For a week or two nothing occurred.

The father went fishing; Jean, with his mother's help, was furnishing and settling himself; Pierre, very gloomy, never was seen excepting at meal-times.
His father having asked him one evening: "Why the deuce do you always com in with a face as cheerful as a funeral?
This is not the first time I have remarked it." The doctor replied: "The fact is I am terribly conscious of the burden of life." The old man did not have a notion what he meant, and with an aggrieved look he went on: "It really is too bad.

Ever since we had the good luck to come into this legacy, every one seems unhappy.

It is as though some accident had befallen us, as if we were in mourning for some one." "I am in mourning for some one," said Pierre.
"You are?
For whom ?" "For some one you never knew, and of whom I was too fond." Roland imagined that his son alluded to some girl with whom he had had some love passages, and he said: "A woman, I suppose." "Yes, a woman." "Dead ?" "No.

Worse.