rld, had
it been his, to recover the letter. Emily, however, was spared the
pain she must have received from it by the suspicious policy of Madame
Montoni, who had ordered, that all letters, addressed to her niece,
should be delivered to herself, and who, after having perused this and
indulged the expressions of resentment, which Valancourt's mention of
Montoni provoked, had consigned it to the flames.

Montoni, meanwhile, every day more impatient to leave France, gave
repeated orders for dispatch to the servants employed in preparations
for the journey, and to the persons, with whom he was transacting some
particular business. He preserved a steady silence to the letters in
which Valancourt, despairing of greater good, and having subdued the
passion, that had transgressed against his policy, solicited only the
indulgence of being allowed to bid Emily farewell. But, when the latter
[Valancourt] learned, that she was really to set out in a very few days,
and that it was designed he should see her no more, forgetting every
consideration of prudence, he dared, in a second letter to Emily, to
propose a clandestine marriage. This also was transmitted to Madame
Montoni, and the last day of Emily's stay at Tholouse arrived, without
affording Valancourt even a line to sooth his sufferings, or a hope,
that he should be allowed a parting interview.

During this period of torturing suspense to Valancourt, Emily was sunk
into that kind of stupor, with which sudden and irremediable misfortune
sometimes overwhelms the mind. Loving him with the tenderest affection,
and having long been accustomed to consider him as the friend and
companion of all her future days, she had no ideas of happiness, that
were not connected with him. What, then, must have been her suffering,
when thus suddenly they were to be separated, perhaps, for ever,
certainly to be thrown into distant parts of the world, where they could
scarcely hear of each other's existence; and all this in obedience to
the will of a stranger, for such as Montoni, and of a person, who had
but lately been anxious to hasten their nuptials! It was in vain, that
she endeavoured to subdue her grief, and resign herself to an event,
which she could not avoid. The silence of Valancourt afflicted more than
it surprised her, since she attributed it to its just occasion; but,
when the day, preceding that, on which she was to quit Tholouse,
arrived, and she had heard no mention of his being pe