Chap­ter IV begins with Denis expe­ri­enc­ing a morn­ing of qui­et inde­ci­sion, his mood shaped by small choic­es that feel dis­pro­por­tion­ate­ly impor­tant. Faced with a choice between black and white shoes, he exam­ines him­self in the mir­ror with exag­ger­at­ed care. Though well-dressed in patent leather, he remains uncon­vinced by his own reflection—both proud and self-crit­i­cal. This dual­i­ty echoes through his behav­ior as he descends to break­fast, where he finds Jen­ny already present. Their inter­ac­tion is frag­ment­ed, a patch­work of mis­matched remarks and awk­ward paus­es. Denis tries to reach her through con­ver­sa­tion, but the exchange feels like two scripts being read simul­ta­ne­ous­ly with­out over­lap.

Jen­ny, expres­sive and aloof, reacts with detached curios­i­ty, nev­er quite con­nect­ing with what Denis is try­ing to say. His thoughts, filled with unspo­ken emo­tions and abstract ideas, are lost on her. She lis­tens, occa­sion­al­ly respond­ing, but nev­er tru­ly engag­ing on the lev­el he desires. For Denis, who craves depth, the dis­joint­ed dia­logue rein­forces his sense of social and emo­tion­al dis­lo­ca­tion. Jenny’s silence feels impen­e­tra­ble, even when punc­tu­at­ed by laugh­ter or obser­va­tion. This brief encounter sets the stage for Denis’s con­tin­u­al frus­tra­tion through­out the day—a desire for close­ness thwart­ed by mis­align­ment. It becomes clear that Jen­ny, though phys­i­cal­ly present, remains emo­tion­al­ly dis­tant.

After break­fast, Denis’s encounter with Anne reveals anoth­er lay­er of his long­ing. The moment is taint­ed by his own self-con­scious­ness as she casu­al­ly com­ments on his appear­ance. What Denis hoped might be a ten­der inter­ac­tion begins instead with awk­ward­ness. Still, Anne’s pres­ence sparks his enthu­si­asm, and he fol­lows her into the gar­den where their con­ver­sa­tion grad­u­al­ly gains momen­tum. There, they explore ideas that have weighed heav­i­ly on Denis’s mind: the pur­pose of learn­ing, the val­ue of expe­ri­ence, and the emo­tion­al void left by abstract under­stand­ing. Anne’s clear-eyed real­ism both attracts and unset­tles him. She lives by instinct and direct­ness, not reflec­tion or books.

Denis, by con­trast, is buried under intel­lec­tu­al weight. His edu­ca­tion, which he once prized, now feels like a bar­ri­er to liv­ing ful­ly. He envies Anne’s clar­i­ty, her abil­i­ty to enjoy life with­out dis­sect­ing it. When he tries to express his thoughts, he ends up sound­ing pompous or over­ly philo­soph­i­cal. Inside, though, he’s just some­one try­ing to be seen and under­stood. But Anne, com­posed and relaxed, doesn’t reach for deep­er mean­ing where none is need­ed. She lis­tens with tol­er­ance, not empa­thy. The mis­match is gen­tle but unmistakable—Denis lives in his head, while Anne lives in the world.

As they walk, the gar­den becomes a metaphor for their con­trast­ing out­looks. Its order and col­or reflect Anne’s ground­ed nature, while for Denis, each flower seems to pro­voke an inner dia­logue. He talks of ideals, sym­bols, and the tyran­ny of intel­lect. Anne coun­ters with experience—sunlight, touch, and hon­esty. To her, the world is not some­thing to inter­pret but to engage with direct­ly. Denis, mean­while, remains caught between want­i­ng to impress her and sim­ply want­i­ng to belong beside her. He admires her, not just for her beau­ty, but for the ease with which she accepts real­i­ty.

In the back­ground of their con­ver­sa­tion is the unspo­ken ten­sion of Denis’s love. Every com­ment, every glance from Anne feels lay­ered with pos­si­bil­i­ties that remain just out of reach. His heart is full, yet his tongue is tied by fear of rejec­tion or, worse, mis­un­der­stand­ing. He imag­ines moments of con­fes­sion but can­not sum­mon the courage to act. Each silence is filled with what he can­not say. For Anne, these moments car­ry no weight. She sees Denis as thought­ful but self-involved, per­haps even charm­ing in a dis­tant way. The emo­tion­al gulf between them widens even as they walk side by side.

Their exchange reflects a larg­er con­trast between the intel­lec­tu­al life and the emo­tion­al life. Denis rep­re­sents those who seek answers in phi­los­o­phy and lit­er­a­ture but strug­gle to act on their emo­tions. Anne embod­ies those who live with few­er words but greater free­dom. Nei­ther is entire­ly wrong, but they speak dif­fer­ent emo­tion­al lan­guages. Denis’s inter­nal con­flict inten­si­fies as he real­izes this dif­fer­ence may keep him from tru­ly con­nect­ing with any­one, not just Anne. His world is shaped by doubt, self-aware­ness, and long­ing. Hers is shaped by choice, sim­plic­i­ty, and ground­ed action. This dynam­ic leaves Denis feel­ing both admi­ra­tion and despair.

The chap­ter ends with­out res­o­lu­tion, yet it achieves some­thing deeper—a clear por­tray­al of Denis’s inter­nal ten­sion. His inabil­i­ty to artic­u­late love reflects his broad­er cri­sis: a paral­y­sis of feel­ing in a life over­run by thought. Anne becomes both a sym­bol of what he desires and a mir­ror reflect­ing his lim­i­ta­tions. Read­ers are left to feel Denis’s ache—not only for romance but for sim­plic­i­ty, for release from the maze of intro­spec­tion. In this qui­et chap­ter, emo­tion­al com­plex­i­ty unfolds not through action, but through the silences between words, the hes­i­ta­tions, and the dis­tance that think­ing too much can cre­ate.