Madame Bovary

Gustave Flauvert

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Part I

Chapter One

We were in class when the head-master camein, followed by a "new fellow," not wearing theschool uniform, and a school servant carrying alarge desk. Those who had been asleep wokeup, and every one rose as if just surprised at hiswork.

The head-master made a sign to us to sit down.Then, turning to the class-master, he said tohim in a low voice—

"Monsieur Roger, here is a pupil whom I rec-ommend to your care; he'll be in the second. If

his work and conduct are satisfactory, he willgo into one of the upper classes, as becomes hisage."

The "new fellow," standing in the corner behindthe door so that he could hardly be seen, was acountry lad of about fifteen, and taller than anyof us. His hair was cut square on his foreheadlike a village chorister's; he looked reliable, butvery ill at ease. Although he was not broad-shouldered, his short school jacket of greencloth with black buttons must have been tightabout the arm-holes, and showed at the open-ing of the cuffs red wrists accustomed to beingbare. His legs, in blue stockings, looked outfrom beneath yellow trousers, drawn tight bybraces, He wore stout, ill-cleaned, hob-nailedboots.

We began repeating the lesson. He listenedwith all his ears, as attentive as if at a sermon,not daring even to cross his legs or lean on hiselbow; and when at two o'clock the bell rang,

the master was obliged to tell him to fall intoline with the rest of us.

When we came back to work, we were in thehabit of throwing our caps on the ground so asto have our hands more free; we used from thedoor to toss them under the form, so that theyhit against the wall and made a lot of dust: itwas "the thing."

But, whether he had not noticed the trick, ordid not dare to attempt it, the "new fellow,"was still holding his cap on his knees even afterprayers were over. It was one of those head-gears of composite order, in which we can findtraces of the bearskin, shako, billycock hat,sealskin cap, and cotton night-cap; one of thosepoor things, in fine, whose dumb ugliness hasdepths of expression, like an imbecile's face.Oval, stiffened with whalebone, it began withthree round knobs; then came in successionlozenges of velvet and rabbit-skin separated bya red band; after that a sort of bag that ended in

a cardboard polygon covered with complicatedbraiding, from which hung, at the end of a longthin cord, small twisted gold threads in themanner of a tassel. The cap was new; its peakshone.

"Rise," said the master.

He stood up; his cap fell. The whole class beganto laugh. He stooped to pick it up. A neighborknocked it down again with his elbow; hepicked it up once more.

"Get rid of your helmet," said the master, whowas a bit of a wag.

There was a burst of laughter from the boys,which so thoroughly put the poor lad out ofcountenance that he did not know whether tokeep his cap in his hand, leave it on the ground,or put it on his head. He sat down again andplaced it on his knee.

"Rise," repeated the master, "and tell me yourname."

The new boy articulated in a stammering voicean unintelligible name.

"Again!"

The same sputtering of syllables was heard,drowned by the tittering of the class.

"Louder!" cried the master; "louder!"

The "new fellow" then took a supreme resolu-tion, opened an inordinately large mouth, andshouted at the top of his voice as if callingsomeone in the word "Charbovari."

A hubbub broke out, rose in crescendo withbursts of shrill voices (they yelled, barked,stamped, repeated "Charbovari! Charbovari"),then died away into single notes, growing qui-eter only with great difficulty, and now andagain suddenly recommencing along the line of

a form whence rose here and there, like a dampcracker going off, a stifled laugh.

However, amid a rain of impositions, orderwas gradually re-established in the class; andthe master having succeeded in catching thename of "Charles Bovary," having had it dic-tated to him, spelt out, and re-read, at once or-dered the poor devil to go and sit down on thepunishment form at the foot of the master'sdesk. He got up, but before going hesitated.

"What are you looking for?" asked the master.

"My c-a-p," timidly said the "new fellow," cast-ing troubled looks round him.

"Five hundred lines for all the class!" shouted ina furious voice stopped, like the Quos ego*, afresh outburst. "Silence!" continued the masterindignantly, wiping his brow with his handker-chief, which he had just taken from his cap. "As

to you, 'new boy,' you will conjugate 'ridiculussum'** twenty times."

Then, in a gentler tone, "Come, you'll find yourcap again; it hasn't been stolen."

*A quotation from the Aeneid signifying athreat.

**I am ridiculous.

Quiet was restored. Heads bent over desks, andthe "new fellow" remained for two hours in anexemplary attitude, although from time to timesome paper pellet flipped from the tip of a pencame bang in his face. But he wiped his facewith one hand and continued motionless, hiseyes lowered.

In the evening, at preparation, he pulled out hispens from his desk, arranged his small belong-ings, and carefully ruled his paper. We saw himworking conscientiously, looking up everyword in the dictionary, and taking the greatest

pains. Thanks, no doubt, to the willingness heshowed, he had not to go down to the classbelow. But though he knew his rules passably,he had little finish in composition. It was thecure of his village who had taught him his firstLatin; his parents, from motives of economy,having sent him to school as late as possible.

His father, Monsieur Charles Denis BartolomeBovary, retired assistant-surgeon-major, com-promised about 1812 in certain conscriptionscandals, and forced at this time to leave theservice, had taken advantage of his fine figureto get hold of a dowry of sixty thousand francsthat offered in the person of a hosier's daughterwho had fallen in love with his good looks. Afine man, a great talker, making his spurs ringas he walked, wearing whiskers that ran intohis moustache, his fingers always garnishedwith rings and dressed in loud colours, he hadthe dash of a military man with the easy go of acommercial traveller.

Once married, he lived for three or four yearson his wife's fortune, dining well, rising late,smoking long porcelain pipes, not coming in atnight till after the theatre, and haunting cafes.The father-in-law died, leaving little; he wasindignant at this, "went in for the business," lostsome money in it, then retired to the country,where he thought he would make money.

But, as he knew no more about farming thancalico, as he rode his horses instead of sendingthem to plough, drank his cider in bottle in-stead of selling it in cask, ate the finest poultryin his farmyard, and greased his hunting-bootswith the fat of his pigs, he was not long in find-ing out that he would do better to give up allspeculation.

For two hundred francs a year he managed tolive on the border of the provinces of Caux andPicardy, in a kind of place half farm, half pri-vate house; and here, soured, eaten up withregrets, cursing his luck, jealous of everyone, he

shut himself up at the age of forty-five, sick ofmen, he said, and determined to live at peace.

His wife had adored him once on a time; shehad bored him with a thousand servilities thathad only estranged him the more. Lively once,expansive and affectionate, in growing oldershe had become (after the fashion of wine that,exposed to air, turns to vinegar) ill-tempered,grumbling, irritable. She had suffered so muchwithout complaint at first, until she had seemhim going after all the village drabs, and until ascore of bad houses sent him back to her atnight, weary, stinking drunk. Then her priderevolted. After that she was silent, burying heranger in a dumb stoicism that she maintainedtill her death. She was constantly going aboutlooking after business matters. She called onthe lawyers, the president, remembered whenbills fell due, got them renewed, and at homeironed, sewed, washed, looked after the work-men, paid the accounts, while he, troubling

himself about nothing, eternally besotted insleepy sulkiness, whence he only roused him-self to say disagreeable things to her, sat smok-ing by the fire and spitting into the cinders.

When she had a child, it had to be sent out tonurse. When he came home, the lad was spoiltas if he were a prince. His mother stuffed himwith jam; his father let him run about barefoot,and, playing the philosopher, even said hemight as well go about quite naked like theyoung of animals. As opposed to the maternalideas, he had a certain virile idea of childhoodon which he sought to mould his son, wishinghim to be brought up hardily, like a Spartan, togive him a strong constitution. He sent him tobed without any fire, taught him to drink offlarge draughts of rum and to jeer at religiousprocessions. But, peaceable by nature, the ladanswered only poorly to his notions. Hismother always kept him near her; she cut outcardboard for him, told him tales, entertained

him with endless monologues full of melan-choly gaiety and charming nonsense. In herlife's isolation she centered on the child's headall her shattered, broken little vanities. Shedreamed of high station; she already saw him,tall, handsome, clever, settled as an engineer orin the law. She taught him to read, and even, onan old piano, she had taught him two or threelittle songs. But to all this Monsieur Bovary,caring little for letters, said, "It was not worthwhile. Would they ever have the means to sendhim to a public school, to buy him a practice, orstart him in business? Besides, with cheek aman always gets on in the world." MadameBovary bit her lips, and the child knockedabout the village.

He went after the labourers, drove away withclods of earth the ravens that were flying about.He ate blackberries along the hedges, mindedthe geese with a long switch, went haymakingduring harvest, ran about in the woods, played

hop-scotch under the church porch on rainydays, and at great fetes begged the beadle to lethim toll the bells, that he might hang all hisweight on the long rope and feel himself borneupward by it in its swing. Meanwhile he grewlike an oak; he was strong on hand, fresh ofcolour.

When he was twelve years old his mother hadher own way; he began lessons. The cure tookhim in hand; but the lessons were so short andirregular that they could not be of much use.They were given at spare moments in the sac-risty, standing up, hurriedly, between a bap-tism and a burial; or else the cure, if he had notto go out, sent for his pupil after the Angelus*.They went up to his room and settled down;the flies and moths fluttered round the candle.It was close, the child fell asleep, and the goodman, beginning to doze with his hands on hisstomach, was soon snoring with his mouthwide open. On other occasions, when Monsieur

le Cure, on his way back after administeringthe viaticum to some sick person in theneighbourhood, caught sight of Charles play-ing about the fields, he called him, lectured himfor a quarter of an hour and took advantage ofthe occasion to make him conjugate his verb atthe foot of a tree. The rain interrupted them oran acquaintance passed. All the same he wasalways pleased with him, and even said the"young man" had a very good memory.

*A devotion said at morning, noon, and eve-ning, at the sound of a bell. Here, the evening prayer.

Charles could not go on like this. MadameBovary took strong steps. Ashamed, or rathertired out, Monsieur Bovary gave in without astruggle, and they waited one year longer, sothat the lad should take his first communion.

Six months more passed, and the year afterCharles was finally sent to school at Rouen,

where his father took him towards the end ofOctober, at the time of the St. Romain fair.

It would now be impossible for any of us toremember anything about him. He was a youthof even temperament, who played in playtime,worked in school-hours, was attentive in class,slept well in the dormitory, and ate well in therefectory. He had in loco parentis* a wholesaleironmonger in the Rue Ganterie, who took himout once a month on Sundays after his shopwas shut, sent him for a walk on the quay tolook at the boats, and then brought him back tocollege at seven o'clock before supper. EveryThursday evening he wrote a long letter to hismother with red ink and three wafers; then hewent over his history note-books, or read anold volume of "Anarchasis" that was knockingabout the study. When he went for walks hetalked to the servant, who, like himself, camefrom the country.

*In place of a parent.

By dint of hard work he kept always about themiddle of the class; once even he got a certifi-cate in natural history. But at the end of histhird year his parents withdrew him from theschool to make him study medicine, convincedthat he could even take his degree by himself.

His mother chose a room for him on the fourthfloor of a dyer's she knew, overlooking the Eau-de-Robec. She made arrangements for hisboard, got him furniture, table and two chairs,sent home for an old cherry-tree bedstead, andbought besides a small cast-iron stove with thesupply of wood that was to warm the poorchild.

Then at the end of a week she departed, after athousand injunctions to be good now that hewas going to be left to himself.

The syllabus that he read on the notice-boardstunned him; lectures on anatomy, lectures onpathology, lectures on physiology, lectures on

pharmacy, lectures on botany and clinicalmedicine, and therapeutics, without countinghygiene and materia medica—all names ofwhose etymologies he was ignorant, and thatwere to him as so many doors to sanctuariesfilled with magnificent darkness.

He understood nothing of it all; it was all verywell to listen—he did not follow. Still heworked; he had bound note-books, he attendedall the courses, never missed a single lecture.He did his little daily task like a mill-horse,who goes round and round with his eyes ban-daged, not knowing what work he is doing.

To spare him expense his mother sent himevery week by the carrier a piece of veal bakedin the oven, with which he lunched when hecame back from the hospital, while he sat kick-ing his feet against the wall. After this he had torun off to lectures, to the operation-room, to thehospital, and return to his home at the otherend of the town. In the evening, after the poor

dinner of his landlord, he went back to hisroom and set to work again in his wet clothes,which smoked as he sat in front of the hotstove.

On the fine summer evenings, at the time whenthe close streets are empty, when the servantsare playing shuttle-cock at the doors, heopened his window and leaned out. The river,that makes of this quarter of Rouen a wretchedlittle Venice, flowed beneath him, between thebridges and the railings, yellow, violet, or blue.Working men, kneeling on the banks, washedtheir bare arms in the water. On poles project-ing from the attics, skeins of cotton were dryingin the air. Opposite, beyond the roots spreadthe pure heaven with the red sun setting. Howpleasant it must be at home! How fresh underthe beech-tree! And he expanded his nostrils tobreathe in the sweet odours of the countrywhich did not reach him.

He grew thin, his figure became taller, his facetook a saddened look that made it nearly inter-esting. Naturally, through indifference, heabandoned all the resolutions he had made.Once he missed a lecture; the next day all thelectures; and, enjoying his idleness, little bylittle, he gave up work altogether. He got intothe habit of going to the public-house, and hada passion for dominoes. To shut himself upevery evening in the dirty public room, to pushabout on marble tables the small sheep boneswith black dots, seemed to him a fine proof ofhis freedom, which raised him in his own es-teem. It was beginning to see life, the sweetnessof stolen pleasures; and when he entered, heput his hand on the door-handle with a joy al-most sensual. Then many things hidden withinhim came out; he learnt couplets by heart andsang them to his boon companions, becameenthusiastic about Beranger, learnt how tomake punch, and, finally, how to make love.

Thanks to these preparatory labours, he failedcompletely in his examination for an ordinarydegree. He was expected home the same nightto celebrate his success. He started on foot,stopped at the beginning of the village, sent forhis mother, and told her all. She excused him,threw the blame of his failure on the injustice ofthe examiners, encouraged him a little, andtook upon herself to set matters straight. It wasonly five years later that Monsieur Bovaryknew the truth; it was old then, and he ac-cepted it. Moreover, he could not believe that aman born of him could be a fool.

So Charles set to work again and crammed forhis examination, ceaselessly learning all the oldquestions by heart. He passed pretty well.What a happy day for his mother! They gave agrand dinner.

Where should he go to practice? To Tostes,where there was only one old doctor. For a longtime Madame Bovary had been on the look-out

for his death, and the old fellow had barelybeen packed off when Charles was installed,opposite his place, as his successor.

But it was not everything to have brought up ason, to have had him taught medicine, and dis-covered Tostes, where he could practice it; hemust have a wife. She found him one—thewidow of a bailiff at Dieppe—who was forty-five and had an income of twelve hundredfrancs. Though she was ugly, as dry as a bone,her face with as many pimples as the spring hasbuds, Madame Dubuc had no lack of suitors.To attain her ends Madame Bovary had to oustthem all, and she even succeeded in very clev-erly baffling the intrigues of a port-butcherbacked up by the priests.

Charles had seen in marriage the advent of aneasier life, thinking he would be more free todo as he liked with himself and his money. Buthis wife was master; he had to say this and notsay that in company, to fast every Friday, dress

as she liked, harass at her bidding those pa-tients who did not pay. She opened his letter,watched his comings and goings, and listenedat the partition-wall when women came to con-sult him in his surgery.

She must have her chocolate every morning,attentions without end. She constantly com-plained of her nerves, her chest, her liver. Thenoise of footsteps made her ill; when people lefther, solitude became odious to her; if they cameback, it was doubtless to see her die. WhenCharles returned in the evening, she stretchedforth two long thin arms from beneath thesheets, put them round his neck, and havingmade him sit down on the edge of the bed, be-gan to talk to him of her troubles: he was ne-glecting her, he loved another. She had beenwarned she would be unhappy; and she endedby asking him for a dose of medicine and a lit-tle more love.

Chapter Two

One night towards eleven o'clock they wereawakened by the noise of a horse pulling upoutside their door. The servant opened the gar-ret-window and parleyed for some time with aman in the street below. He came for the doc-tor, had a letter for him. Natasie came down-stairs shivering and undid the bars and boltsone after the other. The man left his horse, and,following the servant, suddenly came in behindher. He pulled out from his wool cap with greytop-knots a letter wrapped up in a rag and pre-sented it gingerly to Charles, who rested on hiselbow on the pillow to read it. Natasie, stand-ing near the bed, held the light. Madame in

modesty had turned to the wall and showedonly her back.

This letter, sealed with a small seal in blue wax,begged Monsieur Bovary to come immediatelyto the farm of the Bertaux to set a broken leg.Now from Tostes to the Bertaux was a goodeighteen miles across country by way ofLongueville and Saint-Victor. It was a darknight; Madame Bovary junior was afraid ofaccidents for her husband. So it was decidedthe stable-boy should go on first; Charleswould start three hours later when the moonrose. A boy was to be sent to meet him, andshow him the way to the farm, and open thegates for him.

Towards four o'clock in the morning, Charles,well wrapped up in his cloak, set out for theBertaux. Still sleepy from the warmth of hisbed, he let himself be lulled by the quiet trot ofhis horse. When it stopped of its own accord infront of those holes surrounded with thorns

that are dug on the margin of furrows, Charlesawoke with a start, suddenly remembered thebroken leg, and tried to call to mind all the frac-tures he knew. The rain had stopped, day wasbreaking, and on the branches of the leaflesstrees birds roosted motionless, their little feath-ers bristling in the cold morning wind. The flatcountry stretched as far as eye could see, andthe tufts of trees round the farms at long inter-vals seemed like dark violet stains on the castgrey surface, that on the horizon faded into thegloom of the sky.

Charles from time to time opened his eyes, hismind grew weary, and, sleep coming uponhim, he soon fell into a doze wherein, his recentsensations blending with memories, he becameconscious of a double self, at once student andmarried man, lying in his bed as but now, andcrossing the operation theatre as of old. Thewarm smell of poultices mingled in his brainwith the fresh odour of dew; he heard the iron

rings rattling along the curtain-rods of the bedand saw his wife sleeping. As he passed Vas-sonville he came upon a boy sitting on the grassat the edge of a ditch.

"Are you the doctor?" asked the child.

And on Charles's answer he took his woodenshoes in his hands and ran on in front of him.

The general practitioner, riding along, gatheredfrom his guide's talk that Monsieur Rouaultmust be one of the well-to-do farmers.

He had broken his leg the evening before on hisway home from a Twelfth-night feast at aneighbour's. His wife had been dead for twoyears. There was with him only his daughter,who helped him to keep house.

The ruts were becoming deeper; they were ap-proaching the Bertaux.

The little lad, slipping through a hole in thehedge, disappeared; then he came back to theend of a courtyard to open the gate. The horseslipped on the wet grass; Charles had to stoopto pass under the branches. The watchdogs intheir kennels barked, dragging at their chains.As he entered the Bertaux, the horse took frightand stumbled.

It was a substantial-looking farm. In the stables,over the top of the open doors, one could seegreat cart-horses quietly feeding from newracks. Right along the outbuildings extended alarge dunghill, from which manure liquidoozed, while amidst fowls and turkeys, five orsix peacocks, a luxury in Chauchois farmyards,were foraging on the top of it. The sheepfoldwas long, the barn high, with walls smooth asyour hand. Under the cart-shed were two largecarts and four ploughs, with their whips, shaftsand harnesses complete, whose fleeces of bluewool were getting soiled by the fine dust that

fell from the granaries. The courtyard slopedupwards, planted with trees set out symmetri-cally, and the chattering noise of a flock ofgeese was heard near the pond.

A young woman in a blue merino dress withthree flounces came to the threshold of the doorto receive Monsieur Bovary, whom she led tothe kitchen, where a large fire was blazing. Theservant's breakfast was boiling beside it insmall pots of all sizes. Some damp clothes weredrying inside the chimney-corner. The shovel,tongs, and the nozzle of the bellows, all of co-lossal size, shone like polished steel, whilealong the walls hung many pots and pans inwhich the clear flame of the hearth, minglingwith the first rays of the sun coming in throughthe window, was mirrored fitfully.

Charles went up the first floor to see the pa-tient. He found him in his bed, sweating underhis bed-clothes, having thrown his cottonnightcap right away from him. He was a fat

little man of fifty, with white skin and blueeyes, the forepart of his head bald, and he woreearrings. By his side on a chair stood a largedecanter of brandy, whence he poured himselfa little from time to time to keep up his spirits;but as soon as he caught sight of the doctor hiselation subsided, and instead of swearing, as hehad been doing for the last twelve hours, beganto groan freely.

The fracture was a simple one, without anykind of complication.

Charles could not have hoped for an easiercase. Then calling to mind the devices of hismasters at the bedsides of patients, he com-forted the sufferer with all sorts of kindly re-marks, those Caresses of the surgeon that arelike the oil they put on bistouries. In order tomake some splints a bundle of laths wasbrought up from the cart-house. Charles se-lected one, cut it into two pieces and planed itwith a fragment of windowpane, while the ser-

vant tore up sheets to make bandages, andMademoiselle Emma tried to sew some pads.As she was a long time before she found herwork-case, her father grew impatient; she didnot answer, but as she sewed she pricked herfingers, which she then put to her mouth tosuck them. Charles was surprised at the white-ness of her nails. They were shiny, delicate atthe tips, more polished than the ivory ofDieppe, and almond-shaped. Yet her hand wasnot beautiful, perhaps not white enough, and alittle hard at the knuckles; besides, it was toolong, with no soft inflections in the outlines.Her real beauty was in her eyes. Althoughbrown, they seemed black because of thelashes, and her look came at you frankly, with acandid boldness.

The bandaging over, the doctor was invited byMonsieur Rouault himself to "pick a bit" beforehe left.

Charles went down into the room on theground floor. Knives and forks and silver gob-lets were laid for two on a little table at the footof a huge bed that had a canopy of printed cot-ton with figures representing Turks. There wasan odour of iris-root and damp sheets that es-caped from a large oak chest opposite the win-dow. On the floor in corners were sacks of flourstuck upright in rows. These were the overflowfrom the neighbouring granary, to which threestone steps led. By way of decoration for theapartment, hanging to a nail in the middle ofthe wall, whose green paint scaled off from theeffects of the saltpetre, was a crayon head ofMinerva in gold frame, underneath which waswritten in Gothic letters "To dear Papa."

First they spoke of the patient, then of theweather, of the great cold, of the wolves thatinfested the fields at night.

Mademoiselle Rouault did not at all like thecountry, especially now that she had to look

after the farm almost alone. As the room waschilly, she shivered as she ate. This showedsomething of her full lips, that she had a habitof biting when silent.

Her neck stood out from a white turned-downcollar. Her hair, whose two black folds seemedeach of a single piece, so smooth were they,was parted in the middle by a delicate line thatcurved slightly with the curve of the head; and,just showing the tip of the ear, it was joinedbehind in a thick chignon, with a wavy move-ment at the temples that the country doctor sawnow for the first time in his life. The upper partof her cheek was rose-coloured. She had, like aman, thrust in between two buttons of her bod-ice a tortoise-shell eyeglass.

When Charles, after bidding farewell to oldRouault, returned to the room before leaving,he found her standing, her forehead against thewindow, looking into the garden, where thebean props had been knocked down by the

wind. She turned round. "Are you looking foranything?" she asked.

"My whip, if you please," he answered.

He began rummaging on the bed, behind thedoors, under the chairs. It had fallen to thefloor, between the sacks and the wall. Made-moiselle Emma saw it, and bent over the floursacks.

Charles out of politeness made a dash also, andas he stretched out his arm, at the same mo-ment felt his breast brush against the back ofthe young girl bending beneath him. She drewherself up, scarlet, and looked at him over hershoulder as she handed him his whip.

Instead of returning to the Bertaux in threedays as he had promised, he went back thevery next day, then regularly twice a week,without counting the visits he paid now andthen as if by accident.

Everything, moreover, went well; the patientprogressed favourably; and when, at the end offorty-six days, old Rouault was seen trying towalk alone in his "den," Monsieur Bovary be-gan to be looked upon as a man of great capac-ity. Old Rouault said that he could not havebeen cured better by the first doctor of Yvetot,or even of Rouen.

As to Charles, he did not stop to ask himselfwhy it was a pleasure to him to go to the Ber-taux. Had he done so, he would, no doubt,have attributed his zeal to the importance of thecase, or perhaps to the money he hoped tomake by it. Was it for this, however, that hisvisits to the farm formed a delightful exceptionto the meagre occupations of his life? On thesedays he rose early, set off at a gallop, urging onhis horse, then got down to wipe his boots inthe grass and put on black gloves before enter-ing. He liked going into the courtyard, and no-ticing the gate turn against his shoulder, the

cock crow on the wall, the lads run to meethim. He liked the granary and the stables; heliked old Rouault, who pressed his hand andcalled him his saviour; he like the smallwooden shoes of Mademoiselle Emma on thescoured flags of the kitchen—her high heelsmade her a little taller; and when she walked infront of him, the wooden soles springing upquickly struck with a sharp sound against theleather of her boots.

She always accompanied him to the first step ofthe stairs. When his horse had not yet beenbrought round she stayed there. They had said"Good-bye"; there was no more talking. Theopen air wrapped her round, playing with thesoft down on the back of her neck, or blew toand fro on her hips the apron-strings, that flut-tered like streamers. Once, during a thaw thebark of the trees in the yard was oozing, thesnow on the roofs of the outbuildings was melt-ing; she stood on the threshold, and went to

fetch her sunshade and opened it. The sun-shade of silk of the colour of pigeons' breasts,through which the sun shone, lighted up withshifting hues the white skin of her face. Shesmiled under the tender warmth, and drops ofwater could be heard falling one by one on thestretched silk.

During the first period of Charles's visits to theBertaux, Madame Bovary junior never failed toinquire after the invalid, and she had even cho-sen in the book that she kept on a system ofdouble entry a clean blank page for MonsieurRouault. But when she heard he had a daugh-ter, she began to make inquiries, and she learntthe Mademoiselle Rouault, brought up at theUrsuline Convent, had received what is called"a good education"; and so knew dancing, ge-ography, drawing, how to embroider and playthe piano. That was the last straw.

"So it is for this," she said to herself, "that hisface beams when he goes to see her, and that he

puts on his new waistcoat at the risk of spoilingit with the rain. Ah! that woman! That woman!"

And she detested her instinctively. At first shesolaced herself by allusions that Charles did notunderstand, then by casual observations that helet pass for fear of a storm, finally by openapostrophes to which he knew not what to an-swer. "Why did he go back to the Bertaux nowthat Monsieur Rouault was cured and thatthese folks hadn't paid yet? Ah! it was becausea young lady was there, some one who knowhow to talk, to embroider, to be witty. That waswhat he cared about; he wanted town misses."And she went on—

"The daughter of old Rouault a town miss! Getout! Their grandfather was a shepherd, andthey have a cousin who was almost had up atthe assizes for a nasty blow in a quarrel. It isnot worth while making such a fuss, or show-ing herself at church on Sundays in a silk gownlike a countess. Besides, the poor old chap, if it

hadn't been for the colza last year, would havehad much ado to pay up his arrears."

For very weariness Charles left off going to theBertaux. Heloise made him swear, his hand onthe prayer-book, that he would go there nomore after much sobbing and many kisses, in agreat outburst of love. He obeyed then, but thestrength of his desire protested against the ser-vility of his conduct; and he thought, with akind of naive hypocrisy, that his interdict to seeher gave him a sort of right to love her. Andthen the widow was thin; she had long teeth;wore in all weathers a little black shawl, theedge of which hung down between her shoul-der-blades; her bony figure was sheathed in herclothes as if they were a scabbard; they weretoo short, and displayed her ankles with thelaces of her large boots crossed over grey stock-ings.

Charles's mother came to see them from time totime, but after a few days the daughter-in-law

seemed to put her own edge on her, and then,like two knives, they scarified him with theirreflections and observations. It was wrong ofhim to eat so much.

Why did he always offer a glass of somethingto everyone who came? What obstinacy not towear flannels! In the spring it came about that anotary at Ingouville, the holder of the widowDubuc's property, one fine day went off, takingwith him all the money in his office. Heloise, itis true, still possessed, besides a share in a boatvalued at six thousand francs, her house in theRue St. Francois; and yet, with all this fortunethat had been so trumpeted abroad, nothing,excepting perhaps a little furniture and a fewclothes, had appeared in the household. Thematter had to be gone into. The house atDieppe was found to be eaten up with mort-gages to its foundations; what she had placedwith the notary God only knew, and her sharein the boat did not exceed one thousand

crowns. She had lied, the good lady! In his ex-asperation, Monsieur Bovary the elder, smash-ing a chair on the flags, accused his wife of hav-ing caused misfortune to the son by harnessinghim to such a harridan, whose harness wasn'tworth her hide. They came to Tostes. Explana-tions followed. There were scenes. Heloise intears, throwing her arms about her husband,implored him to defend her from his parents.

Charles tried to speak up for her. They grewangry and left the house.

But "the blow had struck home." A week after,as she was hanging up some washing in heryard, she was seized with a spitting of blood,and the next day, while Charles had his backturned to her drawing the window-curtain, shesaid, "O God!" gave a sigh and fainted. She wasdead! What a surprise! When all was over atthe cemetery Charles went home. He found noone downstairs; he went up to the first floor totheir room; say her dress still hanging at the

foot of the alcove; then, leaning against thewriting-table, he stayed until the evening, bur-ied in a sorrowful reverie. She had loved himafter all!

Chapter Three

One morning old Rouault brought Charles themoney for setting his leg—seventy-five francsin forty-sou pieces, and a turkey. He had heardof his loss, and consoled him as well as hecould.

