hat mean those tears?--they speak,
I fear, another language--they plead for me.'

'They are weak tears, for they are useless ones,' replied the Count,
drying them, 'I would have you superior to such weakness. These,
however, are only faint traces of a grief, which, if it had not been
opposed by long continued effort, might have led me to the verge
of madness! Judge, then, whether I have not cause to warn you of an
indulgence, which may produce so terrible an effect, and which must
certainly, if not opposed, overcloud the years, that otherwise might
be happy. M. Du Pont is a sensible and amiable man, who has long
been tenderly attached to you; his family and fortune are
unexceptionable;--after what I have said, it is unnecessary to add, that
I should rejoice in your felicity, and that I think M. Du Pont would
promote it. Do not weep, Emily,' continued the Count, taking her hand,
'there IS happiness reserved for you.'

He was silent a moment; and then added, in a firmer voice, 'I do not
wish, that you should make a violent effort to overcome your feelings;
all I, at present, ask, is, that you will check the thoughts, that would
lead you to a remembrance of the past; that you will suffer your mind to
be engaged by present objects; that you will allow yourself to believe
it possible you may yet be happy; and that you will sometimes think
with complacency of poor Du Pont, and not condemn him to the state of
despondency, from which, my dear Emily, I am endeavouring to withdraw
you.'

'Ah! my dear sir,' said Emily, while her tears still fell, 'do not
suffer the benevolence of your wishes to mislead Mons. Du Pont with
an expectation that I can ever accept his hand. If I understand my own
heart, this never can be; your instruction I can obey in almost every
other particular, than that of adopting a contrary belief.'

'Leave me to understand your heart,' replied the Count, with a faint
smile. 'If you pay me the compliment to be guided by my advice in
other instances, I will pardon your incredulity, respecting your future
conduct towards Mons. Du Pont. I will not even press you to remain
longer at the chateau than your own satisfaction will permit; but though
I forbear to oppose your present retirement, I shall urge the claims of
friendship for your future visits.'

Tears of gratitude mingled with those of tender regret, while Emily
thanked the Count for the many instances of friendship she had received
from him; promised to