thoughtlessness, he began
to speak on other subjects, expressing his admiration of the chateau,
and its prospects. Emily, who felt somewhat embarrassed how to support
a conversation, was glad of such an opportunity to continue it on
indifferent topics. They walked down to the terrace, where Valancourt
was charmed with the river scenery, and the views over the opposite
shores of Guienne.

As he leaned on the wall of the terrace, watching the rapid current of
the Garonne, 'I was a few weeks ago,' said he, 'at the source of this
noble river; I had not then the happiness of knowing you, or I should
have regretted your absence--it was a scene so exactly suited to
your taste. It rises in a part of the Pyrenees, still wilder and more
sublime, I think, than any we passed in the way to Rousillon.' He then
described its fall among the precipices of the mountains, where its
waters, augmented by the streams that descend from the snowy summits
around, rush into the Vallee d'Aran, between whose romantic heights it
foams along, pursuing its way to the north west till it emerges upon the
plains of Languedoc. Then, washing the walls of Tholouse, and turning
again to the north west, it assumes a milder character, as it fertilizes
the pastures of Gascony and Guienne, in its progress to the Bay of
Biscay.

Emily and Valancourt talked of the scenes they had passed among
the Pyrenean Alps; as he spoke of which there was often a tremulous
tenderness in his voice, and sometimes he expatiated on them with all
the fire of genius, sometimes would appear scarcely conscious of the
topic, though he continued to speak. This subject recalled forcibly to
Emily the idea of her father, whose image appeared in every landscape,
which Valancourt particularized, whose remarks dwelt upon her memory,
and whose enthusiasm still glowed in her heart. Her silence, at length,
reminded Valancourt how nearly his conversation approached to the
occasion of her grief, and he changed the subject, though for one
scarcely less affecting to Emily. When he admired the grandeur of the
plane-tree, that spread its wide branches over the terrace, and under
whose shade they now sat, she remembered how often she had sat thus with
St. Aubert, and heard him express the same admiration.

'This was a favourite tree with my dear father,' said she; 'he used to
love to sit under its foliage with his family about him, in the fine
evenings of summer.'

Valancourt understood her feelin