of her love for Claudet, he was more than ever oppressed by his hopeless
passion, and plunged into a condition of complete moral and physical
disintegration. It mingled with his blood, his nerves, his thoughts, and
possessed him altogether, dwelling within him like an adored and
tyrannical mistress. Reine appeared constantly before him as he had
contemplated her on the outside steps of the farmhouse, in her never-to-
be-forgotten negligee of the short skirt and the half-open bodice. He
again beheld the silken treasure of her tresses, gliding playfully around
her shoulders, the clear, honest look of her limpid eyes, the expressive
smile of her enchanting lips, and with a sudden revulsion of feeling he
reflected that perhaps before a month was over, all these charms would
belong to Claudct. Then, almost at the same moment, like a swallow,
which, with one rapid turn of its wing, changes its course, his thoughts
went in the opposite direction, and he began to imagine what would have
happened if, instead of replying in the affirmative, Reine had objected
to marrying Claudet. He could picture himself kneeling before her as
before the Madonna, and in a low voice confessing his love. He would
have taken her hands so respectfully, and pleaded so eloquently, that she
would have allowed herself to be convinced. The little, hands would have
remained prisoners in his own; he would have lifted her tenderly,
devotedly, in his arms, and under the influence of this feverish dream,
he fancied he could feel the beating heart of the young girl against his
own bosom. Suddenly he would wake up out of his illusions, and bite his
lips with rage on finding himself in the dull reality of his own
dwelling.

One day he heard footsteps on the gravel; a sonorous and jovial voice met
his ear. It was Claudet, starting for La Thuiliere. Julien bent forward
to see him, and ground his teeth as he watched his joyous departure. The
sharp sting of jealousy entered his soul, and he rebelled against the