CHAPTER VI.
I care not, Fortune! what you me deny; You cannot rob me of free nature's grace; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shews her brightening face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve: Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave: Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
THOMSON In the morning, Valancourt breakfasted with St.Aubert and Emily, neither of whom seemed much refreshed by sleep.

The languor of illness still hung over St.Aubert, and to Emily's fears his disorder appeared to be increasing fast upon him.

She watched his looks with anxious affection, and their expression was always faithfully reflected in her own.
At the commencement of their acquaintance, Valancourt had made known his name and family.

St.Aubert was not a stranger to either, for the family estates, which were now in the possession of an elder brother of Valancourt, were little more than twenty miles distant from La Vallee, and he had sometimes met the elder Valancourt on visits in the neighbourhood.

This knowledge had made him more willingly receive his present companion; for, though his countenance and manners would have won him the acquaintance of St.Aubert, who was very apt to trust to the intelligence of his own eyes, with respect to countenances, he would not have accepted these, as sufficient introductions to that of his daughter.
The breakfast was almost as silent as the supper of the preceding night; but their musing was at length interrupted by the sound of the carriage wheels, which were to bear away St.Aubert and Emily.