No matter what he thought about, he always returned to these same questions which he could not solve and yet could not cease to ask himself.

It was as if the thread of the chief screw which held his life together were stripped, so that the screw could not get in or out, but went on turning uselessly in the same place.

The postmaster came in and began obsequiously to beg his excellency to wait only two hours, when, come what might, he would let his excellency have the courier horses.

It was plain that he was lying and only wanted to get more money from the traveler.

"Is this good or bad?" Pierre asked himself.