l his joy
vanishing in a twinkling, with his confidence in himself and his faith
in the future. It was all up; he could not do anything, he would never
be anybody; he felt played out, incapable, good for nothing, damned.

And he went and leaned out of the window again, just as a train issued
from the tunnel with a loud and violent noise. It was going away, afar
off, across the fields and plains towards the sea. And the recollection
of his parents stirred in Duroy's breast. It would pass near them, that
train, within a few leagues of their house. He saw it again, the little
house at the entrance to the village of Canteleu, on the summit of the
slope overlooking Rouen and the immense valley of the Seine.

His father and mother kept a little inn, a place where the tradesfolk of
the suburbs of Rouen came out to lunch on Sunday at the sign of the
Belle Vue. They had wanted to make a gentleman of their son, and had
sent him to college. Having finished his studies, and been plowed for
his bachelor's degree, he had entered on his military service with the
intention of becoming an officer, a colonel, a general. But, disgusted
with military life long before the completion of his five years' term
of service, he had dreamed of making a fortune at Paris.

He came there at the expiration of his term of service, despite the
entreaties of his father and mother, whose visions having evaporated,
wanted now to have him at home with them. In his turn he hoped to
achieve a future; he foresaw a triumph by means as yet vaguely defined
in his mind, but which he felt sure he could scheme out and further.

He had had some successful love affairs in the regiment, some easy
conquests, and even some adventures in a better class of society, having
seduced a tax collector's daughter, who wanted to leave her home for his
sake, and a lawyer's wife, who had tried to drown herself in despair at
being abandoned.

His comrades used to say of him: "He is a sharp fellow, a deep one to
get out of a scrape, a chap who knows which side his bread is buttered,"
and he had promised himself to act up to this character.

His conscience, Norman by birth, worn by the daily dealings of garrison
life, rendered elastic by the examples of pillaging in Africa, illicit
commissions, shaky dodges; spurred, too, by the notions of honor current
in the army, military bravadoes, patriotic sentiments, the fine-sounding
tales current among sub-officers, and the vain glory of t