The rays of the August sun fell with scorching violence upon the sandy soil, and withered the few plants which had sprung up since the last rain.
The stillness was profound, almost terrible.

Not a sound broke the silence, not even the buzzing of an insect, nor a whisper of breeze in the trees.

All nature seemed sleeping.

And on no side was there anything to remind one of life, motion, or mankind.
This repose of nature, which contrasted so vividly with the tumult raging in his own heart, exerted a beneficial effect upon Maurice.
These few moments of solitude afforded him an opportunity to regain his composure, to collect his thoughts scattered by the storm of passion which had swept over his soul, as leaves are scattered by the fierce November gale.
With sorrow comes experience, and that cruel knowledge of life which teaches one to guard one's self against one's hopes.
It was not until he heard the conversation of these peasants that Maurice fully realized the horror of Lacheneur's position.

Suddenly precipitated from the social eminence which he had attained, he found, in the valley of humiliations into which he was cast, only hatred, distrust, and scorn.