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.