Yes, he realised that she did not now, and never would, love him.

That being the case, what use was there in seeing her?
Yet on the morrow, as well as on the following days, he did not fail to go to the little house on the Rue des Orfevres.

The hours which he could not pass there were sad enough, tortured as he was by his uncertainties, distressed by his mental struggles.

He was never calm, except when he was near her as she sat at her frame.

Provided that she was by his side, it seemed to him that he could resign himself to the acceptance of the fact that he was disagreeable to her.
Every morning he arrived at an early hour, spoke of the work, then seated himself as if his presence there were absolutely necessary.