Madame La Motte, fearful that in the carelessness of the present moment he might betray himself, withdrew with Adeline to another room. Adeline recollected the happy hours she once passed with her, when confidence banished reserve, and sympathy and esteem dictated the sentiments of friendship: now those hours were gone for ever; she could no longer unbosom her griefs to Madame La Motte, no longer even esteem her. Yet, notwithstanding all the danger to which she was exposed by the criminal silence of the latter, she could not converse with her, consciously for the last time, without feeling a degree of sorrow which wisdom may call weakness, but to which benevolence will allow a softer name.
Madame La Motte in her conversation appeared to labour under an almost equal oppression with Adeline: her thoughts were abstracted from the subject of discourse, and there were long and frequent intervals of silence. Adeline more than once caught her gazing with a look of tenderness upon her, and saw her eyes fill with tears. By this circumstance she was so much affected, that she was several times upon the point of throwing herself at her feet, and imploring her pity and protection. Cooler reflection showed her the extravagance and danger of this conduct: she suppressed her emotions, but they at length compelled her to withdraw from the presence of Madame La Motte.
Thou! to whom the world unknown With all its shadowy shapes is shown; Who seest appall'd th' unreal scene, While fancy lifts the veil between; Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear! I see, I see thee near! I know thy hurry'd step, thy haggard eye Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly!
Adeline anxiously watched from her chamber window the sun set behind the distant hills, and the time of her departure draw nigh: it set with uncommon splendour, and threw a fiery gleam athwart the woods and upon some scattered fragments of the ruins, which she could not gaze upon with indifference. Never, probably, again shall I see the sun sink below those hills, said she, or illumine this scene! Where shall I be when next it sets--where this time to-morrow? sunk perhaps in misery! She wept at the thought. A few hours, resumed Adeline, and the Marquis will arrive--a few hours, and this abbey will be a scene of confusion and tumult: every eye will be in search of me, every recess will be explored. These reflections inspired her with new terror, and increased her impatience to be gone.