"I know what it is," said he, clapping him onthe shoulder; "I've been through it. When I lostmy dear departed, I went into the fields to bequite alone. I fell at the foot of a tree; I cried; Icalled on God; I talked nonsense to Him. I

wanted to be like the moles that I saw on thebranches, their insides swarming with worms,dead, and an end of it. And when I thought thatthere were others at that very moment withtheir nice little wives holding them in their em-brace, I struck great blows on the earth with mystick. I was pretty well mad with not eating; thevery idea of going to a cafe disgusted me—youwouldn't believe it. Well, quite softly, one dayfollowing another, a spring on a winter, and anautumn after a summer, this wore away, pieceby piece, crumb by crumb; it passed away, it isgone, I should say it has sunk; for somethingalways remains at the bottom as one wouldsay—a weight here, at one's heart. But since it isthe lot of all of us, one must not give way alto-gether, and, because others have died, want todie too. You must pull yourself together, Mon-sieur Bovary. It will pass away. Come to see us;my daughter thinks of you now and again, d'yeknow, and she says you are forgetting her.

Spring will soon be here. We'll have some rab-bit-shooting in the warrens to amuse you a bit."

Charles followed his advice. He went back tothe Bertaux. He found all as he had left it, thatis to say, as it was five months ago. The peartrees were already in blossom, and FarmerRouault, on his legs again, came and went,making the farm more full of life.

Thinking it his duty to heap the greatest atten-tion upon the doctor because of his sad posi-tion, he begged him not to take his hat off,spoke to him in an undertone as if he had beenill, and even pretended to be angry becausenothing rather lighter had been prepared forhim than for the others, such as a little clottedcream or stewed pears. He told stories. Charlesfound himself laughing, but the remembranceof his wife suddenly coming back to him de-pressed him. Coffee was brought in; he thoughtno more about her.

He thought less of her as he grew accustomedto living alone. The new delight of independ-ence soon made his loneliness bearable. Hecould now change his meal-times, go in or outwithout explanation, and when he was verytired stretch himself at full length on his bed. Sohe nursed and coddled himself and acceptedthe consolations that were offered him. On theother hand, the death of his wife had notserved him ill in his business, since for a monthpeople had been saying, "The poor young man!what a loss!" His name had been talked about,his practice had increased; and moreover, hecould go to the Bertaux just as he liked. He hadan aimless hope, and was vaguely happy; hethought himself better looking as he brushedhis whiskers before the looking-glass.

One day he got there about three o'clock. Eve-rybody was in the fields. He went into thekitchen, but did not at once catch sight ofEmma; the outside shutters were closed.

Through the chinks of the wood the sun sentacross the flooring long fine rays that were bro-ken at the corners of the furniture and trembledalong the ceiling. Some flies on the table werecrawling up the glasses that had been used, andbuzzing as they drowned themselves in thedregs of the cider. The daylight that came in bythe chimney made velvet of the soot at the backof the fireplace, and touched with blue the coldcinders. Between the window and the hearthEmma was sewing; she wore no fichu; he couldsee small drops of perspiration on her bareshoulders.

After the fashion of country folks she askedhim to have something to drink. He said no;she insisted, and at last laughingly offered tohave a glass of liqueur with him. So she went tofetch a bottle of curacao from the cupboard,reached down two small glasses, filled one tothe brim, poured scarcely anything into theother, and, after having clinked glasses, carried

hers to her mouth. As it was almost empty shebent back to drink, her head thrown back, herlips pouting, her neck on the strain. Shelaughed at getting none of it, while with the tipof her tongue passing between her small teethshe licked drop by drop the bottom of her glass.

She sat down again and took up her work, awhite cotton stocking she was darning. Sheworked with her head bent down; she did notspeak, nor did Charles. The air coming in underthe door blew a little dust over the flags; hewatched it drift along, and heard nothing butthe throbbing in his head and the faint cluckingof a hen that had laid an egg in the yard. Emmafrom time to time cooled her cheeks with thepalms of her hands, and cooled these again onthe knobs of the huge fire-dogs.

She complained of suffering since the begin-ning of the season from giddiness; she asked ifsea-baths would do her any good; she begantalking of her convent, Charles of his school;

words came to them. They went up into herbedroom. She showed him her old music-books, the little prizes she had won, and theoak-leaf crowns, left at the bottom of a cup-board. She spoke to him, too, of her mother, ofthe country, and even showed him the bed inthe garden where, on the first Friday of everymonth, she gathered flowers to put on hermother's tomb. But the gardener they hadnever knew anything about it; servants are sostupid! She would have dearly liked, if only forthe winter, to live in town, although the lengthof the fine days made the country perhaps evenmore wearisome in the summer. And, accord-ing to what she was saying, her voice was clear,sharp, or, on a sudden all languor, drawn outin modulations that ended almost in murmursas she spoke to herself, now joyous, openingbig naive eyes, then with her eyelids halfclosed, her look full of boredom, her thoughtswandering.

Going home at night, Charles went over herwords one by one, trying to recall them, to fillout their sense, that he might piece out the lifeshe had lived before he knew her. But he neversaw her in his thoughts other than he had seenher the first time, or as he had just left her.Then he asked himself what would become ofher—if she would be married, and to whom!Alas! Old Rouault was rich, and she!—so beau-tiful! But Emma's face always rose before hiseyes, and a monotone, like the humming of atop, sounded in his ears, "If you should marryafter all! If you should marry!" At night hecould not sleep; his throat was parched; he wasathirst. He got up to drink from the water-bottle and opened the window. The night wascovered with stars, a warm wind blowing inthe distance; the dogs were barking. He turnedhis head towards the Bertaux.

Thinking that, after all, he should lose nothing,Charles promised himself to ask her in mar-

riage as soon as occasion offered, but each timesuch occasion did offer the fear of not findingthe right words sealed his lips.

Old Rouault would not have been sorry to berid of his daughter, who was of no use to himin the house. In his heart he excused her, think-ing her too clever for farming, a calling underthe ban of Heaven, since one never saw a mil-lionaire in it. Far from having made a fortuneby it, the good man was losing every year; for ifhe was good in bargaining, in which he enjoyedthe dodges of the trade, on the other hand, ag-riculture properly so called, and the internalmanagement of the farm, suited him less thanmost people. He did not willingly take hishands out of his pockets, and did not spareexpense in all that concerned himself, liking toeat well, to have good fires, and to sleep well.He liked old cider, underdone legs of mutton,glorias* well beaten up. He took his meals inthe kitchen alone, opposite the fire, on a little

table brought to him all ready laid as on thestage.

*A mixture of coffee and spirits.

When, therefore, he perceived that Charles'scheeks grew red if near his daughter, whichmeant that he would propose for her one ofthese days, he chewed the cud of the matterbeforehand. He certainly thought him a littlemeagre, and not quite the son-in-law he wouldhave liked, but he was said to be well brought-up, economical, very learned, and no doubtwould not make too many difficulties about thedowry. Now, as old Rouault would soon beforced to sell twenty-two acres of "his prop-erty," as he owed a good deal to the mason, tothe harness-maker, and as the shaft of the cider-press wanted renewing, "If he asks for her," hesaid to himself, "I'll give her to him."

At Michaelmas Charles went to spend threedays at the Bertaux.

The last had passed like the others in procrasti-nating from hour to hour. Old Rouault wasseeing him off; they were walking along theroad full of ruts; they were about to part. Thiswas the time. Charles gave himself as far as tothe corner of the hedge, and at last, when pastit—

"Monsieur Rouault," he murmured, "I shouldlike to say something to you."

They stopped. Charles was silent.

"Well, tell me your story. Don't I know all aboutit?" said old Rouault, laughing softly.

"Monsieur Rouault—Monsieur Rouault,"stammered Charles.

"I ask nothing better", the farmer went on. "Al-though, no doubt, the little one is of my mind,still we must ask her opinion. So you get off—I'll go back home. If it is 'yes', you needn't re-

turn because of all the people about, and be-sides it would upset her too much. But so thatyou mayn't be eating your heart, I'll open widethe outer shutter of the window against thewall; you can see it from the back by leaningover the hedge."

And he went off.

Charles fastened his horse to a tree; he ran intothe road and waited. Half an hour passed, thenhe counted nineteen minutes by his watch.Suddenly a noise was heard against the wall;the shutter had been thrown back; the hookwas still swinging.

The next day by nine o'clock he was at thefarm. Emma blushed as he entered, and shegave a little forced laugh to keep herself incountenance. Old Rouault embraced his futureson-in-law. The discussion of money matterswas put off; moreover, there was plenty of timebefore them, as the marriage could not decently

take place till Charles was out of mourning,that is to say, about the spring of the next year.

The winter passed waiting for this. Mademoi-selle Rouault was busy with her trousseau. Partof it was ordered at Rouen, and she made her-self chemises and nightcaps after fashion-platesthat she borrowed. When Charles visited thefarmer, the preparations for the wedding weretalked over; they wondered in what room theyshould have dinner; they dreamed of the num-ber of dishes that would be wanted, and whatshould be entrees.

Emma would, on the contrary, have preferredto have a midnight wedding with torches, butold Rouault could not understand such an idea.So there was a wedding at which forty-threepersons were present, at which they remainedsixteen hours at table, began again the next day,and to some extent on the days following.

Chapter Four

The guests arrived early in carriages, in one-horse chaises, two-wheeled cars, old open gigs,waggonettes with leather hoods, and the youngpeople from the nearer villages in carts, inwhich they stood up in rows, holding on to thesides so as not to fall, going at a trot and wellshaken up. Some came from a distance of thirtymiles, from Goderville, from Normanville, andfrom Cany.

All the relatives of both families had been in-vited, quarrels between friends arranged, ac-quaintances long since lost sight of written to.

From time to time one heard the crack of awhip behind the hedge; then the gates opened,

a chaise entered. Galloping up to the foot of thesteps, it stopped short and emptied its load.They got down from all sides, rubbing kneesand stretching arms. The ladies, wearing bon-nets, had on dresses in the town fashion, goldwatch chains, pelerines with the ends tuckedinto belts, or little coloured fichus fasteneddown behind with a pin, and that left the backof the neck bare. The lads, dressed like theirpapas, seemed uncomfortable in their newclothes (many that day hand-sewed their firstpair of boots), and by their sides, speakingnever a work, wearing the white dress of theirfirst communion lengthened for the occasionwere some big girls of fourteen or sixteen, cous-ins or elder sisters no doubt, rubicund, bewil-dered, their hair greasy with rose pomade, andvery much afraid of dirtying their gloves. Asthere were not enough stable-boys to unharnessall the carriages, the gentlemen turned up theirsleeves and set about it themselves. Accordingto their different social positions they wore tail-

coats, overcoats, shooting jackets, cutaway-coats; fine tail-coats, redolent of family respect-ability, that only came out of the wardrobe onstate occasions; overcoats with long tails flap-ping in the wind and round capes and pocketslike sacks; shooting jackets of coarse cloth, gen-erally worn with a cap with a brass-boundpeak; very short cutaway-coats with two smallbuttons in the back, close together like a pair ofeyes, and the tails of which seemed cut out ofone piece by a carpenter's hatchet. Some, too(but these, you may be sure, would sit at thebottom of the table), wore their best blouses—that is to say, with collars turned down to theshoulders, the back gathered into small plaitsand the waist fastened very low down with aworked belt.

And the shirts stood out from the chests likecuirasses! Everyone had just had his hair cut;ears stood out from the heads; they had beenclose-shaved; a few, even, who had had to get

up before daybreak, and not been able to see toshave, had diagonal gashes under their nosesor cuts the size of a three-franc piece along thejaws, which the fresh air en route had en-flamed, so that the great white beaming faceswere mottled here and there with red dabs.

The mairie was a mile and a half from the farm,and they went thither on foot, returning in thesame way after the ceremony in the church.The procession, first united like one long col-oured scarf that undulated across the fields,along the narrow path winding amid the greencorn, soon lengthened out, and broke up intodifferent groups that loitered to talk. The fid-dler walked in front with his violin, gay withribbons at its pegs. Then came the married pair,the relations, the friends, all following pell-mell; the children stayed behind amusingthemselves plucking the bell-flowers from oat-ears, or playing amongst themselves unseen.Emma's dress, too long, trailed a little on the

ground; from time to time she stopped to pull itup, and then delicately, with her gloved hands,she picked off the coarse grass and the thistle-downs, while Charles, empty handed, waitedtill she had finished. Old Rouault, with a newsilk hat and the cuffs of his black coat coveringhis hands up to the nails, gave his arm to Ma-dame Bovary senior. As to Monsieur Bovarysenior, who, heartily despising all these folk,had come simply in a frock-coat of military cutwith one row of buttons—he was passing com-pliments of the bar to a fair young peasant. Shebowed, blushed, and did not know what to say.The other wedding guests talked of their busi-ness or played tricks behind each other's backs,egging one another on in advance to be jolly.Those who listened could always catch thesqueaking of the fiddler, who went on playingacross the fields. When he saw that the restwere far behind he stopped to take breath,slowly rosined his bow, so that the stringsshould sound more shrilly, then set off again,

by turns lowering and raising his neck, the bet-ter to mark time for himself. The noise of theinstrument drove away the little birds fromafar.

The table was laid under the cart-shed. On itwere four sirloins, six chicken fricassees,stewed veal, three legs of mutton, and in themiddle a fine roast suckling pig, flanked byfour chitterlings with sorrel. At the cornerswere decanters of brandy. Sweet bottled-ciderfrothed round the corks, and all the glasses hadbeen filled to the brim with wine beforehand.Large dishes of yellow cream, that trembledwith the least shake of the table, had designedon their smooth surface the initials of the newlywedded pair in nonpareil arabesques. A confec-tioner of Yvetot had been intrusted with thetarts and sweets. As he had only just set up onthe place, he had taken a lot of trouble, and atdessert he himself brought in a set dish thatevoked loud cries of wonderment. To begin

with, at its base there was a square of bluecardboard, representing a temple with porti-coes, colonnades, and stucco statuettes allround, and in the niches constellations of giltpaper stars; then on the second stage was adungeon of Savoy cake, surrounded by manyfortifications in candied angelica, almonds, rai-sins, and quarters of oranges; and finally, onthe upper platform a green field with rocks setin lakes of jam, nutshell boats, and a small Cu-pid balancing himself in a chocolate swingwhose two uprights ended in real roses forballs at the top.

Until night they ate. When any of them weretoo tired of sitting, they went out for a stroll inthe yard, or for a game with corks in the gran-ary, and then returned to table. Some towardsthe finish went to sleep and snored. But withthe coffee everyone woke up. Then they begansongs, showed off tricks, raised heavy weights,performed feats with their fingers, then tried

lifting carts on their shoulders, made broadjokes, kissed the women. At night when theyleft, the horses, stuffed up to the nostrils withoats, could hardly be got into the shafts; theykicked, reared, the harness broke, their masterslaughed or swore; and all night in the light ofthe moon along country roads there were run-away carts at full gallop plunging into theditches, jumping over yard after yard of stones,clambering up the hills, with women leaningout from the tilt to catch hold of the reins.

Those who stayed at the Bertaux spent thenight drinking in the kitchen. The children hadfallen asleep under the seats.

The bride had begged her father to be sparedthe usual marriage pleasantries. However, afishmonger, one of their cousins (who had evenbrought a pair of soles for his wedding pre-sent), began to squirt water from his mouththrough the keyhole, when old Rouault cameup just in time to stop him, and explain to him

that the distinguished position of his son-in-law would not allow of such liberties. Thecousin all the same did not give in to these rea-sons readily. In his heart he accused oldRouault of being proud, and he joined four orfive other guests in a corner, who having,through mere chance, been several times run-ning served with the worst helps of meat, alsowere of opinion they had been badly used, andwere whispering about their host, and withcovered hints hoping he would ruin himself.

Madame Bovary, senior, had not opened hermouth all day. She had been consulted neitheras to the dress of her daughter-in-law nor as tothe arrangement of the feast; she went to bedearly. Her husband, instead of following her,sent to Saint-Victor for some cigars, andsmoked till daybreak, drinking kirsch-punch, amixture unknown to the company. This addedgreatly to the consideration in which he washeld.

Charles, who was not of a facetious turn, didnot shine at the wedding. He answered feeblyto the puns, doubles entendres*, compliments,and chaff that it was felt a duty to let off at himas soon as the soup appeared.

*Double meanings.

The next day, on the other hand, he seemedanother man. It was he who might rather havebeen taken for the virgin of the evening before,whilst the bride gave no sign that revealed any-thing. The shrewdest did not know what tomake of it, and they looked at her when shepassed near them with an unbounded concen-tration of mind. But Charles concealed nothing.He called her "my wife", tutoyed* her, asked forher of everyone, looked for her everywhere,and often he dragged her into the yards, wherehe could be seen from far between the trees,putting his arm around her waist, and walkinghalf-bending over her, ruffling the chemisetteof her bodice with his head.

*Used the familiar form of address.

Two days after the wedding the married pairleft. Charles, on account of his patients, couldnot be away longer. Old Rouault had themdriven back in his cart, and himself accompa-nied them as far as Vassonville. Here he em-braced his daughter for the last time, got down,and went his way. When he had gone about ahundred paces he stopped, and as he saw thecart disappearing, its wheels turning in thedust, he gave a deep sigh. Then he rememberedhis wedding, the old times, the first pregnancyof his wife; he, too, had been very happy theday when he had taken her from her father tohis home, and had carried her off on a pillion,trotting through the snow, for it was nearChristmas-time, and the country was all white.She held him by one arm, her basket hangingfrom the other; the wind blew the long lace ofher Cauchois headdress so that it sometimesflapped across his mouth, and when he turnedhis head he saw near him, on his shoulder, her

little rosy face, smiling silently under the goldbands of her cap. To warm her hands she putthem from time to time in his breast. How longago it all was! Their son would have been thirtyby now. Then he looked back and saw nothingon the road. He felt dreary as an empty house;and tender memories mingling with the sadthoughts in his brain, addled by the fumes ofthe feast, he felt inclined for a moment to take aturn towards the church. As he was afraid,however, that this sight would make him yetmore sad, he went right away home.

Monsieur and Madame Charles arrived atTostes about six o'clock.

The neighbors came to the windows to see theirdoctor's new wife.

The old servant presented herself, curtsied toher, apologised for not having dinner ready,and suggested that madame, in the meantime,should look over her house.

Chapter Five

The brick front was just in a line with the street,or rather the road. Behind the door hung acloak with a small collar, a bridle, and a blackleather cap, and on the floor, in a corner, were apair of leggings, still covered with dry mud. Onthe right was the one apartment, that was bothdining and sitting room. A canary yellow pa-per, relieved at the top by a garland of paleflowers, was puckered everywhere over thebadly stretched canvas; white calico curtainswith a red border hung crossways at the lengthof the window; and on the narrow mantelpiecea clock with a head of Hippocrates shone re-splendent between two plate candlesticks un-der oval shades. On the other side of the pas-

sage was Charles's consulting room, a littleroom about six paces wide, with a table, threechairs, and an office chair. Volumes of the "Dic-tionary of Medical Science," uncut, but thebinding rather the worse for the successivesales through which they had gone, occupiedalmost along the six shelves of a deal bookcase.

The smell of melted butter penetrated throughthe walls when he saw patients, just as in thekitchen one could hear the people coughing inthe consulting room and recounting their histo-ries.

Then, opening on the yard, where the stablewas, came a large dilapidated room with astove, now used as a wood-house, cellar, andpantry, full of old rubbish, of empty casks, ag-ricultural implements past service, and a massof dusty things whose use it was impossible toguess.

The garden, longer than wide, ran between twomud walls with espaliered apricots, to a haw-thorn hedge that separated it from the field. Inthe middle was a slate sundial on a brick pedes-tal; four flower beds with eglantines sur-rounded symmetrically the more useful kitchengarden bed. Right at the bottom, under thespruce bushes, was a cure in plaster reading hisbreviary.

Emma went upstairs. The first room was notfurnished, but in the second, which was theirbedroom, was a mahogany bedstead in an al-cove with red drapery. A shell box adorned thechest of drawers, and on the secretary near thewindow a bouquet of orange blossoms tiedwith white satin ribbons stood in a bottle. Itwas a bride's bouquet; it was the other one's.She looked at it. Charles noticed it; he took itand carried it up to the attic, while Emmaseated in an arm-chair (they were putting herthings down around her) thought of her bridal

flowers packed up in a bandbox, and won-dered, dreaming, what would be done withthem if she were to die.

During the first days she occupied herself inthinking about changes in the house. She tookthe shades off the candlesticks, had new wall-paper put up, the staircase repainted, and seatsmade in the garden round the sundial; she eveninquired how she could get a basin with a jetfountain and fishes. Finally her husband,knowing that she liked to drive out, picked upa second-hand dogcart, which, with new lampsand splashboard in striped leather, looked al-most like a tilbury.

He was happy then, and without a care in theworld. A meal together, a walk in the eveningon the highroad, a gesture of her hands overher hair, the sight of her straw hat hangingfrom the window-fastener, and many anotherthing in which Charles had never dreamed ofpleasure, now made up the endless round of

his happiness. In bed, in the morning, by herside, on the pillow, he watched the sunlightsinking into the down on her fair cheek, halfhidden by the lappets of her night-cap. Seenthus closely, her eyes looked to him enlarged,especially when, on waking up, she openedand shut them rapidly many times. Black in theshade, dark blue in broad daylight, they had, asit were, depths of different colours, that, darkerin the centre, grew paler towards the surface ofthe eye. His own eyes lost themselves in thesedepths; he saw himself in miniature down tothe shoulders, with his handkerchief round hishead and the top of his shirt open. He rose. Shecame to the window to see him off, and stayedleaning on the sill between two pots of gera-nium, clad in her dressing gown hangingloosely about her. Charles, in the street buckledhis spurs, his foot on the mounting stone, whileshe talked to him from above, picking with hermouth some scrap of flower or leaf that sheblew out at him. Then this, eddying, floating,

described semicircles in the air like a bird, andwas caught before it reached the ground in theill-groomed mane of the old white mare stand-ing motionless at the door. Charles from horse-back threw her a kiss; she answered with a nod;she shut the window, and he set off. And thenalong the highroad, spreading out its long rib-bon of dust, along the deep lanes that the treesbent over as in arbours, along paths where thecorn reached to the knees, with the sun on hisback and the morning air in his nostrils, hisheart full of the joys of the past night, his mindat rest, his flesh at ease, he went on, re-chewinghis happiness, like those who after dinner tasteagain the truffles which they are digesting.

Until now what good had he had of his life?His time at school, when he remained shut upwithin the high walls, alone, in the midst ofcompanions richer than he or cleverer at theirwork, who laughed at his accent, who jeered athis clothes, and whose mothers came to the

school with cakes in their muffs? Later on,when he studied medicine, and never had hispurse full enough to treat some little work-girlwho would have become his mistress? After-wards, he had lived fourteen months with thewidow, whose feet in bed were cold as icicles.But now he had for life this beautiful womanwhom he adored. For him the universe did notextend beyond the circumference of her petti-coat, and he reproached himself with not lov-ing her. He wanted to see her again; he turnedback quickly, ran up the stairs with a beatingheart. Emma, in her room, was dressing; hecame up on tiptoe, kissed her back; she gave acry.

He could not keep from constantly touchingher comb, her ring, her fichu; sometimes hegave her great sounding kisses with all hismouth on her cheeks, or else little kisses in arow all along her bare arm from the tip of herfingers up to her shoulder, and she put him

away half-smiling, half-vexed, as you do achild who hangs about you.

Before marriage she thought herself in love; butthe happiness that should have followed thislove not having come, she must, she thought,have been mistaken. And Emma tried to findout what one meant exactly in life by the wordsfelicity, passion, rapture, that had seemed toher so beautiful in books.

Chapter Six

She had read "Paul and Virginia," and she haddreamed of the little bamboo-house, the niggerDomingo, the dog Fidele, but above all of thesweet friendship of some dear little brother,who seeks red fruit for you on trees taller than

steeples, or who runs barefoot over the sand,bringing you a bird's nest.

When she was thirteen, her father himself tookher to town to place her in the convent. Theystopped at an inn in the St. Gervais quarter,where, at their supper, they used painted platesthat set forth the story of Mademoiselle de laValliere. The explanatory legends, chipped hereand there by the scratching of knives, all glori-fied religion, the tendernesses of the heart, andthe pomps of court.

Far from being bored at first at the convent, shetook pleasure in the society of the good sisters,who, to amuse her, took her to the chapel,which one entered from the refectory by a longcorridor. She played very little during recrea-tion hours, knew her catechism well, and it wasshe who always answered Monsieur le Vicaire'sdifficult questions. Living thus, without everyleaving the warm atmosphere of the class-rooms, and amid these pale-faced women

wearing rosaries with brass crosses, she wassoftly lulled by the mystic languor exhaled inthe perfumes of the altar, the freshness of theholy water, and the lights of the tapers. Insteadof attending to mass, she looked at the piousvignettes with their azure borders in her book,and she loved the sick lamb, the sacred heartpierced with sharp arrows, or the poor Jesussinking beneath the cross he carries. She tried,by way of mortification, to eat nothing a wholeday. She puzzled her head to find some vow tofulfil.

When she went to confession, she inventedlittle sins in order that she might stay therelonger, kneeling in the shadow, her handsjoined, her face against the grating beneath thewhispering of the priest. The comparisons ofbetrothed, husband, celestial lover, and eternalmarriage, that recur in sermons, stirred withinher soul depths of unexpected sweetness.

In the evening, before prayers, there was somereligious reading in the study. On week-nightsit was some abstract of sacred history or theLectures of the Abbe Frayssinous, and on Sun-days passages from the "Genie du Christian-isme," as a recreation. How she listened at firstto the sonorous lamentations of its romanticmelancholies reechoing through the world andeternity! If her childhood had been spent in theshop-parlour of some business quarter, shemight perhaps have opened her heart to thoselyrical invasions of Nature, which usually cometo us only through translation in books. But sheknew the country too well; she knew the low-ing of cattle, the milking, the ploughs.

Accustomed to calm aspects of life, she turned,on the contrary, to those of excitement. Sheloved the sea only for the sake of its storms,and the green fields only when broken up byruins.

She wanted to get some personal profit out ofthings, and she rejected as useless all that didnot contribute to the immediate desires of herheart, being of a temperament more sentimen-tal than artistic, looking for emotions, not land-scapes.

At the convent there was an old maid whocame for a week each month to mend the linen.Patronized by the clergy, because she belongedto an ancient family of noblemen ruined by theRevolution, she dined in the refectory at thetable of the good sisters, and after the meal hada bit of chat with them before going back to herwork. The girls often slipped out from thestudy to go and see her. She knew by heart thelove songs of the last century, and sang them ina low voice as she stitched away.

She told stories, gave them news, went errandsin the town, and on the sly lent the big girlssome novel, that she always carried in thepockets of her apron, and of which the good

lady herself swallowed long chapters in theintervals of her work. They were all love, lov-ers, sweethearts, persecuted ladies fainting inlonely pavilions, postilions killed at everystage, horses ridden to death on every page,sombre forests, heartaches, vows, sobs, tearsand kisses, little skiffs by moonlight, nightin-gales in shady groves, "gentlemen" brave aslions, gentle as lambs, virtuous as no one everwas, always well dressed, and weeping likefountains. For six months, then, Emma, at fif-teen years of age, made her hands dirty withbooks from old lending libraries.

Through Walter Scott, later on, she fell in lovewith historical events, dreamed of old chests,guard-rooms and minstrels. She would haveliked to live in some old manor-house, likethose long-waisted chatelaines who, in theshade of pointed arches, spent their days lean-ing on the stone, chin in hand, watching a cava-lier with white plume galloping on his black

horse from the distant fields. At this time shehad a cult for Mary Stuart and enthusiasticveneration for illustrious or unhappy women.Joan of Arc, Heloise, Agnes Sorel, the beautifulFerroniere, and Clemence Isaure stood out toher like comets in the dark immensity ofheaven, where also were seen, lost in shadow,and all unconnected, St. Louis with his oak, thedying Bayard, some cruelties of Louis XI, a lit-tle of St. Bartholomew's Day, the plume of theBearnais, and always the remembrance of theplates painted in honour of Louis XIV.

In the music class, in the ballads she sang, therewas nothing but little angels with goldenwings, madonnas, lagunes, gondoliers;-mildcompositions that allowed her to catch aglimpse athwart the obscurity of style and theweakness of the music of the attractive phan-tasmagoria of sentimental realities. Some of hercompanions brought "keepsakes" given them asnew year's gifts to the convent. These had to be

hidden; it was quite an undertaking; they wereread in the dormitory. Delicately handling thebeautiful satin bindings, Emma looked withdazzled eyes at the names of the unknown au-thors, who had signed their verses for the mostpart as counts or viscounts.

She trembled as she blew back the tissue paperover the engraving and saw it folded in twoand fall gently against the page. Here behindthe balustrade of a balcony was a young man ina short cloak, holding in his arms a young girlin a white dress wearing an alms-bag at herbelt; or there were nameless portraits of Englishladies with fair curls, who looked at you fromunder their round straw hats with their largeclear eyes. Some there were lounging in theircarriages, gliding through parks, a greyhoundbounding along in front of the equipage drivenat a trot by two midget postilions in whitebreeches. Others, dreaming on sofas with anopen letter, gazed at the moon through a

slightly open window half draped by a blackcurtain. The naive ones, a tear on their cheeks,were kissing doves through the bars of a Gothiccage, or, smiling, their heads on one side, wereplucking the leaves of a marguerite with theirtaper fingers, that curved at the tips like peakedshoes. And you, too, were there, Sultans withlong pipes reclining beneath arbours in thearms of Bayaderes; Djiaours, Turkish sabres,Greek caps; and you especially, pale landscapesof dithyrambic lands, that often show us atonce palm trees and firs, tigers on the right, alion to the left, Tartar minarets on the horizon;the whole framed by a very neat virgin forest,and with a great perpendicular sunbeam trem-bling in the water, where, standing out in relieflike white excoriations on a steel-grey ground,swans are swimming about.

