His life seemed ended.

Nothing appeared what it had been.

The very landscape seemed cut in stone, and he a stone in the middle of it, and his heart a stone in him.

At times, across that heavy heart came gushes of furious rage and bitter mortification; his heart was broken, and his faith was gone, for his vanity had been stabbed as fiercely as his love.

"Georges Dandin!" he would cry, "curse her! curse her!" But love and misery overpowered these heats, and froze him to stone again.
The poor boy pined and pined.