The remorse he had expressed, and the distress he suffered could not be witnessed by Emily with indifference, and, had she not called to her recollection all the circumstances, of which Count De Villefort had informed her, and all he had said of the danger of confiding in repentance, formed under the influence of passion, she might perhaps have trusted to the assurances of her heart, and have forgotten his misconduct in the tenderness, which that repentance excited.
Valancourt, returning to the chair beside her, at length, said, in a calm voice, ''Tis true, I am fallen--fallen from my own esteem! but could you, Emily, so soon, so suddenly resign, if you had not before ceased to love me, or, if your conduct was not governed by the designs, I will say, the selfish designs of another person! Would you not otherwise be willing to hope for my reformation--and could you bear, by estranging me from you, to abandon me to misery--to myself!'--Emily wept aloud.--'No, Emily--no--you would not do this, if you still loved me.You would find your own happiness in saving mine.'
'There are too many probabilities against that hope,' said Emily, 'to justify me in trusting the comfort of my whole life to it.May I not also ask, whether you could wish me to do this, if you really loved me?'
'Really loved you!' exclaimed Valancourt--'is it possible you can doubt my love! Yet it is reasonable, that you should do so, since you see, that I am less ready to suffer the horror of parting with you, than that of involving you in my ruin.Yes, Emily--I am ruined--irreparably ruined--I am involved in debts, which I can never discharge!' Valancourt's look, which was wild, as he spoke this, soon settled into an expression of gloomy despair; and Emily, while she was compelled to admire his sincerity, saw, with unutterable anguish, new reasons for fear in the suddenness of his feelings and the extent of the misery, in which they might involve him.After some minutes, she seemed to contend against her grief and to struggle for fortitude to conclude the interview.'I will not prolong these moments,' said she, 'by a conversation, which can answer no good purpose.Valancourt, farewell!'
'You are not going?' said he, wildly interrupting her--'You will not leave me thus--you will not abandon me even before my mind has suggested any possibility of compromise between the last indulgence of my despair and the endurance of my loss!' Emily was terrified by the sternness of his look, and said, in a soothing voice, 'You have yourself acknowledged, that it is necessary we should part;--if you wish, that I should believe you love me, you will repeat the acknowledgment.'--'Never--never,' cried he--'I was distracted when Imade it.O! Emily--this is too much;--though you are not deceived as to my faults, you must be deluded into this exasperation against them.The Count is the barrier between us; but he shall not long remain so.'
'You are, indeed, distracted,' said Emily, 'the Count is not your enemy; on the contrary, he is my friend, and that might, in some degree, induce you to consider him as yours.'--'Your friend!' said Valancourt, hastily, 'how long has he been your friend, that he can so easily make you forget your lover? Was it he, who recommended to your favour the Monsieur Du Pont, who, you say, accompanied you from Italy, and who, I say, has stolen your affections? But I have no right to question you;--you are your own mistress.Du Pont, perhaps, may not long triumph over my fallen fortunes!' Emily, more frightened than before by the frantic looks of Valancourt, said, in a tone scarcely audible, 'For heaven's sake be reasonable--be composed.
Monsieur Du Pont is not your rival, nor is the Count his advocate.
You have no rival; nor, except yourself, an enemy.My heart is wrung with anguish, which must increase while your frantic behaviour shews me, more than ever, that you are no longer the Valancourt I have been accustomed to love.'
He made no reply, but sat with his arms rested on the table and his face concealed by his hands; while Emily stood, silent and trembling, wretched for herself and dreading to leave him in this state of mind.
'O excess of misery!' he suddenly exclaimed, 'that I can never lament my sufferings, without accusing myself, nor remember you, without recollecting the folly and the vice, by which I have lost you! Why was I forced to Paris, and why did I yield to allurements, which were to make me despicable for ever! O! why cannot I look back, without interruption, to those days of innocence and peace, the days of our early love!'--The recollection seemed to melt his heart, and the frenzy of despair yielded to tears.After a long pause, turning towards her and taking her hand, he said, in a softened voice, 'Emily, can you bear that we should part--can you resolve to give up an heart, that loves you like mine--an heart, which, though it has erred--widely erred, is not irretrievable from error, as, you well know, it never can be retrievable from love?' Emily made no reply, but with her tears.'Can you,' continued he, 'can you forget all our former days of happiness and confidence--when I had not a thought, that I might wish to conceal from you--when I had no taste--no pleasures, in which you did not participate?'