She now put aside the book, and took her lute, for it was seldom that her sufferings refused to yield to the magic of sweet sounds; when they did so, she was oppressed by sorrow, that came from excess of tenderness and regret; and there were times, when music had increased such sorrow to a degree, that was scarcely endurable; when, if it had not suddenly ceased, she might have lost her reason.Such was the time, when she mourned for her father, and heard the midnight strains, that floated by her window near the convent in Languedoc, on the night that followed his death.
She continued to play, till Annette brought dinner into her chamber, at which Emily was surprised, and enquired whose order she obeyed.
'My lady's, ma'amselle,' replied Annette: 'the Signor ordered her dinner to be carried to her own apartment, and so she has sent you yours.There have been sad doings between them, worse than ever, Ithink.'
Emily, not appearing to notice what she said, sat down to the little table, that was spread for her.But Annette was not to be silenced thus easily.While she waited, she told of the arrival of the men, whom Emily had observed on the ramparts, and expressed much surprise at their strange appearance, as well as at the manner, in which they had been attended by Montoni's order.'Do they dine with the Signor, then?' said Emily.
'No, ma'amselle, they dined long ago, in an apartment at the north end of the castle, but I know not when they are to go, for the Signor told old Carlo to see them provided with every thing necessary.They have been walking all about the castle, and asking questions of the workmen on the ramparts.I never saw such strange-looking men in my life; I am frightened whenever I see them.'
Emily enquired, if she had heard of Count Morano, and whether he was likely to recover: but Annette only knew, that he was lodged in a cottage in the wood below, and that every body said he must die.
Emily's countenance discovered her emotion.
'Dear ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'to see how young ladies will disguise themselves, when they are in love! I thought you hated the Count, or I am sure I would not have told you; and I am sure you have cause enough to hate him.'
'I hope I hate nobody,' replied Emily, trying to smile; 'but certainly I do not love Count Morano.I should be shocked to hear of any person dying by violent means.'
'Yes, ma'amselle, but it is his own fault.'
Emily looked displeased; and Annette, mistaking the cause of her displeasure, immediately began to excuse the Count, in her way.'To be sure, it was very ungenteel behaviour,' said she, 'to break into a lady's room, and then, when he found his discoursing was not agreeable to her, to refuse to go; and then, when the gentleman of the castle comes to desire him to walk about his business--to turn round, and draw his sword, and swear he'll run him through the body!--To be sure it was very ungenteel behaviour, but then he was disguised in love, and so did not know what he was about.'
'Enough of this,' said Emily, who now smiled without an effort; and Annette returned to a mention of the disagreement between Montoni, and her lady.'It is nothing new,' said she: 'we saw and heard enough of this at Venice, though I never told you of it, ma'amselle.'
'Well, Annette, it was very prudent of you not to mention it then:
be as prudent now; the subject is an unpleasant one.'
'Ah dear, ma'amselle!--to see now how considerate you can be about some folks, who care so little about you! I cannot bear to see you so deceived, and I must tell you.But it is all for your own good, and not to spite my lady, though, to speak truth, I have little reason to love her; but--'
'You are not speaking thus of my aunt, I hope, Annette?' said Emily, gravely.
'Yes, ma'amselle, but I am, though; and if you knew as much as I do, you would not look so angry.I have often, and often, heard the Signor and her talking over your marriage with the Count, and she always advised him never to give up to your foolish whims, as she was pleased to call them, but to be resolute, and compel you to be obedient, whether you would, or no.And I am sure, my heart has ached a thousand times, and I have thought, when she was so unhappy herself, she might have felt a little for other people, and--'
'I thank you for your pity, Annette,' said Emily, interrupting her:
'but my aunt was unhappy then, and that disturbed her temper perhaps, or I think--I am sure--You may take away, Annette, I have done.'
'Dear ma'amselle, you have eat nothing at all! Do try, and take a little bit more.Disturbed her temper truly! why, her temper is always disturbed, I think.And at Tholouse too I have heard my lady talking of you and Mons.Valancourt to Madame Merveille and Madame Vaison, often and often, in a very ill-natured way, as I thought, telling them what a deal of trouble she had to keep you in order, and what a fatigue and distress it was to her, and that she believed you would run away with Mons.Valancourt, if she was not to watch you closely; and that you connived at his coming about the house at night, and--'
'Good God!' exclaimed Emily, blushing deeply, 'it is surely impossible my aunt could thus have represented me!'
'Indeed, ma'am, I say nothing more than the truth, and not all of that.But I thought, myself, she might have found something better to discourse about, than the faults of her own niece, even if you had been in fault, ma'amselle; but I did not believe a word of what she said.But my lady does not care what she says against any body, for that matter.'
'However that may be, Annette,' interrupted Emily, recovering her composure, 'it does not become you to speak of the faults of my aunt to me.I know you have meant well, but--say no more.--I have quite dined.'
Annette blushed, looked down, and then began slowly to clear the table.