he insect, the deer fighting among themselves, and
man, in his turn, pursuing all kinds of game. He identified nature with
woman, both possessing in his eyes an equally deceiving appearance, the
same beguiling beauty, 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 de