingly; but Mademoiselle repeated her question, without noticing the solemn eagerness of the nun.

“I dare not presume to say what was his crime,” replied sister Frances; “but I have heard many reports of an extraordinary nature, respecting the late Marquis de Villeroi, and among others, that, soon after the death of his lady, he quitted Château-le-Blanc, and never afterwards returned to it. I was not here at the time, so I can only mention it from report, and so many years have passed since the Marchioness died, that few of our sisterhood, I believe, can do more.”

“But I can,” said the nun, who had before spoke, and whom they called sister Agnes.

“You then,” said Mademoiselle Feydeau, “are possibly acquainted with circumstances, that enable you to judge, whether he was criminal or not, and what was the crime imputed to him.”

“I am,” replied the nun; “but who shall dare to scrutinize my thoughts—who shall dare to pluck out my opinion? God only is his judge, and to that judge he is gone!”

Emily looked with surprise at sister Frances, who returned her a significant glance.

“I only requested your opinion,” said Mademoiselle Feydeau, mildly; “if the subject is displeasing to you, I will drop it.”

“Displeasing!”—said the nun, with emphasis.—“We are idle talkers; we do not weigh the meaning of the words we use; displeasing is a poor word. I will go pray.” As she said this she rose from her seat, and with a profound sigh quitted the room.

“What can be the meaning of this?” said Emily, when she was gone.

“It is nothing extraordinary,” replied sister Frances, “she is often thus; but she had no meaning in what she says. Her intellects are at times deranged. Did you never see her thus before?”

“Never,” said Emily. “I have, indeed, sometimes, thought, that there was the melancholy of madness in her look, but never before perceived it in her speech. Poor soul, I will pray for her!”

“Your prayers then, my daughter, will unite with ours,” observed the lady abbess, “she has need of them.”

“Dear lady,” said Mademoiselle Feydeau, addressing the abbess, “what is your opinion of the late Marquis? The strange circumstances, that have occurred at the château, have so much awakened my curiosity, that I shall be pardoned the question. What was his imputed crime, and what the punishment, to which sister Agnes alluded?”

“We must be cautious of advancing our opinion,” said the abbess, with an air of reserve, mingled with solemnity, “we must be cautious of advancing our opinion on so delicate a subject. I will not take upon me to pronounce, that the late Marquis was criminal, or to say what was the crime of which he was suspected; but, concerning the punishment our daughter Agnes hinted, I know of none he suffered. She probably alluded to the severe one, which an exasperated conscience can inflict. Beware, my children, of incurring so terrible a punishment—it is the purgatory of this life! The late Marchioness I knew well; she was a pattern to such as live in the world; nay, our sacred order need not have blushed to copy her virtues! Our holy convent received her mortal part; her heavenly spirit, I doubt not, ascended to its sanctuary!”

As the abbess spoke this, the last bell of vespers struck up, and she rose. “Let us go, my children,” said she, “and intercede for the wretched; let us go and confess our sins, and endeavour to purify our souls for the heaven, to which she is gone!”

Emily was affected by the solemnity of this exhortation, and, remembering her father, “The heaven, to which he, too, is gone!” said she, faintly, as she suppressed her sighs, and followed the abbess and the nuns to the chapel.

CHAPTER VIII

Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn’d,
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,

I will speak to thee.
                    HAMLET

Count de Villefort, at length, received a letter from the advocate at Avignon, encouraging Emily to assert her claim to the estates of the late Madame Montoni; and, about the same time, a messenger arrived from Monsieur Quesnel with intelligence, that made an appeal to the law on this subject unnecessary, since it appeared, that the only person, who could have opposed her claim, was now no more. A friend of Monsieur Quesnel, who resided at Venice, had sent him an account of the death of Montoni who had been brought to trial with Orsino, as his supposed accomplice in the murder of the Venetian nobleman. Orsino was found guilty, condemned and executed upon the wheel, but, nothing being discovered to criminate Montoni, and his colleagues, on this charge, they were all released, except Montoni, who, being considered by the senate as a very dangerous person, was, for other reasons, ordered again into confinement, where, it was said, he had died in a doubtful and mysterious manner, and not without suspicion of having been poisoned. The authority, from which M. Quesnel had received this information, would not allow him to doubt its truth, and he told Emily, that she had now only to lay claim to the estates of her late aunt, to secure them, and added, that he would himself assist in the necessary forms of this business. The term, for which La Vallée had been let being now also nearly expired, he acquainted her with the circumstance, and advised her to take the road thither, through Thoulouse, where he promised to meet her, and where it would be proper for her to take possession of the estates of the late Madame Montoni; adding, that he would spare her any difficulties, that might occur on that occasion from the want of knowledge on the subject, and that he believed it would be necessary for her to be at Thoulouse, in about three weeks from the present time.

An increase of fortune seemed to have awakened this sudden kindness in M. Quesnel towards his niece, and it appeared, that he entertained more respect for the rich heiress, than he had ever felt compassion for the poor and unfriended orphan.

The pleasure, with which she received this intelligence, was clouded when she considered, that he, for whose sake she had once regretted the want of fortune, was no longer worthy of sharing it with her; but, remembering the friendly admonition of the Count, she checked this melancholy reflection, and endeavoured to feel only gratitude for the unexpected good, that now attended her; while it formed no inconsiderable part of her satisfaction to know, that La Vallée, her native home, which was endeared to her by it’s having been the residence of her parents, would soon be restored to her possession. There she meant to fix her future residence, for, though it could not be compared with the château at Thoulouse, either for extent, or magnificence, its pleasant scenes and the tender remembrances, that haunted them, had claims upon her heart, which she was not inclined to sacrifice to ostentation. She wrote immediately to thank M. Quesnel for the active interest he took in her concerns, and to say, that she would meet him at Thoulouse at the appointed time.

When Count de Villefort, with Blanche, came to the convent to give Emily the advice of the advocate, he was informed of the contents of M. Quesnel’s letter, and gave her his sincere congratulations, on the occasion; but she observed, that, when the first expression of satisfaction had faded from his countenance, an unusual gravity succeeded, and she scarcely hesitated to enquire its cause.

“It has no new occasion,” replied the Count; “I am harassed and perplexed by the confusion, into which my family is thrown by their foolish superstition. Idle reports are floating round me, which I can neither admit to be true, nor prove to be false; and I am, also, very anxious about the poor fellow, Ludovico, concerning whom I have not been able to obtain information. Every part of the château and every part of the neighbourhood, too, has, I believe, been searched, and I know not what further can be done, since I have already offered large rewards for the discovery of him. The keys of the north apartment I have not suffered to be out of my possession, since he disappeared, and I mean to watch in those chambers, myself, this very night.”

Emily, seriously alarmed for the Count, united her entreaties with those of the Lady Blanche, to dissuade him from his purpose.

“What should I fear?” said he. “I have no faith in supernatural combats, and for human opposition I shall be prepared; nay, I will even promise not to watch alone.”

“But who, dear sir, will have courage enough to watch with you?” said Emily.

“My son,” replied the Count. “If I am not carried off in the night,” added he, smiling, “you shall hear the result of my adventure, tomorrow.”

The Count and Lady Blanche, shortly afterwards, took leave of Emily, and returned to the château, where he informed Henri of his intention, who, not without some secret reluctance, consented to be the partner of his watch; and, when the design was mentioned after supper, the Countess was terrified, and the Baron, and M. Du Pont joined with her in entreating, that he would not tempt his fate, as Ludovico had done. “We know not,” added the Baron, “the nature, or the power of an