Three years, during which there had been months when they had seen each other every day--was all this nothing?
Life is not a great thing.
And what one puts in it, how little that is! In fine, she had nothing of which to complain.

But it was better to end it all.

All these reflections brought her back to that point.

It was not a resolution; resolutions may be changed.

It was graver: it was a state of the body and of the mind.
When she arrived at the square, in the centre of which is a fountain, and on one side of which stands a church of rustic style, showing its bell in an open belfry, she recalled the little bouquet of violets that he had given to her one night on the bridge near Notre Dame.