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Fortunately for M. de Rênal's reputation as an administrator, a huge retaining wall was needed for the public promenade that runs along the hillside a hundred feet above the Doubs. It owes this admirable position one of the most picturesque views in France. But every spring, rainwater criss-crossed the promenade, cutting ravines and making it impassable. This inconvenience, felt by all, prompted M. de Rênal to immortalize his administration with a
wall twenty feet high and thirty or forty toises long. When Julien entered the garden that evening, he was ready to deal with the ideas of the pretty cousins. They were waiting impatiently for him. He took his usual place, next to Mme de Rênal. The darkness soon deepened. He wanted to take a white hand that he had long seen near him, resting on the back of a chair. They hesitated a little, but finally took it away from him in a way that showed their mood. Julien was ready to take it for granted,
and to continue the conversation cheerfully, when he heard M. de Rênal approaching. Julien thought of Mme de Rênal. His distrust left him susceptible only to the kind of memories that are called forth by contrasts, but then he was seized by them to the point of tenderness. This disposition was heightened by the appearance of the depot director's house. He was shown around. Everything was magnificent and new, and he was told the price of each piece of furniture. But Julien found something
despicable and smacked of stolen money. Right down to the servants, everyone there seemed to be trying to keep their composure against scorn. As he approached his factory, Father Sorel called to Julien in his stentorian voice; no one answered. He saw only his eldest sons, giant-like creatures armed with heavy axes, squaring fir trunks and carrying them to the saw. Busy as they were following the black mark on the piece of wood, each blow of their axe separated huge shavings. They didn't hear
their father's voice. As he entered the shed, he looked in vain for Julien in the place he should have occupied, next to the saw. He spotted him five or six feet up, straddling one of the roof pieces. Instead of attentively watching the action of the entire mechanism, Julien was reading. Nothing was more unsympathetic to the old Sorel; he might have forgiven Julien's slim stature, unsuited to hard work and so different from that of his elders; but this reading mania was abhorrent to him; he
couldn't read himself. A few days before Saint Louis, Julien, walking alone and saying his breviary in a little wood called the Belvedere, overlooking the Cours de la Fidélité, had tried in vain to avoid his two brothers, whom he saw coming from afar along a solitary path. The jealousy of these coarse workers had been so provoked by their brother's handsome black habit, his extremely clean air, and his sincere contempt for them, that they had beaten him to the point of leaving him fainting and
bleeding. Mme de Rênal, walking with M. Valenod and the sous-préfet, came by chance into the little wood; she saw Julien lying on the ground and thought him dead. Such was her shock that it made M. Valenod jealous. It was Mme de Rênal, who had made a trip to the city, and who, climbing the stairs four by four and leaving her children occupied with a favorite rabbit who was on the trip, had reached Julien's room a moment before they did. Mme de Rênal had disappeared when the children arrived with
the rabbit, which they wanted to show their friend. Julien welcomed everyone, even the rabbit. It seemed to him that he was back with his family; he felt that he liked these children, that he enjoyed chatting with them. He was astonished by the gentleness of their voices, the simplicity
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