And the shade of the argand lamp fastened tothe wall above Emma's head lighted up allthese pictures of the world, that passed before

her one by one in the silence of the dormitory,and to the distant noise of some belated car-riage rolling over the Boulevards.

When her mother died she cried much the firstfew days. She had a funeral picture made withthe hair of the deceased, and, in a letter sent tothe Bertaux full of sad reflections on life, sheasked to be buried later on in the same grave.The goodman thought she must be ill, andcame to see her. Emma was secretly pleasedthat she had reached at a first attempt the rareideal of pale lives, never attained by mediocrehearts. She let herself glide along with Lamar-tine meanderings, listened to harps on lakes, toall the songs of dying swans, to the falling ofthe leaves, the pure virgins ascending toheaven, and the voice of the Eternal discours-ing down the valleys. She wearied of it, wouldnot confess it, continued from habit, and at lastwas surprised to feel herself soothed, and with

no more sadness at heart than wrinkles on herbrow.

The good nuns, who had been so sure of hervocation, perceived with great astonishmentthat Mademoiselle Rouault seemed to be slip-ping from them. They had indeed been so lav-ish to her of prayers, retreats, novenas, andsermons, they had so often preached the re-spect due to saints and martyrs, and given somuch good advice as to the modesty of thebody and the salvation of her soul, that she didas tightly reined horses; she pulled up shortand the bit slipped from her teeth. This nature,positive in the midst of its enthusiasms, thathad loved the church for the sake of the flow-ers, and music for the words of the songs, andliterature for its passional stimulus, rebelledagainst the mysteries of faith as it grew irritatedby discipline, a thing antipathetic to her consti-tution. When her father took her from school,no one was sorry to see her go. The Lady Supe-

rior even thought that she had latterly beensomewhat irreverent to the community.

Emma, at home once more, first took pleasurein looking after the servants, then grew dis-gusted with the country and missed her con-vent. When Charles came to the Bertaux for thefirst time, she thought herself quite disillu-sioned, with nothing more to learn, and noth-ing more to feel.

But the uneasiness of her new position, or per-haps the disturbance caused by the presence ofthis man, had sufficed to make her believe thatshe at last felt that wondrous passion which, tillthen, like a great bird with rose-colouredwings, hung in the splendour of the skies ofpoesy; and now she could not think that thecalm in which she lived was the happiness shehad dreamed.

Chapter Seven

She thought, sometimes, that, after all, this wasthe happiest time of her life—the honeymoon,as people called it. To taste the full sweetness ofit, it would have been necessary doubtless to flyto those lands with sonorous names where thedays after marriage are full of laziness mostsuave. In post chaises behind blue silken cur-tains to ride slowly up steep road, listening tothe song of the postilion re-echoed by themountains, along with the bells of goats andthe muffled sound of a waterfall; at sunset onthe shores of gulfs to breathe in the perfume oflemon trees; then in the evening on the villa-terraces above, hand in hand to look at thestars, making plans for the future. It seemed to

her that certain places on earth must bringhappiness, as a plant peculiar to the soil, andthat cannot thrive elsewhere. Why could notshe lean over balconies in Swiss chalets, or en-shrine her melancholy in a Scotch cottage, witha husband dressed in a black velvet coat withlong tails, and thin shoes, a pointed hat andfrills? Perhaps she would have liked to confideall these things to someone. But how tell anundefinable uneasiness, variable as the clouds,unstable as the winds? Words failed her—theopportunity, the courage.

If Charles had but wished it, if he had guessedit, if his look had but once met her thought, itseemed to her that a sudden plenty would havegone out from her heart, as the fruit falls from atree when shaken by a hand. But as the inti-macy of their life became deeper, the greaterbecame the gulf that separated her from him.

Charles's conversation was commonplace as astreet pavement, and everyone's ideas trooped

through it in their everyday garb, without ex-citing emotion, laughter, or thought. He hadnever had the curiosity, he said, while he livedat Rouen, to go to the theatre to see the actorsfrom Paris. He could neither swim, nor fence,nor shoot, and one day he could not explainsome term of horsemanship to her that she hadcome across in a novel.

A man, on the contrary, should he not knoweverything, excel in manifold activities, initiateyou into the energies of passion, the refine-ments of life, all mysteries? But this one taughtnothing, knew nothing, wished nothing. Hethought her happy; and she resented this easycalm, this serene heaviness, the very happinessshe gave him.

Sometimes she would draw; and it was greatamusement to Charles to stand there bolt up-right and watch her bend over her cardboard,with eyes half-closed the better to see her work,or rolling, between her fingers, little bread-

pellets. As to the piano, the more quickly herfingers glided over it the more he wondered.She struck the notes with aplomb, and ran fromtop to bottom of the keyboard without a break.Thus shaken up, the old instrument, whosestrings buzzed, could be heard at the other endof the village when the window was open, andoften the bailiff's clerk, passing along the high-road bare-headed and in list slippers, stoppedto listen, his sheet of paper in his hand.

Emma, on the other hand, knew how to lookafter her house. She sent the patients' accountsin well-phrased letters that had no suggestionof a bill. When they had a neighbour to dinneron Sundays, she managed to have some tastydish—piled up pyramids of greengages on vineleaves, served up preserves turned out intoplates—and even spoke of buying finger-glasses for dessert. From all this much consid-eration was extended to Bovary.

Charles finished by rising in his own esteem forpossessing such a wife. He showed with pridein the sitting room two small pencil sketchedby her that he had had framed in very largeframes, and hung up against the wallpaper bylong green cords. People returning from masssaw him at his door in his wool-work slippers.

He came home late—at ten o'clock, at midnightsometimes. Then he asked for something to eat,and as the servant had gone to bed, Emmawaited on him. He took off his coat to dinemore at his ease. He told her, one after theother, the people he had met, the villageswhere he had been, the prescriptions he hadwritten, and, well pleased with himself, he fin-ished the remainder of the boiled beef and on-ions, picked pieces off the cheese, munched anapple, emptied his water-bottle, and then wentto bed, and lay on his back and snored.

As he had been for a time accustomed to wearnightcaps, his handkerchief would not keep

down over his ears, so that his hair in the morn-ing was all tumbled pell-mell about his faceand whitened with the feathers of the pillow,whose strings came untied during the night. Healways wore thick boots that had two longcreases over the instep running obliquely to-wards the ankle, while the rest of the uppercontinued in a straight line as if stretched on awooden foot. He said that "was quite goodenough for the country."

His mother approved of his economy, for shecame to see him as formerly when there hadbeen some violent row at her place; and yetMadame Bovary senior seemed prejudicedagainst her daughter-in-law. She thought "herways too fine for their position"; the wood, thesugar, and the candles disappeared as "at agrand establishment," and the amount of firingin the kitchen would have been enough fortwenty-five courses. She put her linen in orderfor her in the presses, and taught her to keep an

eye on the butcher when he brought the meat.Emma put up with these lessons. MadameBovary was lavish of them; and the words"daughter" and "mother" were exchanged allday long, accompanied by little quiverings ofthe lips, each one uttering gentle words in avoice trembling with anger.

In Madame Dubuc's time the old woman feltthat she was still the favorite; but now the loveof Charles for Emma seemed to her a desertionfrom her tenderness, an encroachment uponwhat was hers, and she watched her son's hap-piness in sad silence, as a ruined man looksthrough the windows at people dining in hisold house. She recalled to him as remem-brances her troubles and her sacrifices, and,comparing these with Emma's negligence, cameto the conclusion that it was not reasonable toadore her so exclusively.

Charles knew not what to answer: he respectedhis mother, and he loved his wife infinitely; he

considered the judgment of the one infallible,and yet he thought the conduct of the otherirreproachable. When Madam Bovary hadgone, he tried timidly and in the same terms tohazard one or two of the more anodyne obser-vations he had heard from his mamma. Emmaproved to him with a word that he was mis-taken, and sent him off to his patients.

And yet, in accord with theories she believedright, she wanted to make herself in love withhim. By moonlight in the garden she recited allthe passionate rhymes she knew by heart, and,sighing, sang to him many melancholy adagios;but she found herself as calm after as before,and Charles seemed no more amorous and nomore moved.

When she had thus for a while struck the flinton her heart without getting a spark, incapable,moreover, of understanding what she did notexperience as of believing anything that did notpresent itself in conventional forms, she per-

suaded herself without difficulty that Charles'spassion was nothing very exorbitant. His out-bursts became regular; he embraced her at cer-tain fixed times. It was one habit among otherhabits, and, like a dessert, looked forward toafter the monotony of dinner.

A gamekeeper, cured by the doctor of inflam-mation of the lungs, had given madame a littleItalian greyhound; she took her out walking,for she went out sometimes in order to be alonefor a moment, and not to see before her eyesthe eternal garden and the dusty road. Shewent as far as the beeches of Banneville, nearthe deserted pavilion which forms an angle ofthe wall on the side of the country. Amidst thevegetation of the ditch there are long reedswith leaves that cut you.

She began by looking round her to see if noth-ing had changed since last she had been there.She found again in the same places the fox-gloves and wallflowers, the beds of nettles

growing round the big stones, and the patchesof lichen along the three windows, whose shut-ters, always closed, were rotting away on theirrusty iron bars. Her thoughts, aimless at first,wandered at random, like her greyhound, whoran round and round in the fields, yelping afterthe yellow butterflies, chasing the shrew-mice,or nibbling the poppies on the edge of a corn-field.

Then gradually her ideas took definite shape,and, sitting on the grass that she dug up withlittle prods of her sunshade, Emma repeated toherself, "Good heavens! Why did I marry?"

She asked herself if by some other chance com-bination it would have not been possible tomeet another man; and she tried to imaginewhat would have been these unrealised events,this different life, this unknown husband. All,surely, could not be like this one. He mighthave been handsome, witty, distinguished, at-tractive, such as, no doubt, her old companions

of the convent had married. What were theydoing now? In town, with the noise of thestreets, the buzz of the theatres and the lights ofthe ballroom, they were living lives where theheart expands, the senses bourgeon out. Butshe—her life was cold as a garret whose dor-mer window looks on the north, and ennui, thesilent spider, was weaving its web in the dark-ness in every corner of her heart.

She recalled the prize days, when she mountedthe platform to receive her little crowns, withher hair in long plaits. In her white frock andopen prunella shoes she had a pretty way, andwhen she went back to her seat, the gentlemenbent over her to congratulate her; the courtyardwas full of carriages; farewells were called toher through their windows; the music masterwith his violin case bowed in passing by. Howfar all of this! How far away! She called Djali,took her between her knees, and smoothed the

long delicate head, saying, "Come, kiss mis-tress; you have no troubles."

Then noting the melancholy face of the gracefulanimal, who yawned slowly, she softened, andcomparing her to herself, spoke to her aloud asto somebody in trouble whom one is consoling.

Occasionally there came gusts of winds,breezes from the sea rolling in one sweep overthe whole plateau of the Caux country, whichbrought even to these fields a salt freshness.The rushes, close to the ground, whistled; thebranches trembled in a swift rustling, whiletheir summits, ceaselessly swaying, kept up adeep murmur. Emma drew her shawl roundher shoulders and rose.

In the avenue a green light dimmed by theleaves lit up the short moss that crackled softlybeneath her feet. The sun was setting; the skyshowed red between the branches, and thetrunks of the trees, uniform, and planted in a

straight line, seemed a brown colonnade stand-ing out against a background of gold. A feartook hold of her; she called Djali, and hurriedlyreturned to Tostes by the high road, threw her-self into an armchair, and for the rest of theevening did not speak.

But towards the end of September somethingextraordinary fell upon her life; she was invitedby the Marquis d'Andervilliers to Vaubyessard.

Secretary of State under the Restoration, theMarquis, anxious to re-enter political life, setabout preparing for his candidature to theChamber of Deputies long beforehand. In thewinter he distributed a great deal of wood, andin the Conseil General always enthusiasticallydemanded new roads for his arrondissement.During the dog-days he had suffered from anabscess, which Charles had cured as if by mira-cle by giving a timely little touch with the lan-cet. The steward sent to Tostes to pay for theoperation reported in the evening that he had

seen some superb cherries in the doctor's littlegarden. Now cherry trees did not thrive atVaubyessard; the Marquis asked Bovary forsome slips; made it his business to thank hispersonally; saw Emma; thought she had apretty figure, and that she did not bow like apeasant; so that he did not think he was goingbeyond the bounds of condescension, nor, onthe other hand, making a mistake, in invitingthe young couple.

On Wednesday at three o'clock, Monsieur andMadame Bovary, seated in their dog-cart, setout for Vaubyessard, with a great trunkstrapped on behind and a bonnet-box in frontof the apron. Besides these Charles held abandbox between his knees.

They arrived at nightfall, just as the lamps inthe park were being lit to show the way for thecarriages.

Chapter Eight

The chateau, a modern building in Italian style,with two projecting wings and three flights ofsteps, lay at the foot of an immense green-sward, on which some cows were grazingamong groups of large trees set out at regularintervals, while large beds of arbutus, rhodo-dendron, syringas, and guelder roses bulgedout their irregular clusters of green along thecurve of the gravel path. A river flowed undera bridge; through the mist one could distin-guish buildings with thatched roofs scatteredover the field bordered by two gently sloping,well timbered hillocks, and in the backgroundamid the trees rose in two parallel lines the

coach houses and stables, all that was left of theruined old chateau.

Charles's dog-cart pulled up before the middleflight of steps; servants appeared; the Marquiscame forward, and, offering his arm to the doc-tor's wife, conducted her to the vestibule.

It was paved with marble slabs, was very lofty,and the sound of footsteps and that of voicesre-echoed through it as in a church.

Opposite rose a straight staircase, and on theleft a gallery overlooking the garden led to thebilliard room, through whose door one couldhear the click of the ivory balls. As she crossedit to go to the drawing room, Emma saw stand-ing round the table men with grave faces, theirchins resting on high cravats. They all woreorders, and smiled silently as they made theirstrokes.

On the dark wainscoting of the walls large goldframes bore at the bottom names written inblack letters. She read: "Jean-Antoine d'Ander-villiers d'Yvervonbille, Count de la Vaubyes-sard and Baron de la Fresnay, killed at the bat-tle of Coutras on the 20th of October, 1587."And on another: "Jean-Antoine-Henry-Guyd'Andervilliers de la Vaubyessard, Admiral ofFrance and Chevalier of the Order of St. Mi-chael, wounded at the battle of the Hougue-Saint-Vaast on the 29th of May, 1692; died atVaubyessard on the 23rd of January 1693." Onecould hardly make out those that followed, forthe light of the lamps lowered over the greencloth threw a dim shadow round the room.Burnishing the horizontal pictures, it broke upagainst these in delicate lines where there werecracks in the varnish, and from all these greatblack squares framed in with gold stood outhere and there some lighter portion of thepainting—a pale brow, two eyes that looked atyou, perukes flowing over and powdering red-

coated shoulders, or the buckle of a garterabove a well-rounded calf.

The Marquis opened the drawing room door;one of the ladies (the Marchioness herself) cameto meet Emma. She made her sit down by heron an ottoman, and began talking to her asamicably as if she had known her a long time.She was a woman of about forty, with fineshoulders, a hook nose, a drawling voice, andon this evening she wore over her brown hair asimple guipure fichu that fell in a point at theback. A fair young woman sat in a high-backedchair in a corner; and gentlemen with flowersin their buttonholes were talking to ladiesround the fire.

At seven dinner was served. The men, whowere in the majority, sat down at the first tablein the vestibule; the ladies at the second in thedining room with the Marquis and Marchion-ess.

Emma, on entering, felt herself wrapped roundby the warm air, a blending of the perfume offlowers and of the fine linen, of the fumes of theviands, and the odour of the truffles. The silverdish covers reflected the lighted wax candles inthe candelabra, the cut crystal covered withlight steam reflected from one to the other palerays; bouquets were placed in a row the wholelength of the table; and in the large-borderedplates each napkin, arranged after the fashionof a bishop's mitre, held between its two gapingfolds a small oval shaped roll. The red claws oflobsters hung over the dishes; rich fruit in openbaskets was piled up on moss; there werequails in their plumage; smoke was rising; andin silk stockings, knee-breeches, white cravat,and frilled shirt, the steward, grave as a judge,offering ready carved dishes between theshoulders of the guests, with a touch of thespoon gave you the piece chosen. On the largestove of porcelain inlaid with copper baguettes

the statue of a woman, draped to the chin,gazed motionless on the room full of life.

Madame Bovary noticed that many ladies hadnot put their gloves in their glasses.

But at the upper end of the table, aloneamongst all these women, bent over his fullplate, and his napkin tied round his neck like achild, an old man sat eating, letting drops ofgravy drip from his mouth. His eyes werebloodshot, and he wore a little queue tied withblack ribbon. He was the Marquis's father-in-law, the old Duke de Laverdiere, once on a timefavourite of the Count d'Artois, in the days ofthe Vaudreuil hunting-parties at the Marquisde Conflans', and had been, it was said, thelover of Queen Marie Antoinette, betweenMonsieur de Coigny and Monsieur de Lauzun.He had lived a life of noisy debauch, full ofduels, bets, elopements; he had squandered hisfortune and frightened all his family. A servantbehind his chair named aloud to him in his ear

the dishes that he pointed to stammering, andconstantly Emma's eyes turned involuntarily tothis old man with hanging lips, as to somethingextraordinary. He had lived at court and sleptin the bed of queens! Iced champagne waspoured out. Emma shivered all over as she feltit cold in her mouth. She had never seen pome-granates nor tasted pineapples. The powderedsugar even seemed to her whiter and finer thanelsewhere.

The ladies afterwards went to their rooms toprepare for the ball.

Emma made her toilet with the fastidious careof an actress on her debut. She did her hair ac-cording to the directions of the hairdresser, andput on the barege dress spread out upon thebed.

Charles's trousers were tight across the belly.

"My trouser-straps will be rather awkward fordancing," he said.

"Dancing?" repeated Emma.

"Yes!"

"Why, you must be mad! They would make funof you; keep your place. Besides, it is more be-coming for a doctor," she added.

Charles was silent. He walked up and downwaiting for Emma to finish dressing.

He saw her from behind in the glass betweentwo lights. Her black eyes seemed blacker thanever. Her hair, undulating towards the ears,shone with a blue lustre; a rose in her chignontrembled on its mobile stalk, with artificialdewdrops on the tip of the leaves. She wore agown of pale saffron trimmed with three bou-quets of pompon roses mixed with green.

Charles came and kissed her on her shoulder.

"Let me alone!" she said; "you are tumblingme."

One could hear the flourish of the violin andthe notes of a horn. She went downstairs re-straining herself from running.

Dancing had begun. Guests were arriving.There was some crushing.

She sat down on a form near the door.

The quadrille over, the floor was occupied bygroups of men standing up and talking andservants in livery bearing large trays. Along theline of seated women painted fans were flutter-ing, bouquets half hid smiling faces, and goldstoppered scent-bottles were turned in partly-closed hands, whose white gloves outlined thenails and tightened on the flesh at the wrists.Lace trimmings, diamond brooches, medallionbracelets trembled on bodices, gleamed onbreasts, clinked on bare arms.

The hair, well-smoothed over the temples andknotted at the nape, bore crowns, or bunches,or sprays of mytosotis, jasmine, pomegranateblossoms, ears of corn, and corn-flowers.Calmly seated in their places, mothers withforbidding countenances were wearing redturbans.

Emma's heart beat rather faster when, her part-ner holding her by the tips of the fingers, shetook her place in a line with the dancers, andwaited for the first note to start. But her emo-tion soon vanished, and, swaying to the rhythmof the orchestra, she glided forward with slightmovements of the neck. A smile rose to her lipsat certain delicate phrases of the violin, thatsometimes played alone while the other in-struments were silent; one could hear the clearclink of the louis d'or that were being throwndown upon the card tables in the next room;then all struck again, the cornet-a-piston ut-tered its sonorous note, feet marked time, skirts

swelled and rustled, hands touched and parted;the same eyes falling before you met yoursagain.

A few men (some fifteen or so), of twenty-fiveto forty, scattered here and there among thedancers or talking at the doorways, distin-guished themselves from the crowd by a cer-tain air of breeding, whatever their differencesin age, dress, or face.

Their clothes, better made, seemed of finercloth, and their hair, brought forward in curlstowards the temples, glossy with more delicatepomades. They had the complexion of wealth—that clear complexion that is heightened by thepallor of porcelain, the shimmer of satin, theveneer of old furniture, and that an orderedregimen of exquisite nurture maintains at itsbest. Their necks moved easily in their low cra-vats, their long whiskers fell over their turned-down collars, they wiped their lips upon hand-kerchiefs with embroidered initials that gave

forth a subtle perfume. Those who were begin-ning to grow old had an air of youth, whilethere was something mature in the faces of theyoung. In their unconcerned looks was thecalm of passions daily satiated, and through alltheir gentleness of manner pierced that peculiarbrutality, the result of a command of half-easythings, in which force is exercised and vanityamused—the management of thoroughbredhorses and the society of loose women.

A few steps from Emma a gentleman in a bluecoat was talking of Italy with a pale youngwoman wearing a parure of pearls.

They were praising the breadth of the columnsof St. Peter's, Tivoly, Vesuvius, Castellamare,and Cassines, the roses of Genoa, the Coliseumby moonlight. With her other ear Emma waslistening to a conversation full of words she didnot understand. A circle gathered round a veryyoung man who the week before had beaten"Miss Arabella" and "Romolus," and won two

thousand louis jumping a ditch in England.One complained that his racehorses were grow-ing fat; another of the printers' errors that haddisfigured the name of his horse.

The atmosphere of the ball was heavy; thelamps were growing dim.

Guests were flocking to the billiard room. Aservant got upon a chair and broke the win-dow-panes. At the crash of the glass MadameBovary turned her head and saw in the gardenthe faces of peasants pressed against the win-dow looking in at them. Then the memory ofthe Bertaux came back to her. She saw the farmagain, the muddy pond, her father in a blouseunder the apple trees, and she saw herselfagain as formerly, skimming with her fingerthe cream off the milk-pans in the dairy. But inthe refulgence of the present hour her past life,so distinct until then, faded away completely,and she almost doubted having lived it. Shewas there; beyond the ball was only shadow

overspreading all the rest. She was just eating amaraschino ice that she held with her left handin a silver-gilt cup, her eyes half-closed, and thespoon between her teeth.

A lady near her dropped her fan. A gentlemenwas passing.

"Would you be so good," said the lady, "as topick up my fan that has fallen behind the sofa?"

The gentleman bowed, and as he moved tostretch out his arm, Emma saw the hand of ayoung woman throw something white, foldedin a triangle, into his hat. The gentleman, pick-ing up the fan, offered it to the lady respect-fully; she thanked him with an inclination ofthe head, and began smelling her bouquet.

After supper, where were plenty of Spanishand Rhine wines, soups a la bisque and au laitd'amandes*, puddings a la Trafalgar, and allsorts of cold meats with jellies that trembled in

the dishes, the carriages one after the other be-gan to drive off. Raising the corners of the mus-lin curtain, one could see the light of their lan-terns glimmering through the darkness. Theseats began to empty, some card-players werestill left; the musicians were cooling the tips oftheir fingers on their tongues. Charles was halfasleep, his back propped against a door.

*With almond milk

At three o'clock the cotillion began. Emma didnot know how to waltz. Everyone was waltz-ing, Mademoiselle d'Andervilliers herself andthe Marquis; only the guests staying at the cas-tle were still there, about a dozen persons.

One of the waltzers, however, who was famil-iarly called Viscount, and whose low cut waist-coat seemed moulded to his chest, came a sec-ond time to ask Madame Bovary to dance, as-suring her that he would guide her, and thatshe would get through it very well.

They began slowly, then went more rapidly.They turned; all around them was turning—thelamps, the furniture, the wainscoting, the floor,like a disc on a pivot. On passing near thedoors the bottom of Emma's dress caughtagainst his trousers.

Their legs commingled; he looked down at her;she raised her eyes to his. A torpor seized her;she stopped. They started again, and with amore rapid movement; the Viscount, draggingher along disappeared with her to the end ofthe gallery, where panting, she almost fell, andfor a moment rested her head upon his breast.And then, still turning, but more slowly, heguided her back to her seat. She leaned backagainst the wall and covered her eyes with herhands.

When she opened them again, in the middle ofthe drawing room three waltzers were kneelingbefore a lady sitting on a stool.

She chose the Viscount, and the violin struckup once more.

Everyone looked at them. They passed and re-passed, she with rigid body, her chin bentdown, and he always in the same pose, his fig-ure curved, his elbow rounded, his chin thrownforward. That woman knew how to waltz!They kept up a long time, and tired out all theothers.

Then they talked a few moments longer, andafter the goodnights, or rather good mornings,the guests of the chateau retired to bed.

Charles dragged himself up by the balusters.His "knees were going up into his body." Hehad spent five consecutive hours standing boltupright at the card tables, watching them playwhist, without understanding anything aboutit, and it was with a deep sigh of relief that hepulled off his boots.

Emma threw a shawl over her shoulders,opened the window, and leant out.

The night was dark; some drops of rain werefalling. She breathed in the damp wind thatrefreshed her eyelids. The music of the ball wasstill murmuring in her ears. And she tried tokeep herself awake in order to prolong the illu-sion of this luxurious life that she would soonhave to give up.

Day began to break. She looked long at thewindows of the chateau, trying to guess whichwere the rooms of all those she had noticed theevening before. She would fain have knowntheir lives, have penetrated, blended withthem. But she was shivering with cold. She un-dressed, and cowered down between the sheetsagainst Charles, who was asleep.

There were a great many people to luncheon.The repast lasted ten minutes; no liqueurs wereserved, which astonished the doctor.

Next, Mademoiselle d'Andervilliers collectedsome pieces of roll in a small basket to takethem to the swans on the ornamental waters,and they went to walk in the hot-houses, wherestrange plants, bristling with hairs, rose inpyramids under hanging vases, whence, asfrom over-filled nests of serpents, fell longgreen cords interlacing. The orangery, whichwas at the other end, led by a covered way tothe outhouses of the chateau. The Marquis, toamuse the young woman, took her to see thestables.

Above the basket-shaped racks porcelain slabsbore the names of the horses in black letters.Each animal in its stall whisked its tail whenanyone went near and said "Tchk! tchk!" Theboards of the harness room shone like the floor-ing of a drawing room. The carriage harnesswas piled up in the middle against two twistedcolumns, and the bits, the whips, the spurs, thecurbs, were ranged in a line all along the wall.

Charles, meanwhile, went to ask a groom toput his horse to. The dog-cart was brought tothe foot of the steps, and, all the parcels beingcrammed in, the Bovarys paid their respects tothe Marquis and Marchioness and set out againfor Tostes.

Emma watched the turning wheels in silence.Charles, on the extreme edge of the seat, heldthe reins with his two arms wide apart, and thelittle horse ambled along in the shafts that weretoo big for him. The loose reins hanging overhis crupper were wet with foam, and the boxfastened on behind the chaise gave great regu-lar bumps against it.

They were on the heights of Thibourville whensuddenly some horsemen with cigars betweentheir lips passed laughing. Emma thought sherecognized the Viscount, turned back, andcaught on the horizon only the movement ofthe heads rising or falling with the unequalcadence of the trot or gallop.

A mile farther on they had to stop to mendwith some string the traces that had broken.

But Charles, giving a last look to the harness,saw something on the ground between hishorse's legs, and he picked up a cigar-case witha green silk border and beblazoned in the cen-tre like the door of a carriage.

"There are even two cigars in it," said he;"they'll do for this evening after dinner."

"Why, do you smoke?" she asked.

"Sometimes, when I get a chance."

He put his find in his pocket and whipped upthe nag.

When they reached home the dinner was notready. Madame lost her temper. Nastasie an-swered rudely.

"Leave the room!" said Emma. "You are forget-ting yourself. I give you warning."

For dinner there was onion soup and a piece ofveal with sorrel.

Charles, seated opposite Emma, rubbed hishands gleefully.

"How good it is to be at home again!"

Nastasie could be heard crying. He was ratherfond of the poor girl. She had formerly, duringthe wearisome time of his widowhood, kepthim company many an evening. She had beenhis first patient, his oldest acquaintance in theplace.

"Have you given her warning for good?" heasked at last.

"Yes. Who is to prevent me?" she replied.

Then they warmed themselves in the kitchenwhile their room was being made ready.Charles began to smoke. He smoked with lipsprotruding, spitting every moment, recoiling atevery puff.

"You'll make yourself ill," she said scornfully.

He put down his cigar and ran to swallow aglass of cold water at the pump. Emma seizinghold of the cigar case threw it quickly to theback of the cupboard.

The next day was a long one. She walked abouther little garden, up and down the same walks,stopping before the beds, before the espalier,before the plaster curate, looking with amaze-ment at all these things of once-on-a-time thatshe knew so well. How far off the ball seemedalready! What was it that thus set so far asun-der the morning of the day before yesterdayand the evening of to-day? Her journey toVaubyessard had made a hole in her life, like

one of those great crevices that a storm willsometimes make in one night in mountains.Still she was resigned. She devoutly put awayin her drawers her beautiful dress, down to thesatin shoes whose soles were yellowed with theslippery wax of the dancing floor. Her heartwas like these. In its friction against wealthsomething had come over it that could not beeffaced.

The memory of this ball, then, became an occu-pation for Emma.

Whenever the Wednesday came round she saidto herself as she awoke, "Ah! I was there aweek—a fortnight—three weeks ago."

And little by little the faces grew confused inher remembrance.

She forgot the tune of the quadrilles; she nolonger saw the liveries and appointments so

distinctly; some details escaped her, but theregret remained with her.

