the field free, but
Julien felt no more confidence in himself than before. The fact that
Reine had so unaccountably refused to marry the grand chasserot did
not seem to him sufficient encouragement. Her motive was a secret,
and therefore, of doubtful interpretation. Besides, even if she were
entirely heart-whole, was that a reason why she should give Julien a
favorable reception? Could she forget the cruel insult to which he had
subjected her? And immediately after that outrageous behavior of his, he
had had the stupidity to make a proposal for Claudet. That was the kind
of affront, thought he, that a woman does not easily forgive, and the
very idea of presenting himself before her made his heart sink. He had
seen her only at a distance, at the Sunday mass, and every time he
had endeavored to catch her eye she had turned away her head. She also
avoided, in every way, any intercourse with the chateau. Whenever a
question arose, such as the apportionment of lands, or the allotment of
cuttings, which would necessitate her having recourse to M. de Buxieres,
she would abstain from writing herself, and correspond only through
the notary, Arbillot. Claudet's heroic departure, therefore, had really
accomplished nothing; everything was exactly at the same point as the
day after Julien's unlucky visit to La Thuiliere, and the same futile
doubts and fears agitated him now as then. It also occurred to him, that
while he was thus debating and keeping silence, days, weeks, and months
were slipping away; that Reine would soon reach her twenty-third year,
and that she would be thinking of marriage. It was well known that she
had some fortune, and suitors were not lacking. Even allowing that she
had no afterthought in renouncing Claudet, she could not always live
alone at the farm, 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