auty, and the same spirit of ambuscade and perfidy.
The people around him inspired him only with mistrust and suspicion. In
every peasant he met he recognized an enemy, prepared to cheat him with
wheedling words and hypocritical lamentations. Although during the few
months he had experienced the delightful influence of Reine Vincart,
he had been drawn out of his former prejudices, and had imagined he was
rising above the littleness of every-day worries; he now fell back
into hard reality; his feet were again embedded in the muddy ground of
village politics, and consequently village life was a burden to him.

He never went out, fearing to meet Reine Vincart. He fancied that the
sight of her might aggravate the malady from which he suffered and for
which he eagerly sought a remedy.

But, notwithstanding the cloistered retirement to which he had condemned
himself, his wound remained open. Instead of solitude having a healing
effect, it seemed to make his sufferings greater. When, in the evening,
as he sat moodily at his window, he would hear Claudet whistle to his
dog, and hurry off in the direction of La Thuiliere, he would say to
himself: "He is going to keep an appointment with Reine." Then a feeling
of blind rage would overpower him; he felt tempted to leave his room and
follow his rival secretly--a moment afterward he would be ashamed of his
meanness. Was it not enough that he had once, although involuntarily,
played the degrading part of a spy! What satisfaction could he derive
from such a course? Would he be much benefited when he returned home
with rage in his heart and senses, after watching a love-scene between
the young pair? This consideration kept him in his seat, but his
imagination ran riot instead; it went galloping at the heels of Claudet,
and accompanied him down the winding paths, moistened by the evening
dew. As the moon rose above the trees, illuminating the foliage with her
mild bluish rays, he pictured to himself the meeting of the two lovers
on the flowery turf bathed in the silvery light. His brain seemed on
fire. He saw Reine in white advancing like a moonbeam, and Claudet
passing his arm around the yielding waist of the maiden. He tried to
substitute himself in idea, and to imagine the delight of the first
words of welcome, and the ecstasy of the prolonged embrace. A shiver ran
through his whole body; a sharp pain transfixed his heart; his throat
closed convulsively; half fainting, he leaned agai