He had been there formerly, just when he had got engaged, and so he made
up his mind to go there again, and he chose a Sunday without any special
reason, but merely because people generally do go out on Sundays, even
when they have nothing to do all the week, and so one Sunday morning he
went to Saint-Germain. It was at the beginning of July, on a very bright
and hot day. Sitting by the door of the railway-carriage, he watched the
trees and the strangely built little houses in the outskirts of Paris
fly past. He felt low-spirited, and vexed at having yielded to that new
longing, and at having broken through his usual habits. The view, which
was continually changing, and always the same, wearied him. He was
thirsty; he would have liked to get out at every station and sit down in
the _café_ which he saw outside and drink a _bock_ or two, and then take
the first train back to Paris. And then, the journey seemed very long to
him. He used to remain sitting for whole days, as long as he had the
same motionless objects before his eyes, but he found it very trying and
fatiguing to remain sitting while he was being whirled along, and to see
the whole country fly by, while he himself was motionless.

However, he found the Seine interesting, every time he crossed it. Under
the bridge at Chatou he saw some skiffs going at great pace under the
vigorous strokes of the bare-armed oarsmen, and he thought: "There are
some fellows who are certainly enjoying themselves!" And then the train
entered the tunnel just before you get to the station at Saint-Germain,
and soon stopped at the arrival platform, where Parent got out, and
walked slowly, for he already felt tired, towards the _Terrace_, with
his hands behind his back, and when he got to the iron balustrade, he
stopped to look at the distant horizon. The vast plain spread out before
him like the sea, green, and studded with large villages, almost as
populous as towns. White roads crossed it, and it was well wooded in