Chapter Nine

Often when Charles was out she took from thecupboard, between the folds of the linen whereshe had left it, the green silk cigar case. Shelooked at it, opened it, and even smelt theodour of the lining—a mixture of verbena andtobacco. Whose was it? The Viscount's? Per-haps it was a present from his mistress. It hadbeen embroidered on some rosewood frame, apretty little thing, hidden from all eyes, thathad occupied many hours, and over which hadfallen the soft curls of the pensive worker. Abreath of love had passed over the stitches onthe canvas; each prick of the needle had fixed

there a hope or a memory, and all those inter-woven threads of silk were but the continuityof the same silent passion. And then one morn-ing the Viscount had taken it away with him.Of what had they spoken when it lay upon thewide-mantelled chimneys between flower-vases and Pompadour clocks? She was atTostes; he was at Paris now, far away! Whatwas this Paris like? What a vague name! Sherepeated it in a low voice, for the mere pleasureof it; it rang in her ears like a great cathedralbell; it shone before her eyes, even on the labelsof her pomade-pots.

At night, when the carriers passed under herwindows in their carts singing the "Marjolaine,"she awoke, and listened to the noise of the iron-bound wheels, which, as they gained the coun-try road, was soon deadened by the soil. "Theywill be there to-morrow!" she said to herself.

And she followed them in thought up anddown the hills, traversing villages, gliding

along the highroads by the light of the stars. Atthe end of some indefinite distance there wasalways a confused spot, into which her dreamdied.

She bought a plan of Paris, and with the tip ofher finger on the map she walked about thecapital. She went up the boulevards, stoppingat every turning, between the lines of thestreets, in front of the white squares that repre-sented the houses. At last she would close thelids of her weary eyes, and see in the darknessthe gas jets flaring in the wind and the steps ofcarriages lowered with much noise before theperistyles of theatres.

She took in "La Corbeille," a lady's journal, andthe "Sylphe des Salons." She devoured, withoutskipping a word, all the accounts of first nights,races, and soirees, took interest in the debut ofa singer, in the opening of a new shop. Sheknew the latest fashions, the addresses of thebest tailors, the days of the Bois and the Opera.

In Eugene Sue she studied descriptions of fur-niture; she read Balzac and George Sand, seek-ing in them imaginary satisfaction for her owndesires. Even at table she had her book by her,and turned over the pages while Charles ateand talked to her. The memory of the Viscountalways returned as she read. Between him andthe imaginary personages she made compari-sons. But the circle of which he was the centregradually widened round him, and the aureolethat he bore, fading from his form, broadenedout beyond, lighting up her other dreams.

Paris, more vague than the ocean, glimmeredbefore Emma's eyes in an atmosphere of ver-milion. The many lives that stirred amid thistumult were, however, divided into parts,classed as distinct pictures. Emma perceivedonly two or three that hid from her all the rest,and in themselves represented all humanity.The world of ambassadors moved over pol-ished floors in drawing rooms lined with mir-

rors, round oval tables covered with velvet andgold-fringed cloths. There were dresses withtrains, deep mysteries, anguish hidden beneathsmiles. Then came the society of the duchesses;all were pale; all got up at four o'clock; thewomen, poor angels, wore English point ontheir petticoats; and the men, unappreciatedgeniuses under a frivolous outward seeming,rode horses to death at pleasure parties, spentthe summer season at Baden, and towards theforties married heiresses. In the private roomsof restaurants, where one sups after midnightby the light of wax candles, laughed the motleycrowd of men of letters and actresses. Theywere prodigal as kings, full of ideal, ambitious,fantastic frenzy. This was an existence outsidethat of all others, between heaven and earth, inthe midst of storms, having something of thesublime. For the rest of the world it was lost,with no particular place and as if non-existent.The nearer things were, moreover, the more herthoughts turned away from them. All her im-

mediate surroundings, the wearisome country,the middle-class imbeciles, the mediocrity ofexistence, seemed to her exceptional, a peculiarchance that had caught hold of her, while be-yond stretched, as far as eye could see, an im-mense land of joys and passions. She confusedin her desire the sensualities of luxury with thedelights of the heart, elegance of manners withdelicacy of sentiment. Did not love, like Indianplants, need a special soil, a particular tempera-ture? Signs by moonlight, long embraces, tearsflowing over yielded hands, all the fevers of theflesh and the languors of tenderness could notbe separated from the balconies of great castlesfull of indolence, from boudoirs with silkencurtains and thick carpets, well-filled flower-stands, a bed on a raised dias, nor from theflashing of precious stones and the shoulder-knots of liveries.

The lad from the posting house who came togroom the mare every morning passed through

the passage with his heavy wooden shoes;there were holes in his blouse; his feet werebare in list slippers. And this was the groom inknee-britches with whom she had to be con-tent! His work done, he did not come backagain all day, for Charles on his return put uphis horse himself, unsaddled him and put onthe halter, while the servant-girl brought abundle of straw and threw it as best she couldinto the manger.

To replace Nastasie (who left Tostes sheddingtorrents of tears) Emma took into her service ayoung girl of fourteen, an orphan with a sweetface. She forbade her wearing cotton caps,taught her to address her in the third person, tobring a glass of water on a plate, to knock be-fore coming into a room, to iron, starch, and todress her—wanted to make a lady's-maid ofher. The new servant obeyed without a mur-mur, so as not to be sent away; and as madameusually left the key in the sideboard, Felicite

every evening took a small supply of sugar thatshe ate alone in her bed after she had said herprayers.

Sometimes in the afternoon she went to chatwith the postilions.

Madame was in her room upstairs. She wore anopen dressing gown that showed between theshawl facings of her bodice a pleated cham-isette with three gold buttons. Her belt was acorded girdle with great tassels, and her smallgarnet coloured slippers had a large knot ofribbon that fell over her instep. She had boughtherself a blotting book, writing case, pen-holder, and envelopes, although she had noone to write to; she dusted her what-not,looked at herself in the glass, picked up a book,and then, dreaming between the lines, let itdrop on her knees. She longed to travel or to goback to her convent. She wished at the sametime to die and to live in Paris.

Charles in snow and rain trotted across coun-try. He ate omelettes on farmhouse tables,poked his arm into damp beds, received thetepid spurt of blood-lettings in his face, listenedto death-rattles, examined basins, turned over agood deal of dirty linen; but every evening hefound a blazing fire, his dinner ready, easy-chairs, and a well-dressed woman, charmingwith an odour of freshness, though no onecould say whence the perfume came, or if itwere not her skin that made odorous her che-mise.

She charmed him by numerous attentions; nowit was some new way of arranging papersconces for the candles, a flounce that she al-tered on her gown, or an extraordinary namefor some very simple dish that the servant hadspoilt, but that Charles swallowed with pleas-ure to the last mouthful. At Rouen she sawsome ladies who wore a bunch of charms onthe watch-chains; she bought some charms. She

wanted for her mantelpiece two large blueglass vases, and some time after an ivory neces-saire with a silver-gilt thimble. The less Charlesunderstood these refinements the more theyseduced him. They added something to thepleasure of the senses and to the comfort of hisfireside. It was like a golden dust sanding allalong the narrow path of his life.

He was well, looked well; his reputation wasfirmly established.

The country-folk loved him because he was notproud. He petted the children, never went tothe public house, and, moreover, his moralsinspired confidence. He was specially success-ful with catarrhs and chest complaints. Beingmuch afraid of killing his patients, Charles, infact only prescribed sedatives, from time totime and emetic, a footbath, or leeches. It wasnot that he was afraid of surgery; he bled peo-ple copiously like horses, and for the taking outof teeth he had the "devil's own wrist."

Finally, to keep up with the times, he took in"La Ruche Medicale," a new journal whose pro-spectus had been sent him. He read it a littleafter dinner, but in about five minutes thewarmth of the room added to the effect of hisdinner sent him to sleep; and he sat there, hischin on his two hands and his hair spreadinglike a mane to the foot of the lamp. Emmalooked at him and shrugged her shoulders.Why, at least, was not her husband one of thosemen of taciturn passions who work at theirbooks all night, and at last, when about sixty,the age of rheumatism sets in, wear a string oforders on their ill-fitting black coat? She couldhave wished this name of Bovary, which washers, had been illustrious, to see it displayed atthe booksellers', repeated in the newspapers,known to all France. But Charles had no ambi-tion.

An Yvetot doctor whom he had lately met inconsultation had somewhat humiliated him at

the very bedside of the patient, before the as-sembled relatives. When, in the evening,Charles told her this anecdote, Emma in-veighed loudly against his colleague. Charleswas much touched. He kissed her foreheadwith a tear in his eyes. But she was angeredwith shame; she felt a wild desire to strike him;she went to open the window in the passageand breathed in the fresh air to calm herself.

"What a man! What a man!" she said in a lowvoice, biting her lips.

Besides, she was becoming more irritated withhim. As he grew older his manner grew heav-ier; at dessert he cut the corks of the empty bot-tles; after eating he cleaned his teeth with histongue; in taking soup he made a gurglingnoise with every spoonful; and, as he was get-ting fatter, the puffed-out cheeks seemed topush the eyes, always small, up to the temples.

Sometimes Emma tucked the red borders of hisunder-vest unto his waistcoat, rearranged hiscravat, and threw away the dirty gloves he wasgoing to put on; and this was not, as he fancied,for himself; it was for herself, by a diffusion ofegotism, of nervous irritation. Sometimes, too,she told him of what she had read, such as apassage in a novel, of a new play, or an anec-dote of the "upper ten" that she had seen in afeuilleton; for, after all, Charles was something,an ever-open ear, and ever-ready approbation.She confided many a thing to her greyhound.She would have done so to the logs in the fire-place or to the pendulum of the clock.

At the bottom of her heart, however, she waswaiting for something to happen. Like ship-wrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyesupon the solitude of her life, seeking afar offsome white sail in the mists of the horizon. Shedid not know what this chance would be, whatwind would bring it her, towards what shore it

would drive her, if it would be a shallop or athree-decker, laden with anguish or full of blissto the portholes. But each morning, as sheawoke, she hoped it would come that day; shelistened to every sound, sprang up with a start,wondered that it did not come; then at sunset,always more saddened, she longed for the mor-row.

Spring came round. With the first warmweather, when the pear trees began to blossom,she suffered from dyspnoea.

From the beginning of July she counted howmany weeks there were to October, thinkingthat perhaps the Marquis d'Andervillierswould give another ball at Vaubyessard. But allSeptember passed without letters or visits.

After the ennui of this disappointment herheart once more remained empty, and then thesame series of days recommenced. So now theywould thus follow one another, always the

same, immovable, and bringing nothing. Otherlives, however flat, had at least the chance ofsome event. One adventure sometimes broughtwith it infinite consequences and the scenechanged. But nothing happened to her; Godhad willed it so! The future was a dark corri-dor, with its door at the end shut fast.

She gave up music. What was the good of play-ing? Who would hear her? Since she couldnever, in a velvet gown with short sleeves,striking with her light fingers the ivory keys ofan Erard at a concert, feel the murmur of ec-stasy envelop her like a breeze, it was notworth while boring herself with practicing. Herdrawing cardboard and her embroidery she leftin the cupboard. What was the good? What wasthe good? Sewing irritated her. "I have readeverything," she said to herself. And she satthere making the tongs red-hot, or looked at therain falling.

How sad she was on Sundays when vesperssounded! She listened with dull attention toeach stroke of the cracked bell. A cat slowlywalking over some roof put up his back in thepale rays of the sun. The wind on the highroadblew up clouds of dust. Afar off a dog some-times howled; and the bell, keeping time, con-tinued its monotonous ringing that died awayover the fields.

But the people came out from church. Thewomen in waxed clogs, the peasants in newblouses, the little bare-headed children skip-ping along in front of them, all were goinghome. And till nightfall, five or six men, alwaysthe same, stayed playing at corks in front of thelarge door of the inn.

The winter was severe. The windows everymorning were covered with rime, and the lightshining through them, dim as through ground-glass, sometimes did not change the whole daylong. At four o'clock the lamp had to be lighted.

On fine days she went down into the garden.The dew had left on the cabbages a silver lacewith long transparent threads spreading fromone to the other. No birds were to be heard;everything seemed asleep, the espalier coveredwith straw, and the vine, like a great sick ser-pent under the coping of the wall, along which,on drawing hear, one saw the many-footedwoodlice crawling. Under the spruce by thehedgerow, the curie in the three-cornered hatreading his breviary had lost his right foot, andthe very plaster, scaling off with the frost, hadleft white scabs on his face.

Then she went up again, shut her door, put oncoals, and fainting with the heat of the hearth,felt her boredom weigh more heavily than ever.She would have liked to go down and talk tothe servant, but a sense of shame restrainedher.

Every day at the same time the schoolmaster ina black skullcap opened the shutters of his

house, and the rural policeman, wearing hissabre over his blouse, passed by. Night andmorning the post-horses, three by three,crossed the street to water at the pond. Fromtime to time the bell of a public house doorrang, and when it was windy one could hearthe little brass basins that served as signs forthe hairdresser's shop creaking on their tworods. This shop had as decoration an old en-graving of a fashion-plate stuck against a win-dowpane and the wax bust of a woman withyellow hair. He, too, the hairdresser, lamentedhis wasted calling, his hopeless future, anddreaming of some shop in a big town—atRouen, for example, overlooking the harbour,near the theatre—he walked up and down allday from the mairie to the church, sombre andwaiting for customers. When Madame Bovarylooked up, she always saw him there, like asentinel on duty, with his skullcap over his earsand his vest of lasting.

Sometimes in the afternoon outside the win-dow of her room, the head of a man appeared,a swarthy head with black whiskers, smilingslowly, with a broad, gentle smile that showedhis white teeth. A waltz immediately began andon the organ, in a little drawing room, dancersthe size of a finger, women in pink turbans,Tyrolians in jackets, monkeys in frock coats,gentlemen in knee-breeches, turned and turnedbetween the sofas, the consoles, multiplied inthe bits of looking glass held together at theircorners by a piece of gold paper. The manturned his handle, looking to the right and left,and up at the windows. Now and again, whilehe shot out a long squirt of brown salivaagainst the milestone, with his knee raised hisinstrument, whose hard straps tired his shoul-der; and now, doleful and drawling, or gay andhurried, the music escaped from the box, dron-ing through a curtain of pink taffeta under abrass claw in arabesque. They were airs playedin other places at the theatres, sung in drawing

rooms, danced to at night under lighted lustres,echoes of the world that reached even toEmma. Endless sarabands ran through herhead, and, like an Indian dancing girl on theflowers of a carpet, her thoughts leapt with thenotes, swung from dream to dream, from sad-ness to sadness. When the man had caughtsome coppers in his cap, he drew down an oldcover of blue cloth, hitched his organ on to hisback, and went off with a heavy tread. Shewatched him going.

But it was above all the meal-times that wereunbearable to her, in this small room on theground floor, with its smoking stove, its creak-ing door, the walls that sweated, the dampflags; all the bitterness in life seemed served upon her plate, and with smoke of the boiled beefthere rose from her secret soul whiffs of sickli-ness. Charles was a slow eater; she played witha few nuts, or, leaning on her elbow, amused

herself with drawing lines along the oilclothtable cover with the point of her knife.

She now let everything in her household takecare of itself, and Madame Bovary senior, whenshe came to spend part of Lent at Tostes, wasmuch surprised at the change. She who wasformerly so careful, so dainty, now passedwhole days without dressing, wore grey cottonstockings, and burnt tallow candles. She keptsaying they must be economical since theywere not rich, adding that she was very con-tented, very happy, that Tostes pleased hervery much, with other speeches that closed themouth of her mother-in-law. Besides, Emma nolonger seemed inclined to follow her advice;once even, Madame Bovary having thought fitto maintain that mistresses ought to keep aneye on the religion of their servants, she hadanswered with so angry a look and so cold asmile that the good woman did not interfereagain.

Emma was growing difficult, capricious. Sheordered dishes for herself, then she did nottouch them; one day drank only pure milk, thenext cups of tea by the dozen. Often she per-sisted in not going out, then, stifling, threwopen the windows and put on light dresses.After she had well scolded her servant she gaveher presents or sent her out to see neighbours,just as she sometimes threw beggars all thesilver in her purse, although she was by nomeans tender-hearted or easily accessible to thefeelings of others, like most country-bred peo-ple, who always retain in their souls somethingof the horny hardness of the paternal hands.

Towards the end of February old Rouault, inmemory of his cure, himself brought his son-in-law a superb turkey, and stayed three days atTostes. Charles being with his patients, Emmakept him company. He smoked in the room,spat on the firedogs, talked farming, calves,cows, poultry, and municipal council, so that

when he left she closed the door on him with afeeling of satisfaction that surprised even her-self. Moreover she no longer concealed her con-tempt for anything or anybody, and at timesshe set herself to express singular opinions,finding fault with that which others approved,and approving things perverse and immoral,all of which made her husband open his eyeswidely.

Would this misery last for ever? Would shenever issue from it? Yet she was as good as allthe women who were living happily. She hadseen duchesses at Vaubyessard with clumsierwaists and commoner ways, and she execratedthe injustice of God. She leant her head againstthe walls to weep; she envied lives of stir;longed for masked balls, for violent pleasures,with all the wildness that she did not know, butthat these must surely yield.

She grew pale and suffered from palpitations ofthe heart.

Charles prescribed valerian and camphor baths.Everything that was tried only seemed to irri-tate her the more.

On certain days she chatted with feverish ra-pidity, and this over-excitement was suddenlyfollowed by a state of torpor, in which she re-mained without speaking, without moving.What then revived her was pouring a bottle ofeau-de-cologne over her arms.

As she was constantly complaining aboutTostes, Charles fancied that her illness was nodoubt due to some local cause, and fixing onthis idea, began to think seriously of setting upelsewhere.

From that moment she drank vinegar, con-tracted a sharp little cough, and completely losther appetite.

It cost Charles much to give up Tostes afterliving there four years and "when he was be-

ginning to get on there." Yet if it must be! Hetook her to Rouen to see his old master. It was anervous complaint: change of air was needed.

After looking about him on this side and onthat, Charles learnt that in the Neufchatel ar-rondissement there was a considerable markettown called Yonville-l'Abbaye, whose doctor, aPolish refugee, had decamped a week before.Then he wrote to the chemist of the place to askthe number of the population, the distancefrom the nearest doctor, what his predecessorhad made a year, and so forth; and the answerbeing satisfactory, he made up his mind tomove towards the spring, if Emma's health didnot improve.

One day when, in view of her departure, shewas tidying a drawer, something pricked herfinger. It was a wire of her wedding bouquet.The orange blossoms were yellow with dustand the silver bordered satin ribbons frayed atthe edges. She threw it into the fire. It flared up

more quickly than dry straw. Then it was, like ared bush in the cinders, slowly devoured. Shewatched it burn.

The little pasteboard berries burst, the wiretwisted, the gold lace melted; and the shriveledpaper corollas, fluttering like black butterfliesat the back of the stove, at least flew up thechimney.

When they left Tostes at the month of March,Madame Bovary was pregnant.

Part II

Chapter One

Yonville-l'Abbaye (so called from an old Capu-chin abbey of which not even the ruins remain)is a market-town twenty-four miles fromRouen, between the Abbeville and Beauvaisroads, at the foot of a valley watered by theRieule, a little river that runs into the Andelleafter turning three water-mills near its mouth,where there are a few trout that the lads amusethemselves by fishing for on Sundays.

We leave the highroad at La Boissiere and keepstraight on to the top of the Leux hill, whencethe valley is seen. The river that runs through itmakes of it, as it were, two regions with distinctphysiognomies—all on the left is pasture land,all of the right arable. The meadow stretchesunder a bulge of low hills to join at the backwith the pasture land of the Bray country,while on the eastern side, the plain, gently ris-

ing, broadens out, showing as far as eye canfollow its blond cornfields. The water, flowingby the grass, divides with a white line the col-our of the roads and of the plains, and thecountry is like a great unfolded mantle with agreen velvet cape bordered with a fringe ofsilver.

Before us, on the verge of the horizon, lie theoaks of the forest of Argueil, with the steeps ofthe Saint-Jean hills scarred from top to bottomwith red irregular lines; they are rain tracks,and these brick-tones standing out in narrowstreaks against the grey colour of the mountainare due to the quantity of iron springs that flowbeyond in the neighboring country.

Here we are on the confines of Normandy,Picardy, and the Ile-de-France, a bastard landwhose language is without accent and its land-scape is without character. It is there that theymake the worst Neufchatel cheeses of all thearrondissement; and, on the other hand, farm-

ing is costly because so much manure is neededto enrich this friable soil full of sand and flints.

Up to 1835 there was no practicable road forgetting to Yonville, but about this time a cross-road was made which joins that of Abbeville tothat of Amiens, and is occasionally used by theRouen wagoners on their way to Flanders.Yonville-l'Abbaye has remained stationary inspite of its "new outlet." Instead of improvingthe soil, they persist in keeping up the pasturelands, however depreciated they may be invalue, and the lazy borough, growing awayfrom the plain, has naturally spread river-wards. It is seem from afar sprawling along thebanks like a cowherd taking a siesta by the wa-ter-side.

At the foot of the hill beyond the bridge beginsa roadway, planted with young aspens, thatleads in a straight line to the first houses in theplace. These, fenced in by hedges, are in themiddle of courtyards full of straggling build-

ings, wine-presses, cart-sheds and distilleriesscattered under thick trees, with ladders, poles,or scythes hung on to the branches. Thethatched roofs, like fur caps drawn over eyes,reach down over about a third of the low win-dows, whose coarse convex glasses have knotsin the middle like the bottoms of bottles.Against the plaster wall diagonally crossed byblack joists, a meagre pear-tree sometimes leansand the ground-floors have at their door asmall swing-gate to keep out the chicks thatcome pilfering crumbs of bread steeped in cideron the threshold. But the courtyards grow nar-rower, the houses closer together, and thefences disappear; a bundle of ferns swings un-der a window from the end of a broomstick;there is a blacksmith's forge and then a wheel-wright's, with two or three new carts outsidethat partly block the way. Then across an openspace appears a white house beyond a grassmound ornamented by a Cupid, his finger onhis lips; two brass vases are at each end of a

flight of steps; scutcheons* blaze upon the door.It is the notary's house, and the finest in theplace.

*The panonceaux that have to be hung overthe doors of notaries.

The Church is on the other side of the street,twenty paces farther down, at the entrance ofthe square. The little cemetery that surroundsit, closed in by a wall breast high, is so full ofgraves that the old stones, level with theground, form a continuous pavement, on whichthe grass of itself has marked out regular greensquares. The church was rebuilt during the lastyears of the reign of Charles X. The woodenroof is beginning to rot from the top, and hereand there has black hollows in its blue colour.Over the door, where the organ should be, is aloft for the men, with a spiral staircase that re-verberates under their wooden shoes.

The daylight coming through the plain glasswindows falls obliquely upon the pews rangedalong the walls, which are adorned here andthere with a straw mat bearing beneath it thewords in large letters, "Mr. So-and-so's pew."Farther on, at a spot where the building nar-rows, the confessional forms a pendant to astatuette of the Virgin, clothed in a satin robe,coifed with a tulle veil sprinkled with silverstars, and with red cheeks, like an idol of theSandwich Islands; and, finally, a copy of the"Holy Family, presented by the Minister of theInterior," overlooking the high altar, betweenfour candlesticks, closes in the perspective. Thechoir stalls, of deal wood, have been left un-painted.

The market, that is to say, a tiled roof sup-ported by some twenty posts, occupies of itselfabout half the public square of Yonville. Thetown hall, constructed "from the designs of aParis architect," is a sort of Greek temple that

forms the corner next to the chemist's shop. Onthe ground-floor are three Ionic columns andon the first floor a semicircular gallery, whilethe dome that crowns it is occupied by a Galliccock, resting one foot upon the "Charte" andholding in the other the scales of Justice.

But that which most attracts the eye is oppositethe Lion d'Or inn, the chemist's shop of Mon-sieur Homais. In the evening especially its ar-gand lamp is lit up and the red and green jarsthat embellish his shop-front throw far acrossthe street their two streams of colour; thenacross them as if in Bengal lights is seen theshadow of the chemist leaning over his desk.His house from top to bottom is placarded withinscriptions written in large hand, round hand,printed hand: "Vichy, Seltzer, Barege waters,blood purifiers, Raspail patent medicine, Ara-bian racahout, Darcet lozenges, Regnault paste,trusses, baths, hygienic chocolate," etc. And thesignboard, which takes up all the breadth of the

shop, bears in gold letters, "Homais, Chemist."Then at the back of the shop, behind the greatscales fixed to the counter, the word "Labora-tory" appears on a scroll above a glass door,which about half-way up once more repeats"Homais" in gold letters on a black ground.

Beyond this there is nothing to see at Yonville.The street (the only one) a gunshot in lengthand flanked by a few shops on either side stopsshort at the turn of the highroad. If it is left onthe right hand and the foot of the Saint-Jeanhills followed the cemetery is soon reached.

At the time of the cholera, in order to enlargethis, a piece of wall was pulled down, and threeacres of land by its side purchased; but all thenew portion is almost tenantless; the tombs, asheretofore, continue to crowd together towardsthe gate. The keeper, who is at once gravedig-ger and church beadle (thus making a doubleprofit out of the parish corpses), has taken ad-vantage of the unused plot of ground to plant

potatoes there. From year to year, however, hissmall field grows smaller, and when there is anepidemic, he does not know whether to rejoiceat the deaths or regret the burials.

"You live on the dead, Lestiboudois!" the curieat last said to him one day. This grim remarkmade him reflect; it checked him for some time;but to this day he carries on the cultivation ofhis little tubers, and even maintains stoutly thatthey grow naturally.

Since the events about to be narrated, nothingin fact has changed at Yonville. The tin tricol-our flag still swings at the top of the church-steeple; the two chintz streamers still flutter inthe wind from the linen-draper's; the chemist'sfetuses, like lumps of white amadou, rot moreand more in their turbid alcohol, and above thebig door of the inn the old golden lion, fadedby rain, still shows passers-by its poodle mane.

On the evening when the Bovarys were to ar-rive at Yonville, Widow Lefrancois, the land-lady of this inn, was so very busy that shesweated great drops as she moved her sauce-pans. To-morrow was market-day. The meathad to be cut beforehand, the fowls drawn, thesoup and coffee made. Moreover, she had theboarders' meal to see to, and that of the doctor,his wife, and their servant; the billiard-roomwas echoing with bursts of laughter; three mill-ers in a small parlour were calling for brandy;the wood was blazing, the brazen pan was hiss-ing, and on the long kitchen table, amid thequarters of raw mutton, rose piles of plates thatrattled with the shaking of the block on whichspinach was being chopped.

From the poultry-yard was heard the scream-ing of the fowls whom the servant was chasingin order to wring their necks.

A man slightly marked with small-pox, ingreen leather slippers, and wearing a velvet cap

with a gold tassel, was warming his back at thechimney. His face expressed nothing but self-satisfaction, and he appeared to take life ascalmly as the goldfinch suspended over hishead in its wicker cage: this was the chemist.

"Artemise!" shouted the landlady, "chop somewood, fill the water bottles, bring some brandy,look sharp! If only I knew what dessert to offerthe guests you are expecting! Good heavens!Those furniture-movers are beginning theirracket in the billiard-room again; and their vanhas been left before the front door! The 'Hiron-delle' might run into it when it draws up. CallPolyte and tell him to put it up. Only think,Monsieur Homais, that since morning theyhave had about fifteen games, and drunk eightjars of cider! Why, they'll tear my cloth for me,"she went on, looking at them from a distance,her strainer in her hand.

"That wouldn't be much of a loss," repliedMonsieur Homais. "You would buy another."

"Another billiard-table!" exclaimed the widow.

"Since that one is coming to pieces, MadameLefrancois. I tell you again you are doing your-self harm, much harm! And besides, playersnow want narrow pockets and heavy cues.Hazards aren't played now; everything ischanged! One must keep pace with the times!Just look at Tellier!"

The hostess reddened with vexation. The chem-ist went on—

"You may say what you like; his table is betterthan yours; and if one were to think, for exam-ple, of getting up a patriotic pool for Poland orthe sufferers from the Lyons floods—"

"It isn't beggars like him that'll frighten us,"interrupted the landlady, shrugging her fatshoulders. "Come, come, Monsieur Homais; aslong as the 'Lion d'Or' exists people will cometo it. We've feathered our nest; while one of

these days you'll find the 'Cafe Francais' closedwith a big placard on the shutters. Change mybilliard-table!" she went on, speaking to herself,"the table that comes in so handy for foldingthe washing, and on which, in the hunting sea-son, I have slept six visitors! But that dawdler,Hivert, doesn't come!"

"Are you waiting for him for your gentlemen'sdinner?"

"Wait for him! And what about Monsieur Bi-net? As the clock strikes six you'll see him comein, for he hasn't his equal under the sun forpunctuality. He must always have his seat inthe small parlour. He'd rather die than dineanywhere else. And so squeamish as he is, andso particular about the cider! Not like MonsieurLeon; he sometimes comes at seven, or evenhalf-past, and he doesn't so much as look atwhat he eats. Such a nice young man! Neverspeaks a rough word!"

"Well, you see, there's a great difference be-tween an educated man and an old carabineerwho is now a tax-collector."

Six o'clock struck. Binet came in.

He wore a blue frock-coat falling in a straightline round his thin body, and his leather cap,with its lappets knotted over the top of his headwith string, showed under the turned-up peaka bald forehead, flattened by the constant wear-ing of a helmet. He wore a black cloth waist-coat, a hair collar, grey trousers, and, all theyear round, well-blacked boots, that had twoparallel swellings due to the sticking out of hisbig-toes. Not a hair stood out from the regularline of fair whiskers, which, encircling his jaws,framed, after the fashion of a garden border, hislong, wan face, whose eyes were small and thenose hooked. Clever at all games of cards, agood hunter, and writing a fine hand, he had athome a lathe, and amused himself by turningnapkin rings, with which he filled up his house,

with the jealousy of an artist and the egotism ofa bourgeois.

