The Mysteries of Udolpho HTML version

Chapter II.8
He wears the rose of youth upon his cheek.
We now return to Valancourt, who, it may be remembered, remained at Tholouse, some
time after the departure of Emily, restless and miserable. Each morrow that approached,
he designed should carry him from thence; yet to-morrow and to-morrow came, and still
saw him lingering in the scene of his former happiness. He could not immediately tear
himself from the spot, where he had been accustomed to converse with Emily, or from
the objects they had viewed together, which appeared to him memorials of her affection,
as well as a kind of surety for its faithfulness; and, next to the pain of bidding her adieu,
was that of leaving the scenes which so powerfully awakened her image. Sometimes he
had bribed a servant, who had been left in the care of Madame Montoni's chateau, to
permit him to visit the gardens, and there he would wander, for hours together, rapt in a
melancholy, not unpleasing. The terrace, and the pavilion at the end of it, where he had
taken leave of Emily, on the eve of her departure from Tholouse, were his most favourite
haunts. There, as he walked, or leaned from the window of the building, he would
endeavour to recollect all she had said, on that night; to catch the tones of her voice, as
they faintly vibrated on his memory, and to remember the exact expression of her
countenance, which sometimes came suddenly to his fancy, like a vision; that beautiful
countenance, which awakened, as by instantaneous magic, all the tenderness of his heart,
and seemed to tell with irresistible eloquence--that he had lost her forever! At these
moments, his hurried steps would have discovered to a spectator the despair of his heart.
The character of Montoni, such as he had received from hints, and such as his fears
represented it, would rise to his view, together with all the dangers it seemed to threaten
to Emily and to his love. He blamed himself, that he had not urged these more forcibly to
her, while it might have been in his power to detain her, and that he had suffered an
absurd and criminal delicacy, as he termed it, to conquer so soon the reasonable
arguments he had opposed to this journey. Any evil, that might have attended their
marriage, seemed so inferior to those, which now threatened their love, or even to the
sufferings, that absence occasioned, that he wondered how he could have ceased to urge
his suit, till he had convinced her of its propriety; and he would certainly now have
followed her to Italy, if he could have been spared from his regiment for so long a
journey. His regiment, indeed, soon reminded him, that he had other duties to attend, than
those of love.
A short time after his arrival at his brother's house, he was summoned to join his brother
officers, and he accompanied a battalion to Paris; where a scene of novelty and gaiety
opened upon him, such as, till then, he had only a faint idea of. But gaiety disgusted, and
company fatigued, his sick mind; and he became an object of unceasing raillery to his
companions, from whom, whenever he could steal an opportunity, he escaped, to think of
Emily. The scenes around him, however, and the company with whom he was obliged to