They reached the romantic town of Leucate early in the day, but St.
Aubert was weary, and they determined to pass the night there.In the evening, he exerted himself so far as to walk with his daughter to view the environs that overlook the lake of Leucate, the Mediterranean, part of Rousillon, with the Pyrenees, and a wide extent of the luxuriant province of Languedoc, now blushing with the ripened vintage, which the peasants were beginning to gather.St.
Aubert and Emily saw the busy groups, caught the joyous song, that was wafted on the breeze, and anticipated, with apparent pleasure, their next day's journey over this gay region.He designed, however, still to wind along the sea-shore.To return home immediately was partly his wish, but from this he was withheld by a desire to lengthen the pleasure, which the journey gave his daughter, and to try the effect of the sea air on his own disorder.
On the following day, therefore, they recommenced their journey through Languedoc, winding the shores of the Mediterranean; the Pyrenees still forming the magnificent back-ground of their prospects, while on their right was the ocean, and, on their left, wide extended plains melting into the blue horizon.St.Aubert was pleased, and conversed much with Emily, yet his cheerfulness was sometimes artificial, and sometimes a shade of melancholy would steal upon his countenance, and betray him.This was soon chased away by Emily's smile; who smiled, however, with an aching heart, for she saw that his misfortunes preyed upon his mind, and upon his enfeebled frame.
It was evening when they reached a small village of Upper Languedoc, where they meant to pass the night, but the place could not afford them beds; for here, too, it was the time of the vintage, and they were obliged to proceed to the next post.The languor of illness and of fatigue, which returned upon St.Aubert, required immediate repose, and the evening was now far advanced; but from necessity there was no appeal, and he ordered Michael to proceed.
The rich plains of Languedoc, which exhibited all the glories of the vintage, with the gaieties of a French festival, no longer awakened St.Aubert to pleasure, whose condition formed a mournful contrast to the hilarity and youthful beauty which surrounded him.As his languid eyes moved over the scene, he considered, that they would soon, perhaps, be closed for ever on this world.'Those distant and sublime mountains,' said he secretly, as he gazed on a chain of the Pyrenees that stretched towards the west, 'these luxuriant plains, this blue vault, the cheerful light of day, will be shut from my eyes! The song of the peasant, the cheering voice of man--will no longer sound for me!'
The intelligent eyes of Emily seemed to read what passed in the mind of her father, and she fixed them on his face, with an expression of such tender pity, as recalled his thoughts from every desultory object of regret, and he remembered only, that he must leave his daughter without protection.This reflection changed regret to agony; he sighed deeply, and remained silent, while she seemed to understand that sigh, for she pressed his hand affectionately, and then turned to the window to conceal her tears.The sun now threw a last yellow gleam on the waves of the Mediterranean, and the gloom of twilight spread fast over the scene, till only a melancholy ray appeared on the western horizon, marking the point where the sun had set amid the vapours of an autumnal evening.A cool breeze now came from the shore, and Emily let down the glass; but the air, which was refreshing to health, was as chilling to sickness, and St.Aubert desired, that the window might be drawn up.Increasing illness made him now more anxious than ever to finish the day's journey, and he stopped the muleteer to enquire how far they had yet to go to the next post.He replied, 'Nine miles.' 'I feel I am unable to proceed much further,' said St.Aubert; 'enquire, as you go, if there is any house on the road that would accommodate us for the night.' He sunk back in the carriage, and Michael, cracking his whip in the air, set off, and continued on the full gallop, till St.Aubert, almost fainting, called to him to stop.Emily looked anxiously from the window, and saw a peasant walking at some little distance on the road, for whom they waited, till he came up, when he was asked, if there was any house in the neighbourhood that accommodated travellers.He replied, that he knew of none.'There is a chateau, indeed, among those woods on the right,' added he, 'but I believe it receives nobody, and I cannot show you the way, for I am almost a stranger here.' St.Aubert was going to ask him some further question concerning the chateau, but the man abruptly passed on.
After some consideration, he ordered Michael to proceed slowly to the woods.Every moment now deepened the twilight, and increased the difficulty of finding the road.Another peasant soon after passed.
'Which is the way to the chateau in the woods?' cried Michael.
'The chateau in the woods!' exclaimed the peasant--'Do you mean that with the turret, yonder?'
'I don't know as for the turret, as you call it,' said Michael, 'Imean that white piece of a building, that we see at a distance there, among the trees.'
'Yes, that is the turret; why, who are you, that you are going thither?' said the man with surprise.
St.Aubert, on hearing this odd question, and observing the peculiar tone in which it was delivered, looked out from the carriage.'We are travellers,' said he, 'who are in search of a house of accommodation for the night; is there any hereabout?'
'None, Monsieur, unless you have a mind to try your luck yonder,'
replied the peasant, pointing to the woods, 'but I would not advise you to go there.'
'To whom does the chateau belong?'
'I scarcely know myself, Monsieur.'
'It is uninhabited, then?' 'No, not uninhabited; the steward and housekeeper are there, I believe.'