He had reseated himself at the table, where, leaning his head in his hands, he pondered over what Claudet had said.
He placed his hand so as to screen his eyes, and bit his lips as if a painful struggle was going on within him.

The splendors of the setting sun had merged into the dusky twilight, and the last piping notes of the birds sounded faintly among the sombre trees.

A fresh breeze had sprung up, and filled the darkening room with the odor of honeysuckle.
Under the soothing influence of the falling night, Julien slowly raised his head, and addressing Claudet in a low and measured voice like a father confessor interrogating a penitent, said: "Does Reine know that you love her ?" "I think she must suspect it," replied Claudet, "although I never have ventured to declare myself squarely.

But girls are very quick, Reine especially.

They soon begin to suspect there is some love at bottom, when a young man begins to hang around them too frequently." "You see her often, then ?" "Not as often as I should like.