He would return from these expeditions exhausted but not appeased.  Sometimes he would come across Claudet, also returning home from paying his court to Reine Vincart; and the unhappy Julien would scrutinize his rival’s countenance, seeking eagerly for some trace of the impressions he had received during the loving interview.  His curiosity was nearly always baffled; for Claudet seemed to have left all his gayety and conversational powers at La Thuiliere.  During their tete-a-tete meals, he hardly spoke at all, maintaining a reserved attitude and a taciturn countenance.  Julien, provoked at this unexpected sobriety, privately accused his cousin of dissimulation, and of trying to conceal his happiness.  His jealousy so blinded him that he considered the silence of Claudet as pure hypocrisy not recognizing that it was assumed for the purpose of concealing some unpleasantness rather than satisfaction.

The fact was that Claudet, although rejoicing at the turn matters had taken, was verifying the poet’s saying:  “Never is perfect happiness our lot.”  When Julien brought him the good news, and he had flown so joyfully to La Thuiliere, he had certainly been cordially received by Reine, but, nevertheless, he had noticed with surprise an absent and dreamy look in her eyes, which did not agree with his idea of a first interview of lovers.  When he wished to express his affection in the vivacious and significant manner ordinarily employed among the peasantry, that is to say, by vigorous embracing and resounding kisses, he met with unexpected resistance.

“Keep quiet!” was the order, “and let us talk rationally!”

He obeyed, although not agreeing in her view of the reserve to be maintained between lovers; but, he made up his mind to return to the charge and triumph over her bashful scruples.  In fact, he began again the very next day, and his impetuous ardor encountered the same refusal in the same firm, though affectionate manner.  He ventured to complain, telling Reine that she did not love him as she ought.

“If I did not feel friendly toward you,” replied the young girl, laconically, “should I have allowed you to talk to me of marriage?”

Then, seeing that he looked vexed and worried, and realizing that she was perhaps treating him too roughly, she continued, more gently: 

“Remember, Claudet, that I am living all alone at the farm.  That obliges me to have more reserve than a girl whose mother is with her.  So you must not be offended if I do not behave exactly as others might, and rest assured that it will not prevent me from being a good wife to you, when we are married.”

“Well, now,” thought Claudet, as he was returning despondently to Vivey:  “I can’t help thinking that a little caress now and then wouldn’t hurt any one!”