He went to the small parlour, but the threemillers had to be got out first, and during thewhole time necessary for laying the cloth, Binetremained silent in his place near the stove.Then he shut the door and took off his cap inhis usual way.

"It isn't with saying civil things that he'll wearout his tongue," said the chemist, as soon as hewas along with the landlady.

"He never talks more," she replied. "Last weektwo travelers in the cloth line were here—suchclever chaps who told such jokes in the eve-ning, that I fairly cried with laughing; and hestood there like a dab fish and never said aword."

"Yes," observed the chemist; "no imagination,no sallies, nothing that makes the society-man."

"Yet they say he has parts," objected the land-lady.

"Parts!" replied Monsieur Homais; "he, parts! Inhis own line it is possible," he added in acalmer tone. And he went on—

"Ah! That a merchant, who has large connec-tions, a jurisconsult, a doctor, a chemist, shouldbe thus absent-minded, that they should be-come whimsical or even peevish, I can under-stand; such cases are cited in history. But atleast it is because they are thinking of some-thing. Myself, for example, how often has ithappened to me to look on the bureau for mypen to write a label, and to find, after all, that Ihad put it behind my ear!"

Madame Lefrancois just then went to the doorto see if the "Hirondelle" were not coming. Shestarted. A man dressed in black suddenly cameinto the kitchen. By the last gleam of the twi-

light one could see that his face was rubicundand his form athletic.

"What can I do for you, Monsieur le Curie?"asked the landlady, as she reached down fromthe chimney one of the copper candlesticksplaced with their candles in a row. "Will youtake something? A thimbleful of Cassis*? Aglass of wine?" *Black currant liqueur.

The priest declined very politely. He had comefor his umbrella, that he had forgotten the otherday at the Ernemont convent, and after askingMadame Lefrancois to have it sent to him at thepresbytery in the evening, he left for thechurch, from which the Angelus was ringing.

When the chemist no longer heard the noise ofhis boots along the square, he thought thepriest's behaviour just now very unbecoming.This refusal to take any refreshment seemed tohim the most odious hypocrisy; all priests tip-

pled on the sly, and were trying to bring backthe days of the tithe.

The landlady took up the defence of her curie.

"Besides, he could double up four men like youover his knee. Last year he helped our people tobring in the straw; he carried as many as sixtrusses at once, he is so strong."

"Bravo!" said the chemist. "Now just send yourdaughters to confess to fellows which such atemperament! I, if I were the Government, I'dhave the priests bled once a month. Yes, Ma-dame Lefrancois, every month—a good phle-botomy, in the interests of the police and mor-als."

"Be quiet, Monsieur Homais. You are an infidel;you've no religion."

The chemist answered: "I have a religion, myreligion, and I even have more than all these

others with their mummeries and their jug-gling. I adore God, on the contrary. I believe inthe Supreme Being, in a Creator, whatever hemay be. I care little who has placed us here be-low to fulfil our duties as citizens and fathers offamilies; but I don't need to go to church to kisssilver plates, and fatten, out of my pocket, a lotof good-for-nothings who live better than wedo. For one can know Him as well in a wood, ina field, or even contemplating the eternal vaultlike the ancients. My God! Mine is the God ofSocrates, of Franklin, of Voltaire, and of Ber-anger! I am for the profession of faith of the'Savoyard Vicar,' and the immortal principlesof '89! And I can't admit of an old boy of a Godwho takes walks in his garden with a cane inhis hand, who lodges his friends in the belly ofwhales, dies uttering a cry, and rises again atthe end of three days; things absurd in them-selves, and completely opposed, moreover, toall physical laws, which prove to us, by theway, that priests have always wallowed in tur-

pid ignorance, in which they would fain engulfthe people with them."

He ceased, looking round for an audience, forin his bubbling over the chemist had for a mo-ment fancied himself in the midst of the towncouncil. But the landlady no longer heededhim; she was listening to a distant rolling. Onecould distinguish the noise of a carriage min-gled with the clattering of loose horseshoes thatbeat against the ground, and at last the "Hiron-delle" stopped at the door.

It was a yellow box on two large wheels, that,reaching to the tilt, prevented travelers fromseeing the road and dirtied their shoulders. Thesmall panes of the narrow windows rattled intheir sashes when the coach was closed, andretained here and there patches of mud amidthe old layers of dust, that not even storms ofrain had altogether washed away. It was drawnby three horses, the first a leader, and when it

came down-hill its bottom jolted against theground.

Some of the inhabitants of Yonville came outinto the square; they all spoke at once, askingfor news, for explanations, for hampers. Hivertdid not know whom to answer. It was he whodid the errands of the place in town. He went tothe shops and brought back rolls of leather forthe shoemaker, old iron for the farrier, a barrelof herrings for his mistress, caps from the mil-liner's, locks from the hair-dresser's and allalong the road on his return journey he distrib-uted his parcels, which he threw, standing up-right on his seat and shouting at the top of hisvoice, over the enclosures of the yards.

An accident had delayed him. MadameBovary's greyhound had run across the field.They had whistled for him a quarter of an hour;Hivert had even gone back a mile and a halfexpecting every moment to catch sight of her;but it had been necessary to go on.

Emma had wept, grown angry; she had ac-cused Charles of this misfortune. MonsieurLheureux, a draper, who happened to be in thecoach with her, had tried to console her by anumber of examples of lost dogs recognizingtheir masters at the end of long years. One, hesaid had been told of, who had come back toParis from Constantinople. Another had goneone hundred and fifty miles in a straight line,and swum four rivers; and his own father hadpossessed a poodle, which, after twelve yearsof absence, had all of a sudden jumped on hisback in the street as he was going to dine intown.

Chapter Two

Emma got out first, then Felicite, MonsieurLheureux, and a nurse, and they had to wakeup Charles in his corner, where he had sleptsoundly since night set in.

Homais introduced himself; he offered hishomages to madame and his respects to mon-sieur; said he was charmed to have been able torender them some slight service, and addedwith a cordial air that he had ventured to invitehimself, his wife being away.

When Madame Bovary was in the kitchen shewent up to the chimney.

With the tips of her fingers she caught her dressat the knee, and having thus pulled it up to herankle, held out her foot in its black boot to thefire above the revolving leg of mutton. Theflame lit up the whole of her, penetrating with

a crude light the woof of her gowns, the finepores of her fair skin, and even her eyelids,which she blinked now and again. A great redglow passed over her with the blowing of thewind through the half-open door.

On the other side of the chimney a young manwith fair hair watched her silently.

As he was a good deal bored at Yonville, wherehe was a clerk at the notary's, Monsieur Guil-laumin, Monsieur Leon Dupuis (it was he whowas the second habitue of the "Lion d'Or") fre-quently put back his dinner-hour in hope thatsome traveler might come to the inn, withwhom he could chat in the evening. On thedays when his work was done early, he had, forwant of something else to do, to come punctu-ally, and endure from soup to cheese a tete-a-tete with Binet. It was therefore with delightthat he accepted the landlady's suggestion thathe should dine in company with the newcom-ers, and they passed into the large parlour

where Madame Lefrancois, for the purpose ofshowing off, had had the table laid for four.

Homais asked to be allowed to keep on hisskull-cap, for fear of coryza; then, turning to hisneighbour—

"Madame is no doubt a little fatigued; one getsjolted so abominably in our 'Hirondelle.'"

"That is true," replied Emma; "but movingabout always amuses me. I like change ofplace."

"It is so tedious," sighed the clerk, "to be alwaysriveted to the same places."

"If you were like me," said Charles, "constantlyobliged to be in the saddle"—

"But," Leon went on, addressing himself to Ma-dame Bovary, "nothing, it seems to me, is morepleasant—when one can," he added.

"Moreover," said the druggist, "the practice ofmedicine is not very hard work in our part ofthe world, for the state of our roads allows usthe use of gigs, and generally, as the farmersare prosperous, they pay pretty well. We have,medically speaking, besides the ordinary casesof enteritis, bronchitis, bilious affections, etc.,now and then a few intermittent fevers at har-vest-time; but on the whole, little of a seriousnature, nothing special to note, unless it be agreat deal of scrofula, due, no doubt, to thedeplorable hygienic conditions of our peasantdwellings. Ah! you will find many prejudices tocombat, Monsieur Bovary, much obstinacy ofroutine, with which all the efforts of your sci-ence will daily come into collision; for peoplestill have recourse to novenas, to relics, to thepriest, rather than come straight to the doctoror the chemist. The climate, however, is not,truth to tell, bad, and we even have a fewnonagenarians in our parish. The thermometer(I have made some observations) falls in winter

to 4 degrees Centigrade at the outside, whichgives us 24 degrees Reaumur as the maximum,or otherwise 54 degrees Fahrenheit (Englishscale), not more. And, as a matter of fact, weare sheltered from the north winds by the forestof Argueil on the one side, from the west windsby the St. Jean range on the other; and this heat,moreover, which, on account of the aqueousvapours given off by the river and the consid-erable number of cattle in the fields, which, asyou know, exhale much ammonia, that is tosay, nitrogen, hydrogen and oxygen (no, nitro-gen and hydrogen alone), and which suckingup into itself the humus from the ground, mix-ing together all those different emanations,unites them into a stack, so to say, and combin-ing with the electricity diffused through theatmosphere, when there is any, might in thelong run, as in tropical countries, engender in-salubrious miasmata—this heat, I say, findsitself perfectly tempered on the side whence itcomes, or rather whence it should come—that

is to say, the southern side—by the south-eastern winds, which, having cooled them-selves passing over the Seine, reach us some-times all at once like breezes from Russia."

"At any rate, you have some walks in theneighbourhood?" continued Madame Bovary,speaking to the young man.

"Oh, very few," he answered. "There is a placethey call La Pature, on the top of the hill, on theedge of the forest. Sometimes, on Sundays, I goand stay there with a book, watching the sun-set."

"I think there is nothing so admirable as sun-sets," she resumed; "but especially by the sideof the sea."

"Oh, I adore the sea!" said Monsieur Leon.

"And then, does it not seem to you," continuedMadame Bovary, "that the mind travels more

freely on this limitless expanse, the contempla-tion of which elevates the soul, gives ideas ofthe infinite, the ideal?"

"It is the same with mountainous landscapes,"continued Leon. "A cousin of mine who trav-elled in Switzerland last year told me that onecould not picture to oneself the poetry of thelakes, the charm of the waterfalls, the giganticeffect of the glaciers. One sees pines of incredi-ble size across torrents, cottages suspendedover precipices, and, a thousand feet belowone, whole valleys when the clouds open. Suchspectacles must stir to enthusiasm, incline toprayer, to ecstasy; and I no longer marvel atthat celebrated musician who, the better to in-spire his imagination, was in the habit of play-ing the piano before some imposing site."

"You play?" she asked.

"No, but I am very fond of music," he replied.

"Ah! don't you listen to him, Madame Bovary,"interrupted Homais, bending over his plate."That's sheer modesty. Why, my dear fellow,the other day in your room you were singing'L'Ange Gardien' ravishingly. I heard you fromthe laboratory. You gave it like an actor."

Leon, in fact, lodged at the chemist's where hehad a small room on the second floor, overlook-ing the Place. He blushed at the compliment ofhis landlord, who had already turned to thedoctor, and was enumerating to him, one afterthe other, all the principal inhabitants of Yon-ville. He was telling anecdotes, giving informa-tion; the fortune of the notary was not knownexactly, and "there was the Tuvache house-hold," who made a good deal of show.

Emma continued, "And what music do youprefer?"

"Oh, German music; that which makes youdream."

"Have you been to the opera?"

"Not yet; but I shall go next year, when I amliving at Paris to finish reading for the bar."

"As I had the honour of putting it to your hus-band," said the chemist, "with regard to thispoor Yanoda who has run away, you will findyourself, thanks to his extravagance, in the pos-session of one of the most comfortable housesof Yonville. Its greatest convenience for a doc-tor is a door giving on the Walk, where one cango in and out unseen. Moreover, it containseverything that is agreeable in a household—alaundry, kitchen with offices, sitting-room,fruit-room, and so on. He was a gay dog, whodidn't care what he spent. At the end of thegarden, by the side of the water, he had an ar-bour built just for the purpose of drinking beerin summer; and if madame is fond of gardeningshe will be able—"

"My wife doesn't care about it," said Charles;"although she has been advised to take exercise,she prefers always sitting in her room reading."

"Like me," replied Leon. "And indeed, what isbetter than to sit by one's fireside in the eveningwith a book, while the wind beats against thewindow and the lamp is burning?"

"What, indeed?" she said, fixing her large blackeyes wide open upon him.

"One thinks of nothing," he continued; "thehours slip by. Motionless we traverse countrieswe fancy we see, and your thought, blendingwith the fiction, playing with the details, fol-lows the outline of the adventures. It mingleswith the characters, and it seems as if it wereyourself palpitating beneath their costumes."

"That is true! That is true?" she said.

"Has it ever happened to you," Leon went on,"to come across some vague idea of one's ownin a book, some dim image that comes back toyou from afar, and as the completest expressionof your own slightest sentiment?"

"I have experienced it," she replied.

"That is why," he said, "I especially love thepoets. I think verse more tender than prose,and that it moves far more easily to tears."

"Still in the long run it is tiring," continuedEmma. "Now I, on the contrary, adore storiesthat rush breathlessly along, that frighten one. Idetest commonplace heroes and moderate sen-timents, such as there are in nature."

"In fact," observed the clerk, "these works, nottouching the heart, miss, it seems to me, thetrue end of art. It is so sweet, amid all the dis-enchantments of life, to be able to dwell inthought upon noble characters, pure affections,

and pictures of happiness. For myself, livinghere far from the world, this is my one distrac-tion; but Yonville affords so few resources."

"Like Tostes, no doubt," replied Emma; "and soI always subscribed to a lending library."

"If madame will do me the honour of makinguse of it", said the chemist, who had just caughtthe last words, "I have at her disposal a librarycomposed of the best authors, Voltaire, Rous-seau, Delille, Walter Scott, the 'Echo des Feuille-tons'; and in addition I receive various periodi-cals, among them the 'Fanal de Rouen' daily,having the advantage to be its correspondentfor the districts of Buchy, Forges, Neufchatel,Yonville, and vicinity."

For two hours and a half they had been at table;for the servant Artemis, carelessly dragging herold list slippers over the flags, brought oneplate after the other, forgot everything, andconstantly left the door of the billiard-room half

open, so that it beat against the wall with itshooks.

Unconsciously, Leon, while talking, had placedhis foot on one of the bars of the chair on whichMadame Bovary was sitting. She wore a smallblue silk necktie, that kept up like a ruff a gauf-fered cambric collar, and with the movementsof her head the lower part of her face gentlysunk into the linen or came out from it. Thusside by side, while Charles and the chemistchatted, they entered into one of those vagueconversations where the hazard of all that issaid brings you back to the fixed centre of acommon sympathy. The Paris theatres, titles ofnovels, new quadrilles, and the world they didnot know; Tostes, where she had lived, andYonville, where they were; they examined all,talked of everything till to the end of dinner.

When coffee was served Felicite went away toget ready the room in the new house, and theguests soon raised the siege. Madame Lefran-

cois was asleep near the cinders, while the sta-ble-boy, lantern in hand, was waiting to showMonsieur and Madame Bovary the way home.Bits of straw stuck in his red hair, and helimped with his left leg. When he had taken inhis other hand the cure's umbrella, they started.

The town was asleep; the pillars of the marketthrew great shadows; the earth was all grey ason a summer's night. But as the doctor's housewas only some fifty paces from the inn, theyhad to say good-night almost immediately, andthe company dispersed.

As soon as she entered the passage, Emma feltthe cold of the plaster fall about her shoulderslike damp linen. The walls were new and thewooden stairs creaked. In their bedroom, onthe first floor, a whitish light passed throughthe curtainless windows.

She could catch glimpses of tree tops, and be-yond, the fields, half-drowned in the fog that

lay reeking in the moonlight along the course ofthe river. In the middle of the room, pell-mell,were scattered drawers, bottles, curtain-rods,gilt poles, with mattresses on the chairs andbasins on the ground—the two men who hadbrought the furniture had left everything aboutcarelessly.

This was the fourth time that she had slept in astrange place.

The first was the day of her going to the con-vent; the second, of her arrival at Tostes; thethird, at Vaubyessard; and this was the fourth.And each one had marked, as it were, the inau-guration of a new phase in her life. She did notbelieve that things could present themselves inthe same way in different places, and since theportion of her life lived had been bad, no doubtthat which remained to be lived would be bet-ter.

Chapter Three

The next day, as she was getting up, she sawthe clerk on the Place. She had on a dressing-gown. He looked up and bowed. She noddedquickly and reclosed the window.

Leon waited all day for six o'clock in the eve-ning to come, but on going to the inn, he foundno one but Monsieur Binet, already at table.The dinner of the evening before had been aconsiderable event for him; he had never tillthen talked for two hours consecutively to a"lady." How then had he been able to explain,and in such language, the number of thingsthat he could not have said so well before? Hewas usually shy, and maintained that reserve

which partakes at once of modesty and dis-simulation.

At Yonville he was considered "well-bred." Helistened to the arguments of the older people,and did not seem hot about politics—a remark-able thing for a young man. Then he had someaccomplishments; he painted in water-colours,could read the key of G, and readily talked lit-erature after dinner when he did not playcards. Monsieur Homais respected him for hiseducation; Madame Homais liked him for hisgood-nature, for he often took the little Homaisinto the garden—little brats who were alwaysdirty, very much spoilt, and somewhat lym-phatic, like their mother. Besides the servant tolook after them, they had Justin, the chemist'sapprentice, a second cousin of MonsieurHomais, who had been taken into the housefrom charity, and who was useful at the sametime as a servant.

The druggist proved the best of neighbours. Hegave Madame Bovary information as to thetrades-people, sent expressly for his own cidermerchant, tasted the drink himself, and sawthat the casks were properly placed in the cel-lar; he explained how to set about getting in asupply of butter cheap, and made an arrange-ment with Lestiboudois, the sacristan, who,besides his sacerdotal and funeral functions,looked after the principal gardens at Yonvilleby the hour or the year, according to the tasteof the customers.

The need of looking after others was not theonly thing that urged the chemist to such obse-quious cordiality; there was a plan underneathit all.

He had infringed the law of the 19th Ventose,year xi., article I, which forbade all persons nothaving a diploma to practise medicine; so that,after certain anonymous denunciations,Homais had been summoned to Rouen to see

the procurer of the king in his own privateroom; the magistrate receiving him standingup, ermine on shoulder and cap on head. It wasin the morning, before the court opened. In thecorridors one heard the heavy boots of the gen-darmes walking past, and like a far-off noisegreat locks that were shut. The druggist's earstingled as if he were about to have an apoplec-tic stroke; he saw the depths of dungeons, hisfamily in tears, his shop sold, all the jars dis-persed; and he was obliged to enter a cafe andtake a glass of rum and seltzer to recover hisspirits.

Little by little the memory of this reprimandgrew fainter, and he continued, as heretofore,to give anodyne consultations in his back-parlour. But the mayor resented it, his col-leagues were jealous, everything was to befeared; gaining over Monsieur Bovary by hisattentions was to earn his gratitude, and pre-vent his speaking out later on, should he notice

anything. So every morning Homais broughthim "the paper," and often in the afternoon lefthis shop for a few moments to have a chat withthe Doctor.

Charles was dull: patients did not come. Heremained seated for hours without speaking,went into his consulting room to sleep, orwatched his wife sewing. Then for diversion heemployed himself at home as a workman; heeven tried to do up the attic with some paintwhich had been left behind by the painters. Butmoney matters worried him. He had spent somuch for repairs at Tostes, for madame's toi-lette, and for the moving, that the wholedowry, over three thousand crowns, hadslipped away in two years.

Then how many things had been spoilt or lostduring their carriage from Tostes to Yonville,without counting the plaster cure, who fallingout of the coach at an over-severe jolt, had beendashed into a thousand fragments on the

pavements of Quincampoix! A pleasanter trou-ble came to distract him, namely, the preg-nancy of his wife. As the time of her confine-ment approached he cherished her the more. Itwas another bond of the flesh establishing it-self, and, as it were, a continued sentiment of amore complex union. When from afar he sawher languid walk, and her figure without staysturning softly on her hips; when opposite oneanother he looked at her at his ease, while shetook tired poses in her armchair, then his hap-piness knew no bounds; he got up, embracedher, passed his hands over her face, called herlittle mamma, wanted to make her dance, andhalf-laughing, half-crying, uttered all kinds ofcaressing pleasantries that came into his head.The idea of having begotten a child delightedhim. Now he wanted nothing. He knew humanlife from end to end, and he sat down to it withserenity.

Emma at first felt a great astonishment; thenwas anxious to be delivered that she mightknow what it was to be a mother. But not beingable to spend as much as she would have liked,to have a swing-bassinette with rose silk cur-tains, and embroidered caps, in a fit of bitter-ness she gave up looking after the trousseau,and ordered the whole of it from a villageneedlewoman, without choosing or discussinganything. Thus she did not amuse herself withthose preparations that stimulate the tender-ness of mothers, and so her affection was fromthe very outset, perhaps, to some extent attenu-ated.

As Charles, however, spoke of the boy at everymeal, she soon began to think of him more con-secutively.

She hoped for a son; he would be strong anddark; she would call him George; and this ideaof having a male child was like an expectedrevenge for all her impotence in the past. A

man, at least, is free; he may travel over pas-sions and over countries, overcome obstacles,taste of the most far-away pleasures. But awoman is always hampered. At once inert andflexible, she has against her the weakness of theflesh and legal dependence. Her will, like theveil of her bonnet, held by a string, flutters inevery wind; there is always some desire thatdraws her, some conventionality that restrains.

She was confined on a Sunday at about sixo'clock, as the sun was rising.

"It is a girl!" said Charles.

She turned her head away and fainted.

Madame Homais, as well as Madame Lefran-cois of the Lion d'Or, almost immediately camerunning in to embrace her. The chemist, as manof discretion, only offered a few provincial fe-licitations through the half-opened door. He

wished to see the child and thought it wellmade.

Whilst she was getting well she occupied her-self much in seeking a name for her daughter.First she went over all those that have Italianendings, such as Clara, Louisa, Amanda, Atala;she liked Galsuinde pretty well, and Yseult orLeocadie still better.

Charles wanted the child to be called after hermother; Emma opposed this. They ran over thecalendar from end to end, and then consultedoutsiders.

"Monsieur Leon," said the chemist, "with whomI was talking about it the other day, wondersyou do not chose Madeleine. It is very much infashion just now."

But Madame Bovary, senior, cried out loudlyagainst this name of a sinner. As to MonsieurHomais, he had a preference for all those that

recalled some great man, an illustrious fact, or agenerous idea, and it was on this system that hehad baptized his four children. Thus Napoleonrepresented glory and Franklin liberty; Irmawas perhaps a concession to romanticism, butAthalie was a homage to the greatest master-piece of the French stage. For his philosophicalconvictions did not interfere with his artistictastes; in him the thinker did not stifle the manof sentiment; he could make distinctions, makeallowances for imagination and fanaticism. Inthis tragedy, for example, he found fault withthe ideas, but admired the style; he detested theconception, but applauded all the details, andloathed the characters while he grew enthusias-tic over their dialogue. When he read the finepassages he was transported, but when hethought that mummers would get somethingout of them for their show, he was disconsolate;and in this confusion of sentiments in which hewas involved he would have liked at once to

crown Racine with both his hands and discusswith him for a good quarter of an hour.

At last Emma remembered that at the chateauof Vaubyessard she had heard the Marchionesscall a young lady Berthe; from that moment thisname was chosen; and as old Rouault could notcome, Monsieur Homais was requested tostand godfather. His gifts were all productsfrom his establishment, to wit: six boxes of ju-jubes, a whole jar of racahout, three cakes ofmarshmallow paste, and six sticks of sugar-candy into the bargain that he had come acrossin a cupboard. On the evening of the ceremonythere was a grand dinner; the cure was present;there was much excitement. Monsieur Homaistowards liqueur-time began singing "Le Dieudes bonnes gens." Monsieur Leon sang a barca-rolle, and Madame Bovary, senior, who wasgodmother, a romance of the time of the Em-pire; finally, M. Bovary, senior, insisted on hav-ing the child brought down, and began baptiz-

ing it with a glass of champagne that he pouredover its head. This mockery of the first of thesacraments made the Abbe Bournisien angry;old Bovary replied by a quotation from "LaGuerre des Dieux"; the cure wanted to leave;the ladies implored, Homais interfered; andthey succeeded in making the priest sit downagain, and he quietly went on with the half-finished coffee in his saucer.

Monsieur Bovary, senior, stayed at Yonville amonth, dazzling the natives by a superb po-liceman's cap with silver tassels that he wore inthe morning when he smoked his pipe in thesquare. Being also in the habit of drinking agood deal of brandy, he often sent the servantto the Lion d'Or to buy him a bottle, which wasput down to his son's account, and to perfumehis handkerchiefs he used up his daughter-in-law's whole supply of eau-de-cologne.

The latter did not at all dislike his company. Hehad knocked about the world, he talked about

Berlin, Vienna, and Strasbourg, of his soldiertimes, of the mistresses he had had, the grandluncheons of which he had partaken; then hewas amiable, and sometimes even, either on thestairs, or in the garden, would seize hold of herwaist, crying, "Charles, look out for yourself."

Then Madame Bovary, senior, became alarmedfor her son's happiness, and fearing that herhusband might in the long-run have an im-moral influence upon the ideas of the youngwoman, took care to hurry their departure.Perhaps she had more serious reasons for un-easiness. Monsieur Bovary was not the man torespect anything.

One day Emma was suddenly seized with thedesire to see her little girl, who had been put tonurse with the carpenter's wife, and, withoutlooking at the calendar to see whether the sixweeks of the Virgin were yet passed, she set outfor the Rollets' house, situated at the extreme

end of the village, between the highroad andthe fields.

It was mid-day, the shutters of the houses wereclosed and the slate roofs that glittered beneaththe fierce light of the blue sky seemed to strikesparks from the crest of the gables. A heavywind was blowing; Emma felt weak as shewalked; the stones of the pavement hurt her;she was doubtful whether she would not gohome again, or go in somewhere to rest.

At this moment Monsieur Leon came out froma neighbouring door with a bundle of papersunder his arm. He came to greet her, and stoodin the shade in front of the Lheureux's shopunder the projecting grey awning.

Madame Bovary said she was going to see herbaby, but that she was beginning to grow tired.

"If—" said Leon, not daring to go on.

"Have you any business to attend to?" sheasked.

And on the clerk's answer, she begged him toaccompany her. That same evening this wasknown in Yonville, and Madame Tuvache, themayor's wife, declared in the presence of herservant that "Madame Bovary was compromis-ing herself."

To get to the nurse's it was necessary to turn tothe left on leaving the street, as if making forthe cemetery, and to follow between littlehouses and yards a small path bordered withprivet hedges. They were in bloom, and sowere the speedwells, eglantines, thistles, andthe sweetbriar that sprang up from the thickets.Through openings in the hedges one could seeinto the huts, some pigs on a dung-heap, ortethered cows rubbing their horns against thetrunk of trees. The two, side by side walkedslowly, she leaning upon him, and he restrain-ing his pace, which he regulated by hers; in

front of them a swarm of midges fluttered,buzzing in the warm air.

They recognized the house by an old walnut-tree which shaded it.

Low and covered with brown tiles, there hungoutside it, beneath the dormer-window of thegarret, a string of onions. Faggots uprightagainst a thorn fence surrounded a bed of let-tuce, a few square feet of lavender, and sweetpeas strung on sticks. Dirty water was runninghere and there on the grass, and all round wereseveral indefinite rags, knitted stockings, a redcalico jacket, and a large sheet of coarse linenspread over the hedge. At the noise of the gatethe nurse appeared with a baby she was suck-ling on one arm. With her other hand she waspulling along a poor puny little fellow, his facecovered with scrofula, the son of a Rouen ho-sier, whom his parents, too taken up with theirbusiness, left in the country.

"Go in," she said; "your little one is thereasleep."

The room on the ground-floor, the only one inthe dwelling, had at its farther end, against thewall, a large bed without curtains, while akneading-trough took up the side by the win-dow, one pane of which was mended with apiece of blue paper. In the corner behind thedoor, shining hob-nailed shoes stood in a rowunder the slab of the washstand, near a bottleof oil with a feather stuck in its mouth; a Mat-thieu Laensberg lay on the dusty mantelpieceamid gunflints, candle-ends, and bits ofamadou.

Finally, the last luxury in the apartment was a"Fame" blowing her trumpets, a picture cut out,no doubt, from some perfumer's prospectusand nailed to the wall with six wooden shoe-pegs.

Emma's child was asleep in a wicker-cradle.She took it up in the wrapping that envelopedit and began singing softly as she rocked herselfto and fro.

Leon walked up and down the room; it seemedstrange to him to see this beautiful woman inher nankeen dress in the midst of all this pov-erty. Madam Bovary reddened; he turnedaway, thinking perhaps there had been an im-pertinent look in his eyes. Then she put backthe little girl, who had just been sick over hercollar.

The nurse at once came to dry her, protestingthat it wouldn't show.

"She gives me other doses," she said: "I am al-ways a-washing of her. If you would have thegoodness to order Camus, the grocer, to let mehave a little soap, it would really be more con-venient for you, as I needn't trouble you then."

"Very well! very well!" said Emma. "Goodmorning, Madame Rollet," and she went out,wiping her shoes at the door.

