endering her averse to society, she would willingly have deferred her
acceptance of this invitation, till her spirits should be relieved.
The Count and his family, however, pressed to see her; and, as the
circumstances, that prompted her wish for solitude, could not be
explained, there was an appearance of caprice in her refusal, which she
could not persevere in, without offending the friends, whose esteem
she valued. At length, therefore, she returned upon a second visit
to Chateau-le-Blanc. Here the friendly manner of Count De Villefort
encouraged Emily to mention to him her situation, respecting the estates
of her late aunt, and to consult him on the means of recovering them. He
had little doubt, that the law would decide in her favour, and, advising
her to apply to it, offered first to write to an advocate at Avignon,
on whose opinion he thought he could rely. His kindness was gratefully
accepted by Emily, who, soothed by the courtesy she daily experienced,
would have been once more happy, could she have been assured of
Valancourt's welfare and unaltered affection. She had now been above a
week at the chateau, without receiving intelligence of him, and, though
she knew, that, if he was absent from his brother's residence, it was
scarcely probable her letter had yet reached him, she could not forbear
to admit doubts and fears, that destroyed her peace. Again she would
consider of all, that might have happened in the long period, since her
first seclusion at Udolpho, and her mind was sometimes so overwhelmed
with an apprehension, that Valancourt was no more, or that he lived
no longer for her, that the company even of Blanche became intolerably
oppressive, and she would sit alone in her apartment for hours together,
when the engagements of the family allowed her to do so, without
incivility.

In one of these solitary hours, she unlocked a little box, which
contained some letters of Valancourt, with some drawings she had
sketched, during her stay in Tuscany, the latter of which were no
longer interesting to her; but, in the letters, she now, with melancholy
indulgence, meant to retrace the tenderness, that had so often soothed
her, and rendered her, for a moment, insensible of the distance, which
separated her from the writer. But their effect was now changed; the
affection they expressed appealed so forcibly to her heart, when she
considered that it had, perhaps, yielded to the powers of time and
absence, and even the