Instead of taking the road to Turin, Frédéric gave orders to drive toward Grenoble; he desired to visit that city and its suburbs, especially the Carthusian monastery, whose wild aspect astounds and almost terrifies the traveller. Dubourg was in no hurry to reach Italy; it mattered little to him in which direction they went. Moreover, since his last misadventure, he did not presume to offer his advice. As for Ménard, he was always ready to yield to Frédéric's wishes, but the name of the Carthusian monastery made him shudder; he was afraid that his former pupil would want to take up his quarters in some hermitage, and he felt no sort of inclination for a frugal life.
As they drew near the banks of the Isère, the country became more picturesque, more mountainous, and more impressive. The fields were interspersed with thickets; the brooks, after trickling across a plain, plunged in foamy cascades over steep cliffs. How different the scene from the noisy suburbs of Paris and the lovely landscapes of the Rhône valley! The picture was more serious, more majestic perhaps, disposing the mind to pleasant reverie, and wafting one's thoughts far from the turmoil of great cities.
"What a beautiful country this is!" said Frédéric; "I find here an indefinable charm which fascinates my heart as well as my eyes. How pleasant it is to drive along these shady roads!"
"And dream of Madame Dernange, I suppose?"
"Oh! no, Dubourg; she has been out of my thoughts for a long while, I assure you, as have all the rest of the coquettes I knew in Paris."
"Well, what do you dream about, then, in your long, solitary walks?"
"Alas! I don't know; I dream of a being I have never seen, a woman who is lovely, sweet-tempered, loving, and, above all, faithful!"
"And you look for her on the banks of a brook?"
"I don't look for her; I am waiting for chance to bring us together."
"If chance should wait for thirty years or so, you would both be a trifle mature."