reading under foot the dry frosty leaves, he
reflected how the monotonous crackling of this foliage, once so full of
life, now withered and rendered brittle by the frost, seemed to represent
his own deterioration of feeling. It was a sad and suitable accompaniment
of his own gloomy thoughts.

He was deeply mortified at the sorry figure he had presented at the
breakfast-table. He acknowledged sorrowfully to himself that, at
twenty-eight years of age, he was less young and less really alive than
all these country squires, although all, except Claudet, had passed their
fortieth year. Having missed his season of childhood, was he also doomed
to have no youth? Others found delight in the most ordinary amusements,
why, to him, did life seem so insipid and colorless?

Why was he so unfortunately constituted that all human joys lost their
sweetness as soon as he opened his heart to them? Nothing made any
powerful impression on him; everything that happened seemed to be a
perpetual reiteration, a song sung for the hundredth time, a story a
hundred times related.

He was like a new vase, cracked before it had served its use, and he felt
thoroughly ashamed of the weakness and infirmity of his inner self. Thus
pondering, he traversed much ground, hardly knowing where he was going.
The fog, which now filled the air and which almost hid the trenches with
its thin bluish veil, made it impossible to discover his bearings. At
last he reached the border of some pastureland, which he crossed, and
then he perceived, not many steps away, some buildings with tiled roofs,
which had something familiar to him in their aspect. After he had gone a
few feet farther he recognized the court and facade of La Thuiliere; and,
as he looked over the outer wall, a sight altogether novel and unexpected
presented itself.

Standing in the centre of the courtyard, her outline showing in dark
relief against the light "sugar-frosting," stood Reine Vincart, her back
turned to Julien. She held up a corner of her apron with one hand, and
with the other took out handfuls of grain, which she scattered among the
birds fluttering around her. At each moment the little band was augmented
by a new arrival. All these little creatures were of species which do not
emigrate, but pass the winter in the shelter of the wooded dells. There
were blackbirds with yellow bills, who advanced boldly over the snow up
to the very feet of the distributing fairy; robin redbreasts, near