destroyed his passionate hopes of love, and left him stranded and forlorn
without either haven or pilot, blown hither and thither solely by the
violence of his passion.

By degrees he took an aversion to his home, and would spend entire days
in the woods. Their secluded haunts, already colored by the breath of
autumn, became more attractive to him as other refuge failed him. They
were his consolation; his doubts, weakness, and amorous regrets, found
sympathy and indulgence under their silent shelter. He felt less lonely,
less humiliated, less prosaic among these great forest depths, these
lofty ash-trees, raising their verdant branches to heaven. He found he
could more easily evoke the seductive image of Reine Vincart in these
calm solitudes, where the recollections of the previous springtime
mingled with the phantoms of his heated imagination and clothed
themselves with almost living forms. He seemed to see the young girl
rising from the mists of the distant valleys. The least fluttering of
the leaves heralded her fancied approach. At times the hallucination was
so complete that he could see, in the interlacing of the branches, the
undulations of her supple form, and the graceful outlines of her profile.
Then he would be seized by an insane desire to reach the fugitive and
speak to her once more, and would go tearing along the brushwood for that
purpose. Now and then, in the half light formed by the hanging boughs,
he would see rays of golden light, coming straight down to the ground,
and resting there lightly like diaphanous apparitions. Sometimes the
rustling of birds taking flight, would sound in his ears like the timid
frou-frou of a skirt, and Julien, fascinated by the mysterious charm of
these indefinite objects, and following the impulse of their mystical
suggestions, would fling himself impetuously into the jungle, repeating
to him self the words of the "Canticle of Canticles": "I hear the voice
of my beloved; behold! she cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping