rm, and some
day she would be compelled to accept a marriage of convenience, if not of
love.

"And to think," he would say to himself, "that she is there, only a few
steps away, that I am consumed with longing, that I have only to traverse
those pastures, to throw myself at her feet, and that I positively dare
not! Miserable wretch that I am, it was last spring, while we were in
that but together, that I should have spoken of my love, instead of
terrifying her with my brutal caresses! Now it is too late! I have
wounded and humiliated her; I have driven away Claudet, who would at any
rate have made her a stalwart lover, and I have made two beings unhappy,
without counting myself. So much for my miserable shufflings and evasion!
Ah! if one could only begin life over again!"

While thus lamenting his fate, the march of time went steadily on, with
its pitiless dropping out of seconds, minutes, and hours. The worst part
of winter was over; the March gales had dried up the forests; April was
tingeing the woods with its tender green; the song of the cuckoo was
already heard in the tufted bowers, and the festival of St. George had
passed.

Taking advantage of an unusually clear day, Julien went to visit a farm,
belonging to him, in the plain of Anjeures, on the border of the forest
of Maigrefontaine. After breakfasting with the farmer, he took the way
home through the woods, so that he might enjoy the first varied effects
of the season.

The forest of Maigrefontaine, situated on the slope of a hill, was full
of rocky, broken ground, interspersed with deep ravines, along which
narrow but rapid streams ran to swell the fishpond of La Thuiliere.
Julien had wandered away from the road, into the thick of the forest
where the budding vegetation was at its height, where the lilies multiply
and the early spring flowers disclose their umbellshaped clusters, full of
tiny, white stars. The sight of these blossoms, which had such a tender
meaning for him, since he had identified the name with that of Reine,
brought vividly before him the beloved image of the young girl. He walked
slowly and languidly on, heated by his feverish recollections and
desires, tormented by useless self-reproach, and physically intoxicated
by the balmy atmosphere and the odor of the flowering shrubs at his feet.
Arriving at the edge of a somewhat deep pit, he tried to leap across with
a single bound, but, whether he made a false start, or that he was
weakened