Having missed his season of childhood, was he also doomed to have no youth?
Others found delight in the most ordinary amusements, why, to him, did life seem so insipid and colorless?
Why was he so unfortunately constituted that all human joys lost their sweetness as soon as he opened his heart to them?
Nothing made any powerful impression on him; everything that happened seemed to be a perpetual reiteration, a song sung for the hundredth time, a story a hundred times related.
He was like a new vase, cracked before it had served its use, and he felt thoroughly ashamed of the weakness and infirmity of his inner self.
Thus pondering, he traversed much ground, hardly knowing where he was going.

The fog, which now filled the air and which almost hid the trenches with its thin bluish veil, made it impossible to discover his bearings.

At last he reached the border of some pastureland, which he crossed, and then he perceived, not many steps away, some buildings with tiled roofs, which had something familiar to him in their aspect.

After he had gone a few feet farther he recognized the court and facade of La Thuiliere; and, as he looked over the outer wall, a sight altogether novel and unexpected presented itself.
Standing in the centre of the courtyard, her outline showing in dark relief against the light "sugar-frosting," stood Reine Vincart, her back turned to Julien.

She held up a corner of her apron with one hand, and with the other took out handfuls of grain, which she scattered among the birds fluttering around her.