pointed to that subject.

Among the visitors at the chateau was the Baron de Saint Foix, an old
friend of the Count, and his son, the Chevalier St. Foix, a sensible
and amiable young man, who, having in the preceding year seen the Lady
Blanche, at Paris, had become her declared admirer. The friendship,
which the Count had long entertained for his father, and the equality
of their circumstances made him secretly approve of the connection; but,
thinking his daughter at this time too young to fix her choice for
life, and wishing to prove the sincerity and strength of the Chevalier's
attachment, he then rejected his suit, though without forbidding his
future hope. This young man now came, with the Baron, his father,
to claim the reward of a steady affection, a claim, which the Count
admitted and which Blanche did not reject.

While these visitors were at the chateau, it became a scene of gaiety
and splendour. The pavilion in the woods was fitted up and frequented,
in the fine evenings, as a supper-room, when the hour usually concluded
with a concert, at which the Count and Countess, who were scientific
performers, and the Chevaliers Henri and St. Foix, with the Lady Blanche
and Emily, whose voices and fine taste compensated for the want of more
skilful execution, usually assisted. Several of the Count's servants
performed on horns and other instruments, some of which, placed at
a little distance among the woods, spoke, in sweet response, to the
harmony, that proceeded from the pavilion.

At any other period, these parties would have been delightful to
Emily; but her spirits were now oppressed with a melancholy, which
she perceived that no kind of what is called amusement had power to
dissipate, and which the tender and, frequently, pathetic, melody of
these concerts sometimes increased to a very painful degree.

She was particularly fond of walking in the woods, that hung on a
promontory, overlooking the sea. Their luxuriant shade was soothing to
her pensive mind, and, in the partial views, which they afforded of
the Mediterranean, with its winding shores and passing sails, tranquil
beauty was united with grandeur. The paths were rude and frequently
overgrown with vegetation, but their tasteful owner would suffer little
to be done to them, and scarcely a single branch to be lopped from the
venerable trees. On an eminence, in one of the most sequestered parts
of these woods, was a rustic seat, formed of the trunk of a dec