d so often
traversed light of heart and of foot, and felt mortally unhappy. These
sheltering lanes and growing thickets, where he had so frequently
encountered Reine, the beautiful hunting-grounds in which he had taken
such delight, only awakened painful sensations, and he felt as if he
should grow to hate them all if he were obliged to pass the rest of his
days in their midst. As the day waned, the sinuosities of the forest
became more blended; the depth of the valleys was lost in thick vapors.
The wind had risen. The first falling leaves of the season rose and fell
like wounded birds; heavy clouds gathered in the sky, and the night was
coming on apace. Claudet was grateful for the sudden darkness, which
would blot out a view now so distasteful to him. Shortly, on the Auberive
side, along the winding Aubette, feeble lights became visible, as if
inviting the young man to profit by their guidance. He arose, took the
path indicated, and went to supper, or rather, to a pretence of supper,
in the same inn where he had breakfasted with Julien, whence the latter
had gone on his mission to Reine. This remembrance alone would have
sufficed to destroy his appetite.

He did not remain long at table; he could not, in fact, stay many minutes
in one place, and so, notwithstanding the urgent insistence of the
hostess, he started on the way back to Vivey, feeling his way through the
profound darkness. When he reached the chateau, every one was in bed.
Noiselessly, his dog creeping after him, he slipped into his room, and,
overcome with fatigue, fell into a heavy slumber.

The next morning his first visit was to Julien. He found him in a nervous
and feverish condition, having passed a sleepless night. Claudet's
revelations had entirely upset his intentions, and planted fresh thorns
of jealousy in his heart. On first hearing that the marriage was broken
off, his heart had leaped for joy, and hope had revived within him; but
the subsequent information that Mademoiselle Vincart was probably
interested in some lover, as yet unknown, had grievously sobered him. He
was indignant at Reine's duplicity, and Claudet's cowardly resignation.
The agony caused by Claudet's betrothal was a matter of course, but this
love-for-a-stranger episode was an unexpected and mortal wound. He was
seized with violent fits of rage; he was sometimes tempted to go and
reproach the young girl with what he called her breach of faith, and then
go and throw himself at