to condole with St. Aubert was a M. Barreaux,
an austere and seemingly unfeeling man. A taste for botany had
introduced them to each other, for they had frequently met in their
wanderings among the mountains. M. Barreaux had retired from the world,
and almost from society, to live in a pleasant chateau, on the skirts of
the woods, near La Vallee. He also had been disappointed in his opinion
of mankind; but he did not, like St. Aubert, pity and mourn for them;
he felt more indignation at their vices, than compassion for their
weaknesses.

St. Aubert was somewhat surprised to see him; for, though he had often
pressed him to come to the chateau, he had never till now accepted the
invitation; and now he came without ceremony or reserve, entering the
parlour as an old friend. The claims of misfortune appeared to have
softened down all the ruggedness and prejudices of his heart. St. Aubert
unhappy, seemed to be the sole idea that occupied his mind. It was in
manners, more than in words, that he appeared to sympathize with his
friends: he spoke little on the subject of their grief; but the minute
attention he gave them, and the modulated voice, and softened look that
accompanied it, came from his heart, and spoke to theirs.

At this melancholy period St. Aubert was likewise visited by Madame
Cheron, his only surviving sister, who had been some years a widow, and
now resided on her own estate near Tholouse. The intercourse between
them had not been very frequent. In her condolements, words were not
wanting; she understood not the magic of the look that speaks at once
to the soul, or the voice that sinks like balm to the heart: but she
assured St. Aubert that she sincerely sympathized with him, praised the
virtues of his late wife, and then offered what she considered to be
consolation. Emily wept unceasingly while she spoke; St. Aubert was
tranquil, listened to what she said in silence, and then turned the
discourse upon another subject.

At parting she pressed him and her niece to make her an early visit.
'Change of place will amuse you,' said she, 'and it is wrong to give way
to grief.' St. Aubert acknowledged the truth of these words of course;
but, at the same time, felt more reluctant than ever to quit the spot
which his past happiness had consecrated. The presence of his wife
had sanctified every surrounding scene, and, each day, as it gradually
softened the acuteness of his suffering, assisted the tender enchantment