The good woman accompanied her to the endof the garden, talking all the time of the troubleshe had getting up of nights.

"I'm that worn out sometimes as I drop asleepon my chair. I'm sure you might at least giveme just a pound of ground coffee; that'd last mea month, and I'd take it of a morning with somemilk."

After having submitted to her thanks, MadamBovary left. She had gone a little way down thepath when, at the sound of wooden shoes, sheturned round. It was the nurse.

"What is it?"

Then the peasant woman, taking her aside be-hind an elm tree, began talking to her of her

husband, who with his trade and six francs ayear that the captain—

"Oh, be quick!" said Emma.

"Well," the nurse went on, heaving sighs be-tween each word, "I'm afraid he'll be put outseeing me have coffee alone, you know men—"

"But you are to have some," Emma repeated; "Iwill give you some. You bother me!"

"Oh, dear! my poor, dear lady! you see in con-sequence of his wounds he has terrible crampsin the chest. He even says that cider weakenshim."

"Do make haste, Mere Rollet!"

"Well," the latter continued, making a curtsey,"if it weren't asking too much," and she curtsiedonce more, "if you would"—and her eyesbegged—"a jar of brandy," she said at last, "and

I'd rub your little one's feet with it; they're astender as one's tongue."

Once rid of the nurse, Emma again took Mon-sieur Leon's arm. She walked fast for sometime, then more slowly, and looking straight infront of her, her eyes rested on the shoulder ofthe young man, whose frock-coat had a black-velvety collar. His brown hair fell over it,straight and carefully arranged. She noticed hisnails which were longer than one wore them atYonville. It was one of the clerk's chief occupa-tions to trim them, and for this purpose he kepta special knife in his writing desk.

They returned to Yonville by the water-side. Inthe warm season the bank, wider than at othertimes, showed to their foot the garden wallswhence a few steps led to the river. It flowednoiselessly, swift, and cold to the eye; long, thingrasses huddled together in it as the currentdrove them, and spread themselves upon thelimpid water like streaming hair; sometimes at

the tip of the reeds or on the leaf of a water-lilyan insect with fine legs crawled or rested. Thesun pierced with a ray the small blue bubbles ofthe waves that, breaking, followed each other;branchless old willows mirrored their greybacks in the water; beyond, all around, themeadows seemed empty. It was the dinner-hour at the farms, and the young woman andher companion heard nothing as they walkedbut the fall of their steps on the earth of thepath, the words they spoke, and the sound ofEmma's dress rustling round her.

The walls of the gardens with pieces of bottleon their coping were hot as the glass windowsof a conservatory. Wallflowers had sprung upbetween the bricks, and with the tip of her opensunshade Madame Bovary, as she passed,made some of their faded flowers crumble intoa yellow dust, or a spray of overhanging hon-eysuckle and clematis caught in its fringe anddangled for a moment over the silk.

They were talking of a troupe of Spanish danc-ers who were expected shortly at the Rouentheatre.

"Are you going?" she asked.

"If I can," he answered.

Had they nothing else to say to one another?Yet their eyes were full of more serious speech,and while they forced themselves to find trivialphrases, they felt the same languor stealingover them both. It was the whisper of the soul,deep, continuous, dominating that of theirvoices. Surprised with wonder at this strangesweetness, they did not think of speaking of thesensation or of seeking its cause. Coming joys,like tropical shores, throw over the immensitybefore them their inborn softness, an odorouswind, and we are lulled by this intoxicationwithout a thought of the horizon that we do noteven know.

In one place the ground had been troddendown by the cattle; they had to step on largegreen stones put here and there in the mud.

She often stopped a moment to look where toplace her foot, and tottering on a stone thatshook, her arms outspread, her form bent for-ward with a look of indecision, she wouldlaugh, afraid of falling into the puddles of wa-ter.

When they arrived in front of her garden, Ma-dame Bovary opened the little gate, ran up thesteps and disappeared.

Leon returned to his office. His chief was away;he just glanced at the briefs, then cut himself apen, and at last took up his hat and went out.

He went to La Pature at the top of the Argueilhills at the beginning of the forest; he threwhimself upon the ground under the pines andwatched the sky through his fingers.

"How bored I am!" he said to himself, "howbored I am!"

He thought he was to be pitied for living in thisvillage, with Homais for a friend and MonsieruGuillaumin for master. The latter, entirely ab-sorbed by his business, wearing gold-rimmedspectacles and red whiskers over a white cra-vat, understood nothing of mental refinements,although he affected a stiff English manner,which in the beginning had impressed theclerk.

As to the chemist's spouse, she was the bestwife in Normandy, gentle as a sheep, lovingher children, her father, her mother, her cous-ins, weeping for other's woes, letting every-thing go in her household, and detesting cor-sets; but so slow of movement, such a bore tolisten to, so common in appearance, and ofsuch restricted conversation, that although shewas thirty, he only twenty, although they sleptin rooms next each other and he spoke to her

daily, he never thought that she might be awoman for another, or that she possessed any-thing else of her sex than the gown.

And what else was there? Binet, a few shop-keepers, two or three publicans, the cure, andfinally, Monsieur Tuvache, the mayor, with histwo sons, rich, crabbed, obtuse persons, whofarmed their own lands and had feasts amongthemselves, bigoted to boot, and quite unbear-able companions.

But from the general background of all thesehuman faces Emma's stood out isolated and yetfarthest off; for between her and him he seemedto see a vague abyss.

In the beginning he had called on her severaltimes along with the druggist. Charles had notappeared particularly anxious to see him again,and Leon did not know what to do between hisfear of being indiscreet and the desire for anintimacy that seemed almost impossible.

Chapter Four

When the first cold days set in Emma left herbedroom for the sitting-room, a long apartmentwith a low ceiling, in which there was on themantelpiece a large bunch of coral spread outagainst the looking-glass. Seated in her armchair near the window, she could see the vil-lagers pass along the pavement.

Twice a day Leon went from his office to theLion d'Or. Emma could hear him coming fromafar; she leant forward listening, and the youngman glided past the curtain, always dressed inthe same way, and without turning his head.But in the twilight, when, her chin resting onher left hand, she let the embroidery she had

begun fall on her knees, she often shuddered atthe apparition of this shadow suddenly glidingpast. She would get up and order the table tobe laid.

Monsieur Homais called at dinner-time. Skull-cap in hand, he came in on tiptoe, in order todisturb no one, always repeating the samephrase, "Good evening, everybody." Then,when he had taken his seat at the table betweenthe pair, he asked the doctor about his patients,and the latter consulted his as to the probabilityof their payment. Next they talked of "whatwas in the paper."

Homais by this hour knew it almost by heart,and he repeated it from end to end, with thereflections of the penny-a-liners, and all thestories of individual catastrophes that had oc-curred in France or abroad. But the subject be-coming exhausted, he was not slow in throwingout some remarks on the dishes before him.

Sometimes even, half-rising, he delicatelypointed out to madame the tenderest morsel, orturning to the servant, gave her some advice onthe manipulation of stews and the hygiene ofseasoning.

He talked aroma, osmazome, juices, and gela-tine in a bewildering manner. Moreover,Homais, with his head fuller of recipes than hisshop of jars, excelled in making all kinds ofpreserves, vinegars, and sweet liqueurs; heknew also all the latest inventions in economicstoves, together with the art of preservingcheese and of curing sick wines.

At eight o'clock Justin came to fetch him to shutup the shop.

Then Monsieur Homais gave him a sly look,especially if Felicite was there, for he half no-ticed that his apprentice was fond of the doc-tor's house.

"The young dog," he said, "is beginning to haveideas, and the devil take me if I don't believehe's in love with your servant!"

But a more serious fault with which he re-proached Justin was his constantly listening toconversation. On Sunday, for example, onecould not get him out of the drawing-room,whither Madame Homais had called him tofetch the children, who were falling asleep inthe arm-chairs, and dragging down with theirbacks calico chair-covers that were too large.

Not many people came to these soirees at thechemist's, his scandal-mongering and politicalopinions having successfully alienated variousrespectable persons from him. The clerk neverfailed to be there. As soon as he heard the bellhe ran to meet Madame Bovary, took hershawl, and put away under the shop-counterthe thick list shoes that she wore over her bootswhen there was snow.

First they played some hands at trente-et-un;next Monsieur Homais played ecarte withEmma; Leon behind her gave her advice.

Standing up with his hands on the back of herchair he saw the teeth of her comb that bit intoher chignon. With every movement that shemade to throw her cards the right side of herdress was drawn up. From her turned-up hair adark colour fell over her back, and growinggradually paler, lost itself little by little in theshade. Then her dress fell on both sides of herchair, puffing out full of folds, and reached theground. When Leon occasionally felt the sole ofhis boot resting on it, he drew back as if he hadtrodden upon some one.

When the game of cards was over, the druggistand the Doctor played dominoes, and Emma,changing her place, leant her elbow on the ta-ble, turning over the leaves of "L'Illustration".She had brought her ladies' journal with her.Leon sat down near her; they looked at the en-

gravings together, and waited for one anotherat the bottom of the pages. She often beggedhim to read her the verses; Leon declaimedthem in a languid voice, to which he carefullygave a dying fall in the love passages. But thenoise of the dominoes annoyed him. MonsieurHomais was strong at the game; he could beatCharles and give him a double-six. Then thethree hundred finished, they both stretchedthemselves out in front of the fire, and weresoon asleep. The fire was dying out in the cin-ders; the teapot was empty, Leon was still read-ing.

Emma listened to him, mechanically turningaround the lampshade, on the gauze of whichwere painted clowns in carriages, and tight-rope dances with their balancing-poles. Leonstopped, pointing with a gesture to his sleepingaudience; then they talked in low tones, andtheir conversation seemed the more sweet tothem because it was unheard.

Thus a kind of bond was established betweenthem, a constant commerce of books and ofromances. Monsieur Bovary, little given to jeal-ousy, did not trouble himself about it.

On his birthday he received a beautiful phre-nological head, all marked with figures to thethorax and painted blue. This was an attentionof the clerk's. He showed him many others,even to doing errands for him at Rouen; andthe book of a novelist having made the maniafor cactuses fashionable, Leon bought some forMadame Bovary, bringing them back on hisknees in the "Hirondelle," pricking his fingerson their hard hairs.

She had a board with a balustrade fixed againsther window to hold the pots. The clerk, too,had his small hanging garden; they saw eachother tending their flowers at their windows.

Of the windows of the village there was one yetmore often occupied; for on Sundays from

morning to night, and every morning when theweather was bright, one could see at the dor-mer-window of the garret the profile of Mon-sieur Binet bending over his lathe, whose mo-notonous humming could be heard at the Liond'Or.

One evening on coming home Leon found inhis room a rug in velvet and wool with leaveson a pale ground. He called Madame Homais,Monsieur Homais, Justin, the children, thecook; he spoke of it to his chief; every onewanted to see this rug. Why did the doctor'swife give the clerk presents? It looked queer.They decided that she must be his lover.

He made this seem likely, so ceaselessly did hetalk of her charms and of her wit; so much so,that Binet once roughly answered him—

"What does it matter to me since I'm not in herset?"

He tortured himself to find out how he couldmake his declaration to her, and always haltingbetween the fear of displeasing her and theshame of being such a coward, he wept withdiscouragement and desire. Then he took ener-getic resolutions, wrote letters that he tore up,put it off to times that he again deferred.

Often he set out with the determination to dareall; but this resolution soon deserted him inEmma's presence, and when Charles, droppingin, invited him to jump into his chaise to gowith him to see some patient in the neighbour-hood, he at once accepted, bowed to madame,and went out. Her husband, was he not some-thing belonging to her? As to Emma, she didnot ask herself whether she loved. Love, shethought, must come suddenly, with great out-bursts and lightnings—a hurricane of the skies,which falls upon life, revolutionises it, roots upthe will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heartinto the abyss. She did not know that on the

terrace of houses it makes lakes when the pipesare choked, and she would thus have remainedin her security when she suddenly discovered arent in the wall of it.

Chapter Five

It was a Sunday in February, an afternoonwhen the snow was falling.

They had all, Monsieur and Madame Bovary,Homais, and Monsieur Leon, gone to see ayarn-mill that was being built in the valley amile and a half from Yonville. The druggist hadtaken Napoleon and Athalie to give them someexercise, and Justin accompanied them, carry-ing the umbrellas on his shoulder.

Nothing, however, could be less curious thanthis curiosity. A great piece of waste ground,on which pell-mell, amid a mass of sand andstones, were a few break-wheels, already rusty,surrounded by a quadrangular buildingpierced by a number of little windows. Thebuilding was unfinished; the sky could be seenthrough the joists of the roofing. Attached tothe stop-plank of the gable a bunch of strawmixed with corn-ears fluttered its tricolouredribbons in the wind.

Homais was talking. He explained to the com-pany the future importance of this establish-ment, computed the strength of the floorings,the thickness of the walls, and regretted ex-tremely not having a yard-stick such as Mon-sieur Binet possessed for his own special use.

Emma, who had taken his arm, bent lightlyagainst his shoulder, and she looked at thesun's disc shedding afar through the mist hispale splendour. She turned. Charles was there.

His cap was drawn down over his eyebrows,and his two thick lips were trembling, whichadded a look of stupidity to his face; his veryback, his calm back, was irritating to behold,and she saw written upon his coat all the plati-tude of the bearer.

While she was considering him thus, tasting inher irritation a sort of depraved pleasure, Leonmade a step forward. The cold that made himpale seemed to add a more gentle languor tohis face; between his cravat and his neck thesomewhat loose collar of his shirt showed theskin; the lobe of his ear looked out from be-neath a lock of hair, and his large blue eyes,raised to the clouds, seemed to Emma morelimpid and more beautiful than those moun-tain-lakes where the heavens are mirrored.

"Wretched boy!" suddenly cried the chemist.

And he ran to his son, who had just precipi-tated himself into a heap of lime in order to

whiten his boots. At the reproaches with whichhe was being overwhelmed Napoleon began toroar, while Justin dried his shoes with a wisp ofstraw. But a knife was wanted; Charles offeredhis.

"Ah!" she said to herself, "he carried a knife inhis pocket like a peasant."

The hoar-frost was falling, and they turnedback to Yonville.

In the evening Madame Bovary did not go toher neighbour's, and when Charles had left andshe felt herself alone, the comparison re-beganwith the clearness of a sensation almost actual,and with that lengthening of perspective whichmemory gives to things. Looking from her bedat the clean fire that was burning, she still saw,as she had down there, Leon standing up withone hand behind his cane, and with the otherholding Athalie, who was quietly sucking apiece of ice. She thought him charming; she

could not tear herself away from him; she re-called his other attitudes on other days, thewords he had spoken, the sound of his voice,his whole person; and she repeated, poutingout her lips as if for a kiss—

"Yes, charming! charming! Is he not in love?"she asked herself; "but with whom? With me?"

All the proofs arose before her at once; herheart leapt. The flame of the fire threw a joyouslight upon the ceiling; she turned on her back,stretching out her arms.

Then began the eternal lamentation: "Oh, ifHeaven had out willed it! And why not? Whatprevented it?"

When Charles came home at midnight, sheseemed to have just awakened, and as he madea noise undressing, she complained of a head-ache, then asked carelessly what had happenedthat evening.

"Monsieur Leon," he said, "went to his roomearly."

She could not help smiling, and she fell asleep,her soul filled with a new delight.

The next day, at dusk, she received a visit fromMonsieur Lherueux, the draper. He was a manof ability, was this shopkeeper. Born a Gasconbut bred a Norman, he grafted upon his south-ern volubility the cunning of the Cauchois. Hisfat, flabby, beardless face seemed dyed by adecoction of liquorice, and his white hair madeeven more vivid the keen brilliance of his smallblack eyes. No one knew what he had beenformerly; a pedlar said some, a banker at Rou-tot according to others. What was certain wasthat he made complex calculations in his headthat would have frightened Binet himself. Po-lite to obsequiousness, he always held himselfwith his back bent in the position of one whobows or who invites.

After leaving at the door his hat surroundedwith crape, he put down a green bandbox onthe table, and began by complaining to ma-dame, with many civilities, that he should haveremained till that day without gaining her con-fidence. A poor shop like his was not made toattract a "fashionable lady"; he emphasized thewords; yet she had only to command, and hewould undertake to provide her with anythingshe might wish, either in haberdashery or linen,millinery or fancy goods, for he went to townregularly four times a month. He was con-nected with the best houses. You could speak ofhim at the "Trois Freres," at the "Barbe d'Or," orat the "Grand Sauvage"; all these gentlemenknew him as well as the insides of their pock-ets. To-day, then he had come to show ma-dame, in passing, various articles he happenedto have, thanks to the most rare opportunity.And he pulled out half-a-dozen embroideredcollars from the box.

Madame Bovary examined them. "I do not re-quire anything," she said.

Then Monsieur Lheureux delicately exhibitedthree Algerian scarves, several packets of Eng-lish needles, a pair of straw slippers, and fi-nally, four eggcups in cocoanut wood, carvedin open work by convicts. Then, with bothhands on the table, his neck stretched out, hisfigure bent forward, open-mouthed, hewatched Emma's look, who was walking upand down undecided amid these goods. Fromtime to time, as if to remove some dust, he fil-liped with his nail the silk of the scarves spreadout at full length, and they rustled with a littlenoise, making in the green twilight the goldspangles of their tissue scintillate like littlestars.

"How much are they?"

"A mere nothing," he replied, "a mere nothing.But there's no hurry; whenever it's convenient.We are not Jews."

She reflected for a few moments, and ended byagain declining Monsieur Lheureux's offer. Hereplied quite unconcernedly—

"Very well. We shall understand one anotherby and by. I have always got on with ladies—ifI didn't with my own!"

Emma smiled.

"I wanted to tell you," he went on good-naturedly, after his joke, "that it isn't the moneyI should trouble about. Why, I could give yousome, if need be."

She made a gesture of surprise.

"Ah!" said he quickly and in a low voice, "Ishouldn't have to go far to find you some, relyon that."

And he began asking after Pere Tellier, theproprietor of the "Cafe Francais," whom Mon-sieur Bovary was then attending.

"What's the matter with Pere Tellier? Hecoughs so that he shakes his whole house, andI'm afraid he'll soon want a deal covering ratherthan a flannel vest. He was such a rake as ayoung man! Those sort of people, madame,have not the least regularity; he's burnt up withbrandy. Still it's sad, all the same, to see an ac-quaintance go off."

And while he fastened up his box he dis-coursed about the doctor's patients.

"It's the weather, no doubt," he said, lookingfrowningly at the floor, "that causes these ill-nesses. I, too, don't feel the thing. One of thesedays I shall even have to consult the doctor fora pain I have in my back. Well, good-bye, Ma-dame Bovary. At your service; your very hum-ble servant." And he closed the door gently.

Emma had her dinner served in her bedroomon a tray by the fireside; she was a long timeover it; everything was well with her.

"How good I was!" she said to herself, thinkingof the scarves.

She heard some steps on the stairs. It was Leon.She got up and took from the chest of drawersthe first pile of dusters to be hemmed. When hecame in she seemed very busy.

The conversation languished; Madame Bovarygave it up every few minutes, whilst he himselfseemed quite embarrassed. Seated on a lowchair near the fire, he turned round in his fin-gers the ivory thimble-case. She stitched on, orfrom time to time turned down the hem of thecloth with her nail. She did not speak; he wassilent, captivated by her silence, as he wouldhave been by her speech.

"Poor fellow!" she thought.

"How have I displeased her?" he asked himself.

At last, however, Leon said that he shouldhave, one of these days, to go to Rouen on someoffice business.

"Your music subscription is out; am I to renewit?"

"No," she replied.

"Why?"

"Because—"

And pursing her lips she slowly drew a longstitch of grey thread.

This work irritated Leon. It seemed to roughenthe ends of her fingers. A gallant phrase cameinto his head, but he did not risk it.

"Then you are giving it up?" he went on.

"What?" she asked hurriedly. "Music? Ah! yes!Have I not my house to look after, my husbandto attend to, a thousand things, in fact, manyduties that must be considered first?"

She looked at the clock. Charles was late. Then,she affected anxiety. Two or three times sheeven repeated, "He is so good!"

The clerk was fond of Monsieur Bovary. Butthis tenderness on his behalf astonished himunpleasantly; nevertheless he took up on hispraises, which he said everyone was singing,especially the chemist.

"Ah! he is a good fellow," continued Emma.

"Certainly," replied the clerk.

And he began talking of Madame Homais,whose very untidy appearance generally madethem laugh.

"What does it matter?" interrupted Emma. "Agood housewife does not trouble about herappearance."

Then she relapsed into silence.

It was the same on the following days; hertalks, her manners, everything changed. Shetook interest in the housework, went to churchregularly, and looked after her servant withmore severity.

She took Berthe from nurse. When visitorscalled, Felicite brought her in, and MadameBovary undressed her to show off her limbs.She declared she adored children; this was herconsolation, her joy, her passion, and she ac-companied her caresses with lyrical outburstwhich would have reminded anyone but theYonville people of Sachette in "Notre Dame deParis."

When Charles came home he found his slippersput to warm near the fire. His waistcoat nownever wanted lining, nor his shirt buttons, andit was quite a pleasure to see in the cupboardthe night-caps arranged in piles of the sameheight. She no longer grumbled as formerly attaking a turn in the garden; what he proposedwas always done, although she did not under-stand the wishes to which she submitted with-out a murmur; and when Leon saw him by hisfireside after dinner, his two hands on hisstomach, his two feet on the fender, his twocheeks red with feeding, his eyes moist withhappiness, the child crawling along the carpet,and this woman with the slender waist whocame behind his arm-chair to kiss his forehead:"What madness!" he said to himself. "And howto reach her!"

And thus she seemed so virtuous and inacces-sible to him that he lost all hope, even the faint-est. But by this renunciation he placed her on

an extraordinary pinnacle. To him she stoodoutside those fleshly attributes from which hehad nothing to obtain, and in his heart she roseever, and became farther removed from himafter the magnificent manner of an apotheosisthat is taking wing. It was one of those purefeelings that do not interfere with life, that arecultivated because they are rare, and whoseloss would afflict more than their passion re-joices.

Emma grew thinner, her cheeks paler, her facelonger. With her black hair, her large eyes, heraquiline nose, her birdlike walk, and alwayssilent now, did she not seem to be passingthrough life scarcely touching it, and to bear onher brow the vague impress of some divinedestiny? She was so sad and so calm, at once sogentle and so reserved, that near her one feltoneself seized by an icy charm, as we shudderin churches at the perfume of the flowers min-gling with the cold of the marble. The others

even did not escape from this seduction. Thechemist said—

"She is a woman of great parts, who wouldn'tbe misplaced in a sub-prefecture."

The housewives admired her economy, thepatients her politeness, the poor her charity.

But she was eaten up with desires, with rage,with hate. That dress with the narrow folds hida distracted fear, of whose torment those chastelips said nothing. She was in love with Leon,and sought solitude that she might with themore ease delight in his image. The sight of hisform troubled the voluptuousness of this me-diation. Emma thrilled at the sound of his step;then in his presence the emotion subsided, andafterwards there remained to her only an im-mense astonishment that ended in sorrow.

Leon did not know that when he left her in de-spair she rose after he had gone to see him in

the street. She concerned herself about his com-ings and goings; she watched his face; she in-vented quite a history to find an excuse for go-ing to his room. The chemist's wife seemedhappy to her to sleep under the same roof, andher thoughts constantly centered upon thishouse, like the "Lion d'Or" pigeons, who camethere to dip their red feet and white wings in itsgutters. But the more Emma recognised herlove, the more she crushed it down, that itmight not be evident, that she might make itless. She would have liked Leon to guess it, andshe imagined chances, catastrophes that shouldfacilitate this.

What restrained her was, no doubt, idlenessand fear, and a sense of shame also. Shethought she had repulsed him too much, thatthe time was past, that all was lost. Then, pride,and joy of being able to say to herself, "I amvirtuous," and to look at herself in the glass

taking resigned poses, consoled her a little forthe sacrifice she believed she was making.

Then the lusts of the flesh, the longing formoney, and the melancholy of passion allblended themselves into one suffering, andinstead of turning her thoughts from it, sheclave to it the more, urging herself to pain, andseeking everywhere occasion for it. She wasirritated by an ill-served dish or by a half-opendoor; bewailed the velvets she had not, thehappiness she had missed, her too exalteddreams, her narrow home.

What exasperated her was that Charles did notseem to notice her anguish. His conviction thathe was making her happy seemed to her animbecile insult, and his sureness on this pointingratitude. For whose sake, then was she vir-tuous? Was it not for him, the obstacle to allfelicity, the cause of all misery, and, as it were,the sharp clasp of that complex strap thatbucked her in on all sides.

On him alone, then, she concentrated all thevarious hatreds that resulted from her bore-dom, and every effort to diminish only aug-mented it; for this useless trouble was added tothe other reasons for despair, and contributedstill more to the separation between them. Herown gentleness to herself made her rebelagainst him. Domestic mediocrity drove her tolewd fancies, marriage tenderness to adulter-ous desires. She would have liked Charles tobeat her, that she might have a better right tohate him, to revenge herself upon him. She wassurprised sometimes at the atrocious conjec-tures that came into her thoughts, and she hadto go on smiling, to hear repeated to her at allhours that she was happy, to pretend to behappy, to let it be believed.

Yet she had loathing of this hypocrisy. She wasseized with the temptation to flee somewherewith Leon to try a new life; but at once a vaguechasm full of darkness opened within her soul.

"Besides, he no longer loves me," she thought."What is to become of me? What help is to behoped for, what consolation, what solace?"

She was left broken, breathless, inert, sobbingin a low voice, with flowing tears.

"Why don't you tell master?" the servant askedher when she came in during these crises.

"It is the nerves," said Emma. "Do not speak tohim of it; it would worry him."

"Ah! yes," Felicite went on, "you are just like LaGuerine, Pere Guerin's daughter, the fishermanat Pollet, that I used to know at Dieppe before Icame to you. She was so sad, so sad, to see herstanding upright on the threshold of her house,she seemed to you like a winding-sheet spreadout before the door. Her illness, it appears, wasa kind of fog that she had in her head, and thedoctors could not do anything, nor the priesteither. When she was taken too bad she went

off quite alone to the sea-shore, so that the cus-toms officer, going his rounds, often found herlying flat on her face, crying on the shingle.Then, after her marriage, it went off, they say."

"But with me," replied Emma, "it was after mar-riage that it began."

Chapter Six

One evening when the window was open, andshe, sitting by it, had been watching Lestibou-dois, the beadle, trimming the box, she sud-denly heard the Angelus ringing.

It was the beginning of April, when the prim-roses are in bloom, and a warm wind blowsover the flower-beds newly turned, and the

gardens, like women, seem to be getting readyfor the summer fetes. Through the bars of thearbour and away beyond, the river seen in thefields, meandering through the grass in wan-dering curves. The evening vapours rose be-tween the leafless poplars, touching their out-lines with a violet tint, paler and more trans-parent than a subtle gauze caught athwart theirbranches. In the distance cattle moved about;neither their steps nor their lowing could beheard; and the bell, still ringing through the air,kept up its peaceful lamentation.

With this repeated tinkling the thoughts of theyoung woman lost themselves in old memoriesof her youth and school-days. She rememberedthe great candlesticks that rose above the vasesfull of flowers on the altar, and the tabernaclewith its small columns. She would have liked tobe once more lost in the long line of white veils,marked off here and there by the stuff blackhoods of the good sisters bending over their

prie-Dieu. At mass on Sundays, when shelooked up, she saw the gentle face of the Virginamid the blue smoke of the rising incense. Thenshe was moved; she felt herself weak and quitedeserted, like the down of a bird whirled by thetempest, and it was unconsciously that shewent towards the church, included to no matterwhat devotions, so that her soul was absorbedand all existence lost in it.

On the Place she met Lestivoudois on his wayback, for, in order not to shorten his day's la-bour, he preferred interrupting his work, thenbeginning it again, so that he rang the Angelusto suit his own convenience. Besides, the ring-ing over a little earlier warned the lads of cate-chism hour.

Already a few who had arrived were playingmarbles on the stones of the cemetery. Others,astride the wall, swung their legs, kicking withtheir clogs the large nettles growing betweenthe little enclosure and the newest graves. This

was the only green spot. All the rest was butstones, always covered with a fine powder,despite the vestry-broom.

The children in list shoes ran about there as if itwere an enclosure made for them. The shoutsof their voices could be heard through thehumming of the bell. This grew less and lesswith the swinging of the great rope that, hang-ing from the top of the belfry, dragged its endon the ground. Swallows flitted to and fro ut-tering little cries, cut the air with the edge oftheir wings, and swiftly returned to their yel-low nests under the tiles of the coping. At theend of the church a lamp was burning, the wickof a night-light in a glass hung up. Its lightfrom a distance looked like a white stain trem-bling in the oil. A long ray of the sun fell acrossthe nave and seemed to darken the lower sidesand the corners.

"Where is the cure?" asked Madame Bovary ofone of the lads, who was amusing himself byshaking a swivel in a hole too large for it.

"He is just coming," he answered.

And in fact the door of the presbytery grated;Abbe Bournisien appeared; the children, pell-mell, fled into the church.

"These young scamps!" murmured the priest,"always the same!"

Then, picking up a catechism all in rags that hehad struck with is foot, "They respect nothing!"But as soon as he caught sight of MadameBovary, "Excuse me," he said; "I did not recog-nise you."

He thrust the catechism into his pocket, andstopped short, balancing the heavy vestry keybetween his two fingers.

