And then to see his mother coming towards him, to hear from afar the rustle of her gown, to await her, to kiss her, to talk to her, to listen to her gave him such keen emotions that often a slight delay, a trifling fear would throw him into a violent fever.

In him there was nought but soul, and in order that the weak, debilitated body should not be destroyed by the keen emotions of that soul, Etienne needed silence, caresses, peace in the landscape, and the love of a woman.

For the time being, his mother gave him the love and the caresses; flowers and books entranced his solitude; his little kingdom of sand and shells, algae and verdure seemed to him a universe, ever fresh and new.
Etienne imbibed all the benefits of this physical and absolutely innocent life, this mental and moral life so poetically extended.
A child by form, a man in mind, he was equally angelic under either aspect.

By his mother's influence his studies had removed his emotions to the region of ideas.

The action of his life took place, therefore, in the moral world, far from the social world which would either have killed him or made him suffer.