What was to become of him now?
His life was shattered; a heart like his could not love twice, and Micheline's image was too deeply engraven on it for it ever to be effaced.

Of what use was all the trouble he had taken to raise himself above others?
A worthless fellow had passed that way and Micheline had yielded to him.

Now it was all over! And Pierre asked himself if he had not taken a wrong view of things, and if it was not the idle and good-for-nothing fellows who were more prudent than he.

To waste his life in superhuman works, to tire his mind in seeking to solve great problems, and to attain old age without other satisfaction than unproductive honors and mercenary rewards.

Those who only sought happiness and joy--epicureans who drive away all care, all pain, and only seek to soften their existence, and brighten their horizon--were they not true sages?
Death comes so quickly! And it is with astonishment that one perceives when the hour is at hand, that one has not lived! Then the voice of pride spoke to him: what is a man who remains useless, and does not leave one trace of his passage through the world by works or discoveries?
And, in a state of fever, Pierre said to himself: "I will throw myself heart and soul into science; I will make my name famous, and I will make that ungrateful child regret me.