The light of the setting sun that fell full uponhis face paled the lasting of his cassock, shiny atthe elbows, unravelled at the hem. Grease andtobacco stains followed along his broad chestthe lines of the buttons, and grew more numer-ous the farther they were from his neckcloth, inwhich the massive folds of his red chin rested;this was dotted with yellow spots, that disap-peared beneath the coarse hair of his greyishbeard. He had just dined and was breathingnoisily.

"How are you?" he added.

"Not well," replied Emma; "I am ill."

"Well, and so am I," answered the priest. "Thesefirst warm days weaken one most remarkably,don't they? But, after all, we are born to suffer,as St. Paul says. But what does MonsieurBovary think of it?"

"He!" she said with a gesture of contempt.

"What!" replied the good fellow, quite aston-ished, "doesn't he prescribe something foryou?"

"Ah!" said Emma, "it is no earthly remedy Ineed."

But the cure from time to time looked into thechurch, where the kneeling boys were shoul-dering one another, and tumbling over likepacks of cards.

"I should like to know—" she went on.

"You look out, Riboudet," cried the priest in anangry voice; "I'll warm your ears, you imp!"Then turning to Emma, "He's Boudet the car-penter's son; his parents are well off, and lethim do just as he pleases. Yet he could learnquickly if he would, for he is very sharp. Andso sometimes for a joke I call him Riboudet(like the road one takes to go to Maromme) andI even say 'Mon Riboudet.' Ha! Ha! 'Mont Ri-

boudet.' The other day I repeated that just toMonsignor, and he laughed at it; he conde-scended to laugh at it. And how is MonsieurBovary?"

She seemed not to hear him. And he went on—

"Always very busy, no doubt; for he and I arecertainly the busiest people in the parish. Buthe is doctor of the body," he added with a thicklaugh, "and I of the soul."

She fixed her pleading eyes upon the priest."Yes," she said, "you solace all sorrows."

"Ah! don't talk to me of it, Madame Bovary.This morning I had to go to Bas-Diauville for acow that was ill; they thought it was under aspell. All their cows, I don't know how it is—But pardon me! Longuemarre and Boudet!Bless me! Will you leave off?"

And with a bound he ran into the church.

The boys were just then clustering round thelarge desk, climbing over the precentor's foot-stool, opening the missal; and others on tiptoewere just about to venture into the confessional.But the priest suddenly distributed a shower ofcuffs among them. Seizing them by the collarsof their coats, he lifted them from the ground,and deposited them on their knees on thestones of the choir, firmly, as if he meant plant-ing them there.

"Yes," said he, when he returned to Emma, un-folding his large cotton handkerchief, one cor-ner of which he put between his teeth, "farmersare much to be pitied."

"Others, too," she replied.

"Assuredly. Town-labourers, for example."

"It is not they—"

"Pardon! I've there known poor mothers offamilies, virtuous women, I assure you, realsaints, who wanted even bread."

"But those," replied Emma, and the corners ofher mouth twitched as she spoke, "those, Mon-sieur le Cure, who have bread and have no—"

"Fire in the winter," said the priest.

"Oh, what does that matter?"

"What! What does it matter? It seems to me thatwhen one has firing and food—for, after all—"

"My God! my God!" she sighed.

"It is indigestion, no doubt? You must gethome, Madame Bovary; drink a little tea, thatwill strengthen you, or else a glass of fresh wa-ter with a little moist sugar."

"Why?" And she looked like one awaking froma dream.

"Well, you see, you were putting your hand toyour forehead. I thought you felt faint." Then,bethinking himself, "But you were asking mesomething? What was it? I really don't remem-ber."

"I? Nothing! nothing!" repeated Emma.

And the glance she cast round her slowly fellupon the old man in the cassock. They lookedat one another face to face without speaking.

"Then, Madame Bovary," he said at last, "excuseme, but duty first, you know; I must look aftermy good-for-nothings. The first communionwill soon be upon us, and I fear we shall bebehind after all. So after Ascension Day I keepthem recta* an extra hour every Wednesday.Poor children! One cannot lead them too sooninto the path of the Lord, as, moreover, he hashimself recommended us to do by the mouth ofhis Divine Son. Good health to you, madame;my respects to your husband."

*On the straight and narrow path.

And he went into the church making a genu-flexion as soon as he reached the door.

Emma saw him disappear between the doublerow of forms, walking with a heavy tread, hishead a little bent over his shoulder, and withhis two hands half-open behind him.

Then she turned on her heel all of one piece,like a statue on a pivot, and went homewards.But the loud voice of the priest, the clear voicesof the boys still reached her ears, and went onbehind her.

"Are you a Christian?"

"Yes, I am a Christian."

"What is a Christian?"

"He who, being baptized-baptized-baptized—"

She went up the steps of the staircase holdingon to the banisters, and when she was in herroom threw herself into an arm-chair.

The whitish light of the window-panes fell withsoft undulations.

The furniture in its place seemed to have be-come more immobile, and to lose itself in theshadow as in an ocean of darkness. The firewas out, the clock went on ticking, and Emmavaguely marvelled at this calm of all thingswhile within herself was such tumult. But littleBerthe was there, between the window and thework-table, tottering on her knitted shoes, andtrying to come to her mother to catch hold ofthe ends of her apron-strings.

"Leave me alone," said the latter, putting herfrom her with her hand.

The little girl soon came up closer against herknees, and leaning on them with her arms, she

looked up with her large blue eyes, while asmall thread of pure saliva dribbled from herlips on to the silk apron.

"Leave me alone," repeated the young womanquite irritably.

Her face frightened the child, who began toscream.

"Will you leave me alone?" she said, pushingher with her elbow.

Berthe fell at the foot of the drawers against thebrass handle, cutting her cheek, which began tobleed, against it. Madame Bovary sprang to lifther up, broke the bell-rope, called for the ser-vant with all her might, and she was just goingto curse herself when Charles appeared. It wasthe dinner-hour; he had come home.

"Look, dear!" said Emma, in a calm voice, "thelittle one fell down while she was playing, andhas hurt herself."

Charles reassured her; the case was not a seri-ous one, and he went for some sticking plaster.

Madame Bovary did not go downstairs to thedining-room; she wished to remain alone tolook after the child. Then watching her sleep,the little anxiety she felt gradually wore off,and she seemed very stupid to herself, and verygood to have been so worried just now at solittle. Berthe, in fact, no longer sobbed.

Her breathing now imperceptibly raised thecotton covering. Big tears lay in the corner ofthe half-closed eyelids, through whose lashesone could see two pale sunken pupils; the plas-ter stuck on her cheek drew the skin obliquely.

"It is very strange," thought Emma, "how uglythis child is!"

When at eleven o'clock Charles came back fromthe chemist's shop, whither he had gone afterdinner to return the remainder of the sticking-plaster, he found his wife standing by the cra-dle.

"I assure you it's nothing." he said, kissing heron the forehead. "Don't worry, my poor dar-ling; you will make yourself ill."

He had stayed a long time at the chemist's. Al-though he had not seemed much moved,Homais, nevertheless, had exerted himself tobuoy him up, to "keep up his spirits." Then theyhad talked of the various dangers that threatenchildhood, of the carelessness of servants. Ma-dame Homais knew something of it, havingstill upon her chest the marks left by a basinfull of soup that a cook had formerly droppedon her pinafore, and her good parents took noend of trouble for her. The knives were notsharpened, nor the floors waxed; there wereiron gratings to the windows and strong bars

across the fireplace; the little Homais, in spite oftheir spirit, could not stir without someonewatching them; at the slightest cold their fatherstuffed them with pectorals; and until theywere turned four they all, without pity, had towear wadded head-protectors. This, it is true,was a fancy of Madame Homais'; her husbandwas inwardly afflicted at it. Fearing the possi-ble consequences of such compression to theintellectual organs. He even went so far as tosay to her, "Do you want to make Caribs orBotocudos of them?"

Charles, however, had several times tried tointerrupt the conversation. "I should like tospeak to you," he had whispered in the clerk'sear, who went upstairs in front of him.

"Can he suspect anything?" Leon asked himself.His heart beat, and he racked his brain withsurmises.

At last, Charles, having shut the door, askedhim to see himself what would be the price atRouen of a fine daguerreotypes. It was a senti-mental surprise he intended for his wife, a deli-cate attention—his portrait in a frock-coat. Buthe wanted first to know "how much it wouldbe." The inquiries would not put MonsieurLeon out, since he went to town almost everyweek.

Why? Monsieur Homais suspected some"young man's affair" at the bottom of it, an in-trigue. But he was mistaken. Leon was after nolove-making. He was sadder than ever, as Ma-dame Lefrancois saw from the amount of foodhe left on his plate. To find out more about itshe questioned the tax-collector. Binet an-swered roughly that he "wasn't paid by thepolice."

All the same, his companion seemed verystrange to him, for Leon often threw himself

back in his chair, and stretching out his arms.Complained vaguely of life.

"It's because you don't take enough recreation,"said the collector.

"What recreation?"

"If I were you I'd have a lathe."

"But I don't know how to turn," answered theclerk.

"Ah! that's true," said the other, rubbing hischin with an air of mingled contempt and satis-faction.

Leon was weary of loving without any result;moreover he was beginning to feel that depres-sion caused by the repetition of the same kindof life, when no interest inspires and no hopesustains it. He was so bored with Yonville andits inhabitants, that the sight of certain persons,of certain houses, irritated him beyond endur-

ance; and the chemist, good fellow though hewas, was becoming absolutely unbearable tohim. Yet the prospect of a new condition of lifefrightened as much as it seduced him.

This apprehension soon changed into impa-tience, and then Paris from afar sounded itsfanfare of masked balls with the laugh ofgrisettes. As he was to finish reading there,why not set out at once? What prevented him?And he began making home-preparations; hearranged his occupations beforehand. He fur-nished in his head an apartment. He wouldlead an artist's life there! He would take lessonson the guitar! He would have a dressing-gown,a Basque cap, blue velvet slippers! He evenalready was admiring two crossed foils over hischimney-piece, with a death's head on the gui-tar above them.

The difficulty was the consent of his mother;nothing, however, seemed more reasonable.Even his employer advised him to go to some

other chambers where he could advance morerapidly. Taking a middle course, then, Leonlooked for some place as second clerk at Rouen;found none, and at last wrote his mother a longletter full of details, in which he set forth thereasons for going to live at Paris immediately.She consented.

He did not hurry. Every day for a month Hivertcarried boxes, valises, parcels for him fromYonville to Rouen and from Rouen to Yonville;and when Leon had packed up his wardrobe,had his three arm-chairs restuffed, bought astock of neckties, in a word, had made morepreparations than for a voyage around theworld, he put it off from week to week, until hereceived a second letter from his mother urginghim to leave, since he wanted to pass his ex-amination before the vacation.

When the moment for the farewells had come,Madame Homais wept, Justin sobbed; Homais,as a man of nerve, concealed his emotion; he

wished to carry his friend's overcoat himself asfar as the gate of the notary, who was takingLeon to Rouen in his carriage.

The latter had just time to bid farewell to Mon-sieur Bovary.

When he reached the head of the stairs, hestopped, he was so out of breath. As he camein, Madame Bovary arose hurriedly.

"It is I again!" said Leon.

"I was sure of it!"

She bit her lips, and a rush of blood flowingunder her skin made her red from the roots ofher hair to the top of her collar. She remainedstanding, leaning with her shoulder against thewainscot.

"The doctor is not here?" he went on.

"He is out." She repeated, "He is out."

Then there was silence. They looked at one an-other and their thoughts, confounded in thesame agony, clung close together like twothrobbing breasts.

"I should like to kiss Berthe," said Leon.

Emma went down a few steps and called Felic-ite.

He threw one long look around him that tookin the walls, the decorations, the fireplace, as ifto penetrate everything, carry away everything.But she returned, and the servant broughtBerthe, who was swinging a windmill roofdownwards at the end of a string. Leon kissedher several times on the neck.

"Good-bye, poor child! good-bye, dear littleone! good-bye!" And he gave her back to hermother.

"Take her away," she said.

They remained alone—Madame Bovary, herback turned, her face pressed against a win-dow-pane; Leon held his cap in his hand,knocking it softly against his thigh.

"It is going to rain," said Emma.

"I have a cloak," he answered.

"Ah!"

She turned around, her chin lowered, her fore-head bent forward.

The light fell on it as on a piece of marble, tothe curve of the eyebrows, without one's beingable to guess what Emma was seeing on thehorizon or what she was thinking within her-self.

"Well, good-bye," he sighed.

She raised her head with a quick movement.

"Yes, good-bye—go!"

They advanced towards each other; he held outhis hand; she hesitated.

"In the English fashion, then," she said, givingher own hand wholly to him, and forcing alaugh.

Leon felt it between his fingers, and the veryessence of all his being seemed to pass downinto that moist palm. Then he opened his hand;their eyes met again, and he disappeared.

When he reached the market-place, he stoppedand hid behind a pillar to look for the last timeat this white house with the four green blinds.He thought he saw a shadow behind the win-dow in the room; but the curtain, sliding alongthe pole as though no one were touching it,slowly opened its long oblique folds thatspread out with a single movement, and thus

hung straight and motionless as a plaster wall.Leon set off running.

From afar he saw his employer's gig in theroad, and by it a man in a coarse apron holdingthe horse. Homais and Monsieur Guillauminwere talking. They were waiting for him.

"Embrace me," said the druggist with tears inhis eyes. "Here is your coat, my good friend.Mind the cold; take care of yourself; look afteryourself."

"Come, Leon, jump in," said the notary.

Homais bend over the splash-board, and in avoice broken by sobs uttered these three sadwords—

"A pleasant journey!"

"Good-night," said Monsieur Guillaumin. "Givehim his head." They set out, and Homais wentback.

Madame Bovary had opened her window over-looking the garden and watched the clouds.They gathered around the sunset on the side ofRouen and then swiftly rolled back their blackcolumns, behind which the great rays of thesun looked out like the golden arrows of a sus-pended trophy, while the rest of the emptyheavens was white as porcelain. But a gust ofwind bowed the poplars, and suddenly the rainfell; it pattered against the green leaves.

Then the sun reappeared, the hens clucked,sparrows shook their wings in the damp thick-ets, and the pools of water on the gravel as theyflowed away carried off the pink flowers of anacacia.

"Ah! how far off he must be already!" shethought.

Monsieur Homais, as usual, came at half-pastsix during dinner.

"Well," said he, "so we've sent off our youngfriend!"

"So it seems," replied the doctor. Then turningon his chair; "Any news at home?"

"Nothing much. Only my wife was a littlemoved this afternoon. You know women—anothing upsets them, especially my wife. Andwe should be wrong to object to that, since theirnervous organization is much more malleablethan ours."

"Poor Leon!" said Charles. "How will he live atParis? Will he get used to it?"

Madame Bovary sighed.

"Get along!" said the chemist, smacking his lips."The outings at restaurants, the masked balls,the champagne—all that'll be jolly enough, Iassure you."

"I don't think he'll go wrong," objected Bovary.

"Nor do I," said Monsieur Homais quickly; "al-though he'll have to do like the rest for fear ofpassing for a Jesuit. And you don't know whata life those dogs lead in the Latin quarter withactresses. Besides, students are thought a greatdeal of in Paris. Provided they have a few ac-complishments, they are received in the bestsociety; there are even ladies of the FaubourgSaint-Germain who fall in love with them,which subsequently furnishes them opportuni-ties for making very good matches."

"But," said the doctor, "I fear for him that downthere—"

"You are right," interrupted the chemist; "that isthe reverse of the medal. And one is constantlyobliged to keep one's hand in one's pocketthere. Thus, we will suppose you are in a publicgarden. An individual presents himself, welldressed, even wearing an order, and whom onewould take for a diplomatist. He approachesyou, he insinuates himself; offers you a pinch of

snuff, or picks up your hat. Then you becomemore intimate; he takes you to a cafe, invitesyou to his country-house, introduces you, be-tween two drinks, to all sorts of people; andthree-fourths of the time it's only to plunderyour watch or lead you into some perniciousstep.

"That is true," said Charles; "but I was thinkingespecially of illnesses—of typhoid fever, forexample, that attacks students from the prov-inces."

Emma shuddered.

"Because of the change of regimen," continuedthe chemist, "and of the perturbation that re-sults therefrom in the whole system. And thenthe water at Paris, don't you know! The dishesat restaurants, all the spiced food, end by heat-ing the blood, and are not worth, whateverpeople may say of them, a good soup. For myown part, I have always preferred plain living;

it is more healthy. So when I was studyingpharmacy at Rouen, I boarded in a boardinghouse; I dined with the professors."

And thus he went on, expounding his opinionsgenerally and his personal likings, until Justincame to fetch him for a mulled egg that waswanted.

"Not a moment's peace!" he cried; "always at it!I can't go out for a minute! Like a plough-horse,I have always to be moiling and toiling. Whatdrudgery!" Then, when he was at the door, "Bythe way, do you know the news?"

"What news?"

"That it is very likely," Homais went on, raisinghis eyebrows and assuming one of his mostserious expression, "that the agricultural meet-ing of the Seine-Inferieure will be held this yearat Yonville-l'Abbaye. The rumour, at all events,is going the round. This morning the paper

alluded to it. It would be of the utmost impor-tance for our district. But we'll talk it over lateron. I can see, thank you; Justin has the lantern."

Chapter Seven

The next day was a dreary one for Emma. Eve-rything seemed to her enveloped in a blackatmosphere floating confusedly over the exte-rior of things, and sorrow was engulfed withinher soul with soft shrieks such as the winterwind makes in ruined castles. It was that rev-erie which we give to things that will not re-turn, the lassitude that seizes you after every-thing was done; that pain, in fine, that the inter-ruption of every wonted movement, the sud-den cessation of any prolonged vibration,brings on.

As on the return from Vaubyessard, when thequadrilles were running in her head, she wasfull of a gloomy melancholy, of a numb de-spair. Leon reappeared, taller, handsomer,more charming, more vague. Though separatedfrom her, he had not left her; he was there, andthe walls of the house seemed to hold hisshadow.

She could not detach her eyes from the carpetwhere he had walked, from those empty chairswhere he had sat. The river still flowed on, andslowly drove its ripples along the slipperybanks.

They had often walked there to the murmur ofthe waves over the moss-covered pebbles. Howbright the sun had been! What happy after-noons they had seen alone in the shade at theend of the garden! He read aloud, bareheaded,sitting on a footstool of dry sticks; the freshwind of the meadow set trembling the leaves ofthe book and the nasturtiums of the arbour. Ah!

he was gone, the only charm of her life, theonly possible hope of joy. Why had she notseized this happiness when it came to her?Why not have kept hold of it with both hands,with both knees, when it was about to flee fromher? And she cursed herself for not havingloved Leon. She thirsted for his lips. The wishtook possession of her to run after and rejoinhim, throw herself into his arms and say tohim, "It is I; I am yours." But Emma recoiledbeforehand at the difficulties of the enterprise,and her desires, increased by regret, becameonly the more acute.

Henceforth the memory of Leon was the centreof her boredom; it burnt there more brightlythan the fire travellers have left on the snow ofa Russian steppe. She sprang towards him, shepressed against him, she stirred carefully thedying embers, sought all around her anythingthat could revive it; and the most distant remi-niscences, like the most immediate occasions,

what she experienced as well as what she imag-ined, her voluptuous desires that were unsatis-fied, her projects of happiness that crackled inthe wind like dead boughs, her sterile virtue,her lost hopes, the domestic tete-a-tete—shegathered it all up, took everything, and made itall serve as fuel for her melancholy.

The flames, however, subsided, either becausethe supply had exhausted itself, or because ithad been piled up too much. Love, little bylittle, was quelled by absence; regret stifledbeneath habit; and this incendiary light thathad empurpled her pale sky was overspreadand faded by degrees. In the supineness of herconscience she even took her repugnance to-wards her husband for aspirations towards herlover, the burning of hate for the warmth oftenderness; but as the tempest still raged, andas passion burnt itself down to the very cin-ders, and no help came, no sun rose, there was

night on all sides, and she was lost in the terri-ble cold that pierced her.

Then the evil days of Tostes began again. Shethought herself now far more unhappy; for shehad the experience of grief, with the certaintythat it would not end.

A woman who had laid on herself such sacri-fices could well allow herself certain whims.She bought a Gothic prie-dieu, and in a monthspent fourteen francs on lemons for polishingher nails; she wrote to Rouen for a blue cash-mere gown; she chose one of Lheureux's finestscarves, and wore it knotted around her waistover her dressing-gown; and, with closedblinds and a book in her hand, she lay stretchedout on a couch in this garb.

She often changed her coiffure; she did her haira la Chinoise, in flowing curls, in plaited coils;she parted in on one side and rolled it underlike a man's.

She wanted to learn Italian; she bought diction-aries, a grammar, and a supply of white paper.She tried serious reading, history, and philoso-phy. Sometimes in the night Charles woke upwith a start, thinking he was being called to apatient. "I'm coming," he stammered; and it wasthe noise of a match Emma had struck to relightthe lamp. But her reading fared like her piece ofembroidery, all of which, only just begun, filledher cupboard; she took it up, left it, passed onto other books.

She had attacks in which she could easily havebeen driven to commit any folly. She main-tained one day, in opposition to her husband,that she could drink off a large glass of brandy,and, as Charles was stupid enough to dare herto, she swallowed the brandy to the last drop.

In spite of her vapourish airs (as the house-wives of Yonville called them), Emma, all thesame, never seemed gay, and usually she hadat the corners of her mouth that immobile con-

traction that puckers the faces of old maids,and those of men whose ambition has failed.She was pale all over, white as a sheet; the skinof her nose was drawn at the nostrils, her eyeslooked at you vaguely. After discovering threegrey hairs on her temples, she talked much ofher old age.

She often fainted. One day she even spat blood,and, as Charles fussed around her showing hisanxiety—

"Bah!" she answered, "what does it matter?"

Charles fled to his study and wept there, bothhis elbows on the table, sitting in an arm-chairat his bureau under the phrenological head.

Then he wrote to his mother begging her tocome, and they had many long consultationstogether on the subject of Emma.

What should they decide? What was to be donesince she rejected all medical treatment? "Doyou know what your wife wants?" replied Ma-dame Bovary senior.

"She wants to be forced to occupy herself withsome manual work. If she were obliged, like somany others, to earn her living, she wouldn'thave these vapours, that come to her from a lotof ideas she stuffs into her head, and from theidleness in which she lives."

"Yet she is always busy," said Charles.

"Ah! always busy at what? Reading novels, badbooks, works against religion, and in whichthey mock at priests in speeches taken fromVoltaire. But all that leads you far astray, mypoor child. Anyone who has no religion alwaysends by turning out badly."

So it was decided to stop Emma reading novels.The enterprise did not seem easy. The good

lady undertook it. She was, when she passedthrough Rouen, to go herself to the lending-library and represent that Emma had discon-tinued her subscription. Would they not have aright to apply to the police if the librarian per-sisted all the same in his poisonous trade? Thefarewells of mother and daughter-in-law werecold. During the three weeks that they hadbeen together they had not exchanged half-a-dozen words apart from the inquiries andphrases when they met at table and in the eve-ning before going to bed.

Madame Bovary left on a Wednesday, the mar-ket-day at Yonville.

The Place since morning had been blocked by arow of carts, which, on end and their shafts inthe air, spread all along the line of houses fromthe church to the inn. On the other side therewere canvas booths, where cotton checks, blan-kets, and woollen stockings were sold, togetherwith harness for horses, and packets of blue

ribbon, whose ends fluttered in the wind. Thecoarse hardware was spread out on the groundbetween pyramids of eggs and hampers ofcheeses, from which sticky straw stuck out.

Near the corn-machines clucking hens passedtheir necks through the bars of flat cages. Thepeople, crowding in the same place and unwill-ing to move thence, sometimes threatened tosmash the shop front of the chemist. OnWednesdays his shop was never empty, andthe people pushed in less to buy drugs than forconsultations. So great was Homais' reputationin the neighbouring villages. His robustaplomb had fascinated the rustics. They con-sidered him a greater doctor than all the doc-tors.

Emma was leaning out at the window; she wasoften there. The window in the provinces re-places the theatre and the promenade, she wasamusing herself with watching the crowd ofboors when she saw a gentleman in a green

velvet coat. He had on yellow gloves, althoughhe wore heavy gaiters; he was coming towardsthe doctor's house, followed by a peasant walk-ing with a bent head and quite a thoughtful air.

"Can I see the doctor?" he asked Justin, whowas talking on the doorsteps with Felicite, and,taking him for a servant of the house—"Tellhim that Monsieur Rodolphe Boulanger of LaHuchette is here."

It was not from territorial vanity that the newarrival added "of La Huchette" to his name, butto make himself the better known.

La Huchette, in fact, was an estate near Yon-ville, where he had just bought the chateau andtwo farms that he cultivated himself, without,however, troubling very much about them. Helived as a bachelor, and was supposed to have"at least fifteen thousand francs a year."

Charles came into the room. Monsieur Bou-langer introduced his man, who wanted to bebled because he felt "a tingling all over."

"That'll purge me," he urged as an objection toall reasoning.

So Bovary ordered a bandage and a basin, andasked Justin to hold it. Then addressing thepeasant, who was already pale—

"Don't be afraid, my lad."

"No, no, sir," said the other; "get on."

And with an air of bravado he held out hisgreat arm. At the prick of the lancet the bloodspurted out, splashing against the looking-glass.

"Hold the basin nearer," exclaimed Charles.

"Lor!" said the peasant, "one would swear itwas a little fountain flowing. How red myblood is! That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"Sometimes," answered the doctor, "one feelsnothing at first, and then syncope sets in, andmore especially with people of strong constitu-tion like this man."

At these words the rustic let go the lancet-casehe was twisting between his fingers. A shudderof his shoulders made the chair-back creak. Hishat fell off.

"I thought as much," said Bovary, pressing hisfinger on the vein.

The basin was beginning to tremble in Justin'shands; his knees shook, he turned pale.

"Emma! Emma!" called Charles.

With one bound she came down the staircase.

"Some vinegar," he cried. "O dear! two at once!"

And in his emotion he could hardly put on thecompress.

"It is nothing," said Monsieur Boulanger qui-etly, taking Justin in his arms. He seated him onthe table with his back resting against the wall.

Madame Bovary began taking off his cravat.The strings of his shirt had got into a knot, andshe was for some minutes moving her lightfingers about the young fellow's neck. Then shepoured some vinegar on her cambric handker-chief; she moistened his temples with littledabs, and then blew upon them softly. Theploughman revived, but Justin's syncope stilllasted, and his eyeballs disappeared in the palesclerotics like blue flowers in milk.

"We must hide this from him," said Charles.

Madame Bovary took the basin to put it underthe table. With the movement she made inbending down, her dress (it was a summerdress with four flounces, yellow, long in thewaist and wide in the skirt) spread out aroundher on the flags of the room; and as Emmastooping, staggered a little as she stretched outher arms.

The stuff here and there gave with the inflec-tions of her bust.

Then she went to fetch a bottle of water, andshe was melting some pieces of sugar when thechemist arrived. The servant had been to fetchhim in the tumult. Seeing his pupil's eyes star-ing he drew a long breath; then going aroundhim he looked at him from head to foot.

"Fool!" he said, "really a little fool! A fool infour letters! A phlebotomy's a big affair, isn't it!And a fellow who isn't afraid of anything; akind of squirrel, just as he is who climbs to ver-

tiginous heights to shake down nuts. Oh, yes!you just talk to me, boast about yourself! Here'sa fine fitness for practising pharmacy later on;for under serious circumstances you may becalled before the tribunals in order to enlightenthe minds of the magistrates, and you wouldhave to keep your head then, to reason, showyourself a man, or else pass for an imbecile."

Justin did not answer. The chemist went on—

"Who asked you to come? You are always pes-tering the doctor and madame. On Wednesday,moreover, your presence is indispensable tome. There are now twenty people in the shop. Ileft everything because of the interest I take inyou. Come, get along! Sharp! Wait for me, andkeep an eye on the jars."

When Justin, who was rearranging his dress,had gone, they talked for a little while aboutfainting-fits. Madame Bovary had neverfainted.

"That is extraordinary for a lady," said Mon-sieur Boulanger; "but some people are verysusceptible. Thus in a duel, I have seen a sec-ond lose consciousness at the mere sound of theloading of pistols."

"For my part," said the chemist, "the sight ofother people's blood doesn't affect me at all, butthe mere thought of my own flowing wouldmake me faint if I reflected upon it too much."

Monsieur Boulanger, however, dismissed hisservant, advising him to calm himself, since hisfancy was over.

"It procured me the advantage of making youracquaintance," he added, and he looked atEmma as he said this. Then he put three francson the corner of the table, bowed negligently,and went out.

He was soon on the other side of the river (thiswas his way back to La Huchette), and Emma

saw him in the meadow, walking under thepoplars, slackening his pace now and then asone who reflects.

"She is very pretty," he said to himself; "she isvery pretty, this doctor's wife. Fine teeth, blackeyes, a dainty foot, a figure like a Parisienne's.Where the devil does she come from? Whereverdid that fat fellow pick her up?"

Monsieur Rodolphe Boulanger was thirty-four;he was of brutal temperament and intelligentperspicacity, having, moreover, had much todo with women, and knowing them well. Thisone had seemed pretty to him; so he was think-ing about her and her husband.

"I think he is very stupid. She is tired of him, nodoubt. He has dirty nails, and hasn't shaved forthree days. While he is trotting after his pa-tients, she sits there botching socks. And shegets bored! She would like to live in town anddance polkas every evening. Poor little woman!

She is gaping after love like a carp after wateron a kitchen-table. With three words of gal-lantry she'd adore one, I'm sure of it. She'd betender, charming. Yes; but how to get rid of herafterwards?"

Then the difficulties of love-making seen in thedistance made him by contrast think of his mis-tress. She was an actress at Rouen, whom hekept; and when he had pondered over this im-age, with which, even in remembrance, he wassatiated—

"Ah! Madame Bovary," he thought, "is muchprettier, especially fresher. Virginie is decidedlybeginning to grow fat. She is so finiky abouther pleasures; and, besides, she has a mania forprawns."

The fields were empty, and around him Rodol-phe only heard the regular beating of the grassstriking against his boots, with a cry of thegrasshopper hidden at a distance among the

oats. He again saw Emma in her room, dressedas he had seen her, and he undressed her.

"Oh, I will have her," he cried, striking a blowwith his stick at a clod in front of him. And heat once began to consider the political part ofthe enterprise. He asked himself—

"Where shall we meet? By what means? Weshall always be having the brat on our hands,and the servant, the neighbours, and husband,all sorts of worries. Pshaw! one would lose toomuch time over it."

Then he resumed, "She really has eyes thatpierce one's heart like a gimlet. And that palecomplexion! I adore pale women!"

When he reached the top of the Arguiel hills hehad made up his mind. "It's only finding theopportunities. Well, I will call in now and then.I'll send them venison, poultry; I'll have myselfbled, if need be. We shall become friends; I'll

invite them to my place. By Jove!" added he,"there's the agricultural show coming on. She'llbe there. I shall see her. We'll begin boldly, forthat's the surest way."

Chapter Eight

At last it came, the famous agricultural show.On the morning of the solemnity all the inhabi-tants at their doors were chatting over thepreparations. The pediment of the town hallhad been hung with garlands of ivy; a tent hadbeen erected in a meadow for the banquet; andin the middle of the Place, in front of thechurch, a kind of bombarde was to announcethe arrival of the prefect and the names of thesuccessful farmers who had obtained prizes.The National Guard of Buchy (there was none

at Yonville) had come to join the corps of fire-men, of whom Binet was captain. On that dayhe wore a collar even higher than usual; and,tightly buttoned in his tunic, his figure was sostiff and motionless that the whole vital portionof his person seemed to have descended intohis legs, which rose in a cadence of set stepswith a single movement. As there was somerivalry between the tax-collector and the colo-nel, both, to show off their talents, drilled theirmen separately. One saw the red epaulettes andthe black breastplates pass and re-pass alter-nately; there was no end to it, and it constantlybegan again. There had never been such a dis-play of pomp. Several citizens had scouredtheir houses the evening before; tri-colouredflags hung from half-open windows; all thepublic-houses were full; and in the lovelyweather the starched caps, the golden crosses,and the coloured neckerchiefs seemed whiterthan snow, shone in the sun, and relieved withthe motley colours the sombre monotony of the

frock-coats and blue smocks. The neighbouringfarmers' wives, when they got off their horses,pulled out the long pins that fastened aroundthem their dresses, turned up for fear of mud;and the husbands, for their part, in order tosave their hats, kept their handkerchiefs aroundthem, holding one corner between their teeth.

The crowd came into the main street from bothends of the village. People poured in from thelanes, the alleys, the houses; and from time totime one heard knockers banging against doorsclosing behind women with their gloves, whowere going out to see the fete. What was mostadmired were two long lamp-stands coveredwith lanterns, that flanked a platform on whichthe authorities were to sit. Besides this therewere against the four columns of the town hallfour kinds of poles, each bearing a small stan-dard of greenish cloth, embellished with in-scriptions in gold letters.

On one was written, "To Commerce"; on theother, "To Agriculture"; on the third, "To Indus-try"; and on the fourth, "To the Fine Arts."

But the jubilation that brightened all facesseemed to darken that of Madame Lefrancois,the innkeeper. Standing on her kitchen-stepsshe muttered to herself, "What rubbish! whatrubbish! With their canvas booth! Do they thinkthe prefect will be glad to dine down there un-der a tent like a gipsy? They call all this fussingdoing good to the place! Then it wasn't worthwhile sending to Neufchatel for the keeper of acookshop! And for whom? For cowherds! tat-terdemalions!"

The druggist was passing. He had on a frock-coat, nankeen trousers, beaver shoes, and, for awonder, a hat with a low crown.

"Your servant! Excuse me, I am in a hurry."And as the fat widow asked where he was go-ing—

"It seems odd to you, doesn't it, I who am al-ways more cooped up in my laboratory thanthe man's rat in his cheese."

"What cheese?" asked the landlady.

"Oh, nothing! nothing!" Homais continued. "Imerely wished to convey to you, MadameLefrancois, that I usually live at home like arecluse. To-day, however, considering the cir-cumstances, it is necessary—"

"Oh, you're going down there!" she said con-temptuously.

"Yes, I am going," replied the druggist, aston-ished. "Am I not a member of the consultingcommission?"

Mere Lefrancois looked at him for a few mo-ments, and ended by saying with a smile—

"That's another pair of shoes! But what doesagriculture matter to you? Do you understandanything about it?"

"Certainly I understand it, since I am a drug-gist—that is to say, a chemist. And the object ofchemistry, Madame Lefrancois, being theknowledge of the reciprocal and molecular ac-tion of all natural bodies, it follows that agricul-ture is comprised within its domain. And, infact, the composition of the manure, the fer-mentation of liquids, the analyses of gases, andthe influence of miasmata, what, I ask you, isall this, if it isn't chemistry, pure and simple?"

The landlady did not answer. Homais wenton—

"Do you think that to be an agriculturist it isnecessary to have tilled the earth or fattenedfowls oneself? It is necessary rather to know thecomposition of the substances in question—thegeological strata, the atmospheric actions, the

quality of the soil, the minerals, the waters, thedensity of the different bodies, their capillarity,and what not. And one must be master of allthe principles of hygiene in order to direct,criticize the construction of buildings, the feed-ing of animals, the diet of domestics. And,moreover, Madame Lefrancois, one must knowbotany, be able to distinguish between plants,you understand, which are the wholesome andthose that are deleterious, which are unproduc-tive and which nutritive, if it is well to pullthem up here and re-sow them there, to propa-gate some, destroy others; in brief, one mustkeep pace with science by means of pamphletsand public papers, be always on the alert tofind out improvements."

The landlady never took her eyes off the "CafeFrancois" and the chemist went on—

"Would to God our agriculturists were chem-ists, or that at least they would pay more atten-tion to the counsels of science. Thus lately I

myself wrote a considerable tract, a memoir ofover seventy-two pages, entitled, 'Cider, itsManufacture and its Effects, together withsome New Reflections on the Subject,' that Isent to the Agricultural Society of Rouen, andwhich even procured me the honour of beingreceived among its members—Section, Agricul-ture; Class, Pomological. Well, if my work hadbeen given to the public—" But the druggiststopped, Madame Lefrancois seemed so preoc-cupied.

"Just look at them!" she said. "It's past compre-hension! Such a cookshop as that!" And with ashrug of the shoulders that stretched out overher breast the stitches of her knitted bodice, shepointed with both hands at her rival's inn,whence songs were heard issuing. "Well, itwon't last long," she added. "It'll be over beforea week."

Homais drew back with stupefaction. She camedown three steps and whispered in his ear—

"What! you didn't know it? There is to be anexecution in next week. It's Lheureux who isselling him out; he has killed him with bills."

"What a terrible catastrophe!" cried the drug-gist, who always found expressions in harmonywith all imaginable circumstances.

Then the landlady began telling him the storythat she had heard from Theodore, MonsieurGuillaumin's servant, and although she de-tested Tellier, she blamed Lheureux. He was "awheedler, a sneak."

"There!" she said. "Look at him! he is in themarket; he is bowing to Madame Bovary, who'sgot on a green bonnet. Why, she's taking Mon-sieur Boulanger's arm."

"Madame Bovary!" exclaimed Homais. "I mustgo at once and pay her my respects. Perhapsshe'll be very glad to have a seat in the enclo-sure under the peristyle." And, without heed-

ing Madame Lefrancois, who was calling himback to tell him more about it, the druggistwalked off rapidly with a smile on his lips,with straight knees, bowing copiously to rightand left, and taking up much room with thelarge tails of his frock-coat that fluttered behindhim in the wind.

Rodolphe, having caught sight of him fromafar, hurried on, but Madame Bovary lost herbreath; so he walked more slowly, and, smilingat her, said in a rough tone—

"It's only to get away from that fat fellow, youknow, the druggist." She pressed his elbow.

"What's the meaning of that?" he asked himself.And he looked at her out of the corner of hiseyes.

Her profile was so calm that one could guessnothing from it. It stood out in the light fromthe oval of her bonnet, with pale ribbons on it

like the leaves of weeds. Her eyes with theirlong curved lashes looked straight before her,and though wide open, they seemed slightlypuckered by the cheek-bones, because of theblood pulsing gently under the delicate skin. Apink line ran along the partition between hernostrils. Her head was bent upon her shoulder,and the pearl tips of her white teeth were seenbetween her lips.

"Is she making fun of me?" thought Rodolphe.

Emma's gesture, however, had only been meantfor a warning; for Monsieur Lheureux was ac-companying them, and spoke now and again asif to enter into the conversation.

"What a superb day! Everybody is out! Thewind is east!"

And neither Madame Bovary nor Rodolpheanswered him, whilst at the slightest move-

ment made by them he drew near, saying, "Ibeg your pardon!" and raised his hat.

When they reached the farrier's house, insteadof following the road up to the fence, Rodolphesuddenly turned down a path, drawing withhim Madame Bovary. He called out—

"Good evening, Monsieur Lheureux! See youagain presently."

"How you got rid of him!" she said, laughing.

"Why," he went on, "allow oneself to be in-truded upon by others? And as to-day I havethe happiness of being with you—"

Emma blushed. He did not finish his sentence.Then he talked of the fine weather and of thepleasure of walking on the grass. A few daisieshad sprung up again.

"Here are some pretty Easter daisies," he said,"and enough of them to furnish oracles to allthe amorous maids in the place."

He added, "Shall I pick some? What do youthink?"

"Are you in love?" she asked, coughing a little.

"H'm, h'm! who knows?" answered Rodolphe.

The meadow began to fill, and the housewiveshustled you with their great umbrellas, theirbaskets, and their babies. One had often to getout of the way of a long file of country folk,servant-maids with blue stockings, flat shoes,silver rings, and who smelt of milk, when onepassed close to them. They walked along hold-ing one another by the hand, and thus theyspread over the whole field from the row ofopen trees to the banquet tent.

But this was the examination time, and thefarmers one after the other entered a kind ofenclosure formed by a long cord supported onsticks.

The beasts were there, their noses towards thecord, and making a confused line with theirunequal rumps. Drowsy pigs were burrowingin the earth with their snouts, calves were bleat-ing, lambs baaing; the cows, on knees folded in,were stretching their bellies on the grass,slowly chewing the cud, and blinking theirheavy eyelids at the gnats that buzzed roundthem. Plough-men with bare arms were hold-ing by the halter prancing stallions thatneighed with dilated nostrils looking towardsthe mares. These stood quietly, stretching outtheir heads and flowing manes, while theirfoals rested in their shadow, or now and thencame and sucked them. And above the longundulation of these crowded animals one sawsome white mane rising in the wind like a

wave, or some sharp horns sticking out, andthe heads of men running about. Apart, outsidethe enclosure, a hundred paces off, was a largeblack bull, muzzled, with an iron ring in itsnostrils, and who moved no more than if hehad been in bronze. A child in rags was holdinghim by a rope.

Between the two lines the committee-men werewalking with heavy steps, examining eachanimal, then consulting one another in a lowvoice. One who seemed of more importancenow and then took notes in a book as hewalked along. This was the president of thejury, Monsieur Derozerays de la Panville. Assoon as he recognised Rodolphe he came for-ward quickly, and smiling amiably, said—

"What! Monsieur Boulanger, you are desertingus?"

Rodolphe protested that he was just coming.But when the president had disappeared—

"Ma foi!*" said he, "I shall not go. Your com-pany is better than his."

*Upon my word!

And while poking fun at the show, Rodolphe,to move about more easily, showed the gen-darme his blue card, and even stopped nowand then in front of some fine beast, which Ma-dame Bovary did not at all admire. He noticedthis, and began jeering at the Yonville ladiesand their dresses; then he apologised for thenegligence of his own. He had that incongruityof common and elegant in which the habituallyvulgar think they see the revelation of an eccen-tric existence, of the perturbations of sentiment,the tyrannies of art, and always a certain con-tempt for social conventions, that seduces orexasperates them. Thus his cambric shirt withplaited cuffs was blown out by the wind in theopening of his waistcoat of grey ticking, and hisbroad-striped trousers disclosed at the anklenankeen boots with patent leather gaiters.

These were so polished that they reflected thegrass. He trampled on horses's dung withthem, one hand in the pocket of his jacket andhis straw hat on one side.

"Besides," added he, "when one lives in thecountry—"

"It's waste of time," said Emma.

"That is true," replied Rodolphe. "To think thatnot one of these people is capable of under-standing even the cut of a coat!"

Then they talked about provincial mediocrity,of the lives it crushed, the illusions lost there.

"And I too," said Rodolphe, "am drifting intodepression."

"You!" she said in astonishment; "I thought youvery light-hearted."

"Ah! yes. I seem so, because in the midst of theworld I know how to wear the mask of a scofferupon my face; and yet, how many a time at thesight of a cemetery by moonlight have I notasked myself whether it were not better to jointhose sleeping there!"

"Oh! and your friends?" she said. "You do notthink of them."

"My friends! What friends? Have I any? Whocares for me?" And he accompanied the lastwords with a kind of whistling of the lips.

But they were obliged to separate from eachother because of a great pile of chairs that aman was carrying behind them. He was sooverladen with them that one could only seethe tips of his wooden shoes and the ends of histwo outstretched arms. It was Lestiboudois, thegravedigger, who was carrying the churchchairs about amongst the people. Alive to allthat concerned his interests, he had hit upon

this means of turning the show to account; andhis idea was succeeding, for he no longer knewwhich way to turn. In fact, the villagers, whowere hot, quarreled for these seats, whosestraw smelt of incense, and they leant againstthe thick backs, stained with the wax of can-dles, with a certain veneration.

Madame Bovary again took Rodolphe's arm; hewent on as if speaking to himself—

"Yes, I have missed so many things. Alwaysalone! Ah! if I had some aim in life, if I had metsome love, if I had found someone! Oh, how Iwould have spent all the energy of which I amcapable, surmounted everything, overcomeeverything!"

"Yet it seems to me," said Emma, "that you arenot to be pitied."

"Ah! you think so?" said Rodolphe.

"For, after all," she went on, "you are free—" shehesitated, "rich—"

"Do not mock me," he replied.

And she protested that she was not mockinghim, when the report of a cannon resounded.Immediately all began hustling one anotherpell-mell towards the village.

It was a false alarm. The prefect seemed not tobe coming, and the members of the jury feltmuch embarrassed, not knowing if they oughtto begin the meeting or still wait.

At last at the end of the Place a large hired lan-dau appeared, drawn by two thin horses,which a coachman in a white hat was whippinglustily. Binet had only just time to shout, "Pre-sent arms!" and the colonel to imitate him. Allran towards the enclosure; everyone pushedforward. A few even forgot their collars; but theequipage of the prefect seemed to anticipate the

crowd, and the two yoked jades, trapesing intheir harness, came up at a little trot in front ofthe peristyle of the town hall at the very mo-ment when the National Guard and firemendeployed, beating drums and marking time.

"Present!" shouted Binet.

"Halt!" shouted the colonel. "Left about, march."

And after presenting arms, during which theclang of the band, letting loose, rang out like abrass kettle rolling downstairs, all the gunswere lowered. Then was seen stepping downfrom the carriage a gentleman in a short coatwith silver braiding, with bald brow, and wear-ing a tuft of hair at the back of his head, of asallow complexion and the most benign ap-pearance. His eyes, very large and covered byheavy lids, were half-closed to look at thecrowd, while at the same time he raised hissharp nose, and forced a smile upon his sunkenmouth. He recognised the mayor by his scarf,

and explained to him that the prefect was notable to come. He himself was a councillor at theprefecture; then he added a few apologies.Monsieur Tuvache answered them with com-pliments; the other confessed himself nervous;and they remained thus, face to face, their fore-heads almost touching, with the members ofthe jury all round, the municipal council, thenotable personages, the National Guard andthe crowd. The councillor pressing his littlecocked hat to his breast repeated his bows,while Tuvache, bent like a bow, also smiled,stammered, tried to say something, protestedhis devotion to the monarchy and the honourthat was being done to Yonville.

Hippolyte, the groom from the inn, took thehead of the horses from the coachman, and,limping along with his club-foot, led them tothe door of the "Lion d'Or", where a number ofpeasants collected to look at the carriage. Thedrum beat, the howitzer thundered, and the

gentlemen one by one mounted the platform,where they sat down in red utrecht velvet arm-chairs that had been lent by Madame Tuvache.

All these people looked alike. Their fair flabbyfaces, somewhat tanned by the sun, were thecolour of sweet cider, and their puffy whiskersemerged from stiff collars, kept up by whitecravats with broad bows. All the waist-coatswere of velvet, double-breasted; all the watcheshad, at the end of a long ribbon, an oval corne-lian seal; everyone rested his two hands on histhighs, carefully stretching the stride of theirtrousers, whose unsponged glossy cloth shonemore brilliantly than the leather of their heavyboots.

The ladies of the company stood at the backunder the vestibule between the pillars whilethe common herd was opposite, standing up orsitting on chairs. As a matter of fact, Lestibou-dois had brought thither all those that he hadmoved from the field, and he even kept run-

ning back every minute to fetch others from thechurch. He caused such confusion with thispiece of business that one had great difficultyin getting to the small steps of the platform.

"I think," said Monsieur Lheureux to the chem-ist, who was passing to his place, "that theyought to have put up two Venetian masts withsomething rather severe and rich for orna-ments; it would have been a very pretty effect."

"To be sure," replied Homais; "but what canyou expect? The mayor took everything on hisown shoulders. He hasn't much taste. Poor Tu-vache! and he is even completely destitute ofwhat is called the genius of art."

Rodolphe, meanwhile, with Madame Bovary,had gone up to the first floor of the town hall,to the "council-room," and, as it was empty, hedeclared that they could enjoy the sight theremore comfortably. He fetched three stools fromthe round table under the bust of the monarch,

and having carried them to one of the win-dows, they sat down by each other.

There was commotion on the platform, longwhisperings, much parleying. At last the coun-cillor got up. They knew now that his namewas Lieuvain, and in the crowd the name waspassed from one to the other. After he had col-lated a few pages, and bent over them to seebetter, he began—

"Gentlemen! May I be permitted first of all (be-fore addressing you on the object of our meet-ing to-day, and this sentiment will, I am sure,be shared by you all), may I be permitted, I say,to pay a tribute to the higher administration, tothe government to the monarch, gentle men,our sovereign, to that beloved king, to whomno branch of public or private prosperity is amatter of indifference, and who directs with ahand at once so firm and wise the chariot of thestate amid the incessant perils of a stormy sea,knowing, moreover, how to make peace re-

spected as well as war, industry, commerce,agriculture, and the fine arts?"

"I ought," said Rodolphe, "to get back a littlefurther."

"Why?" said Emma.

But at this moment the voice of the councillorrose to an extraordinary pitch. He declaimed—

"This is no longer the time, gentlemen, whencivil discord ensanguined our public places,when the landlord, the business-man, theworking-man himself, falling asleep at night,lying down to peaceful sleep, trembled lest heshould be awakened suddenly by the noise ofincendiary tocsins, when the most subversivedoctrines audaciously sapped foundations."

"Well, someone down there might see me,"Rodolphe resumed, "then I should have to in-

vent excuses for a fortnight; and with my badreputation—"

"Oh, you are slandering yourself," said Emma.

"No! It is dreadful, I assure you."

"But, gentlemen," continued the councillor, "if,banishing from my memory the remembranceof these sad pictures, I carry my eyes back tothe actual situation of our dear country, whatdo I see there? Everywhere commerce and thearts are flourishing; everywhere new means ofcommunication, like so many new arteries inthe body of the state, establish within it newrelations. Our great industrial centres have re-covered all their activity; religion, more con-solidated, smiles in all hearts; our ports are full,confidence is born again, and France breathesonce more!"

"Besides," added Rodolphe, "perhaps from theworld's point of view they are right."

"How so?" she asked.

"What!" said he. "Do you not know that thereare souls constantly tormented? They need byturns to dream and to act, the purest passionsand the most turbulent joys, and thus they flingthemselves into all sorts of fantasies, of follies."

Then she looked at him as one looks at a travel-ler who has voyaged over strange lands, andwent on—

"We have not even this distraction, we poorwomen!"

"A sad distraction, for happiness isn't found init."

"But is it ever found?" she asked.

"Yes; one day it comes," he answered.

"And this is what you have understood," saidthe councillor.

"You, farmers, agricultural labourers! you pa-cific pioneers of a work that belongs wholly tocivilization! you, men of progress and morality,you have understood, I say, that politicalstorms are even more redoubtable than atmos-pheric disturbances!"

"It comes one day," repeated Rodolphe, "oneday suddenly, and when one is despairing of it.Then the horizon expands; it is as if a voicecried, 'It is here!' You feel the need of confidingthe whole of your life, of giving everything,sacrificing everything to this being. There is noneed for explanations; they understand oneanother. They have seen each other in dreams!"

(And he looked at her.) "In fine, here it is, thistreasure so sought after, here before you. It glit-ters, it flashes; yet one still doubts, one does notbelieve it; one remains dazzled, as if one wentout iron darkness into light."

And as he ended Rodolphe suited the action tothe word. He passed his hand over his face, likea man seized with giddiness. Then he let it fallon Emma's. She took hers away.

"And who would be surprised at it, gentlemen?He only who is so blind, so plunged (I do notfear to say it), so plunged in the prejudices ofanother age as still to misunderstand the spiritof agricultural populations. Where, indeed, isto be found more patriotism than in the coun-try, greater devotion to the public welfare,more intelligence, in a word? And, gentlemen, Ido not mean that superficial intelligence, vainornament of idle minds, but rather that pro-found and balanced intelligence that appliesitself above all else to useful objects, thus con-tributing to the good of all, to the commonamelioration and to the support of the state,born of respect for law and the practice ofduty—"

"Ah! again!" said Rodolphe. "Always 'duty.' Iam sick of the word. They are a lot of oldblockheads in flannel vests and of old womenwith foot-warmers and rosaries who constantlydrone into our ears 'Duty, duty!' Ah! by Jove!one's duty is to feel what is great, cherish thebeautiful, and not accept all the conventions ofsociety with the ignominy that it imposes uponus."

"Yet—yet—" objected Madame Bovary.

"No, no! Why cry out against the passions? Arethey not the one beautiful thing on the earth,the source of heroism, of enthusiasm, of poetry,music, the arts, of everything, in a word?"

"But one must," said Emma, "to some extentbow to the opinion of the world and accept itsmoral code."

"Ah! but there are two," he replied. "The small,the conventional, that of men, that which con-

stantly changes, that brays out so loudly, thatmakes such a commotion here below, of theearth earthly, like the mass of imbeciles you seedown there. But the other, the eternal, that isabout us and above, like the landscape thatsurrounds us, and the blue heavens that give uslight."

Monsieur Lieuvain had just wiped his mouthwith a pocket-handkerchief. He continued—

"And what should I do here gentlemen, point-ing out to you the uses of agriculture? Whosupplies our wants? Who provides our meansof subsistence? Is it not the agriculturist? Theagriculturist, gentlemen, who, sowing withlaborious hand the fertile furrows of the coun-try, brings forth the corn, which, being ground,is made into a powder by means of ingeniousmachinery, comes out thence under the nameof flour, and from there, transported to ourcities, is soon delivered at the baker's, whomakes it into food for poor and rich alike.

Again, is it not the agriculturist who fattens, forour clothes, his abundant flocks in the pas-tures? For how should we clothe ourselves,how nourish ourselves, without the agricultur-ist? And, gentlemen, is it even necessary to goso far for examples? Who has not frequentlyreflected on all the momentous things that weget out of that modest animal, the ornament ofpoultry-yards, that provides us at once with asoft pillow for our bed, with succulent flesh forour tables, and eggs? But I should never end if Iwere to enumerate one after the other all thedifferent products which the earth, well culti-vated, like a generous mother, lavishes uponher children. Here it is the vine, elsewhere theapple tree for cider, there colza, farther oncheeses and flax. Gentlemen, let us not forgetflax, which has made such great strides of lateyears, and to which I will more particularly callyour attention."

He had no need to call it, for all the mouths ofthe multitude were wide open, as if to drink inhis words. Tuvache by his side listened to himwith staring eyes. Monsieur Derozerays fromtime to time softly closed his eyelids, and far-ther on the chemist, with his son Napoleon be-tween his knees, put his hand behind his ear inorder not to lose a syllable. The chins of theother members of the jury went slowly up anddown in their waistcoats in sign of approval.The firemen at the foot of the platform restedon their bayonets; and Binet, motionless, stoodwith out-turned elbows, the point of his sabrein the air. Perhaps he could hear, but certainlyhe could see nothing, because of the visor of hishelmet, that fell down on his nose. His lieuten-ant, the youngest son of Monsieur Tuvache,had a bigger one, for his was enormous, andshook on his head, and from it an end of hiscotton scarf peeped out. He smiled beneath itwith a perfectly infantine sweetness, and hispale little face, whence drops were running,

wore an expression of enjoyment and sleepi-ness.

The square as far as the houses was crowdedwith people. One saw folk leaning on their el-bows at all the windows, others standing atdoors, and Justin, in front of the chemist's shop,seemed quite transfixed by the sight of what hewas looking at. In spite of the silence MonsieurLieuvain's voice was lost in the air. It reachedyou in fragments of phrases, and interruptedhere and there by the creaking of chairs in thecrowd; then you suddenly heard the long bel-lowing of an ox, or else the bleating of thelambs, who answered one another at street cor-ners. In fact, the cowherds and shepherds haddriven their beasts thus far, and these lowedfrom time to time, while with their tonguesthey tore down some scrap of foliage that hungabove their mouths.

Rodolphe had drawn nearer to Emma, and saidto her in a low voice, speaking rapidly—

"Does not this conspiracy of the world revoltyou? Is there a single sentiment it does notcondemn? The noblest instincts, the purestsympathies are persecuted, slandered; and if atlength two poor souls do meet, all is so organ-ised that they cannot blend together. Yet theywill make the attempt; they will flutter theirwings; they will call upon each other. Oh! nomatter. Sooner or later, in six months, ten years,they will come together, will love; for fate hasdecreed it, and they are born one for the other."

His arms were folded across his knees, andthus lifting his face towards Emma, close byher, he looked fixedly at her. She noticed in hiseyes small golden lines radiating from blackpupils; she even smelt the perfume of the po-made that made his hair glossy.

Then a faintness came over her; she recalled theViscount who had waltzed with her atVaubyessard, and his beard exhaled like this airan odour of vanilla and citron, and mechani-

cally she half-closed her eyes the better tobreathe it in. But in making this movement, asshe leant back in her chair, she saw in the dis-tance, right on the line of the horizon, the olddiligence, the "Hirondelle," that was slowlydescending the hill of Leux, dragging after it along trail of dust. It was in this yellow carriagethat Leon had so often come back to her, and bythis route down there that he had gone for ever.She fancied she saw him opposite at his win-dows; then all grew confused; clouds gathered;it seemed to her that she was again turning inthe waltz under the light of the lustres on thearm of the Viscount, and that Leon was not faraway, that he was coming; and yet all the timeshe was conscious of the scent of Rodolphe'shead by her side. This sweetness of sensationpierced through her old desires, and these, likegrains of sand under a gust of wind, eddied toand fro in the subtle breath of the perfumewhich suffused her soul. She opened wide hernostrils several times to drink in the freshness

of the ivy round the capitals. She took off hergloves, she wiped her hands, then fanned herface with her handkerchief, while athwart thethrobbing of her temples she heard the murmurof the crowd and the voice of the councillorintoning his phrases. He said—"Continue, per-severe; listen neither to the suggestions of rou-tine, nor to the over-hasty councils of a rashempiricism.

"Apply yourselves, above all, to the ameliora-tion of the soil, to good manures, to the devel-opment of the equine, bovine, ovine, and por-cine races. Let these shows be to you pacificarenas, where the victor in leaving it will holdforth a hand to the vanquished, and will frater-nise with him in the hope of better success. Andyou, aged servants, humble domestics, whosehard labour no Government up to this day hastaken into consideration, come hither to receivethe reward of your silent virtues, and be as-sured that the state henceforward has its eye

upon you; that it encourages you, protects you;that it will accede to your just demands, andalleviate as much as in it lies the burden of yourpainful sacrifices."

Monsieur Lieuvain then sat down; MonsieurDerozerays got up, beginning another speech.His was not perhaps so florid as that of thecouncillor, but it recommended itself by a moredirect style, that is to say, by more specialknowledge and more elevated considerations.Thus the praise of the Government took up lessspace in it; religion and agriculture more. Heshowed in it the relations of these two, andhow they had always contributed to civilisa-tion. Rodolphe with Madame Bovary was talk-ing dreams, presentiments, magnetism. Goingback to the cradle of society, the orator paintedthose fierce times when men lived on acorns inthe heart of woods. Then they had left off theskins of beasts, had put on cloth, tilled the soil,planted the vine. Was this a good, and in this

discovery was there not more of injury than ofgain? Monsieur Derozerays set himself thisproblem. From magnetism little by little Rodol-phe had come to affinities, and while the presi-dent was citing Cincinnatus and his plough,Diocletian, planting his cabbages, and the Em-perors of China inaugurating the year by thesowing of seed, the young man was explainingto the young woman that these irresistible at-tractions find their cause in some previous stateof existence.

"Thus we," he said, "why did we come to knowone another? What chance willed it? It was be-cause across the infinite, like two streams thatflow but to unite; our special bents of mind haddriven us towards each other."

And he seized her hand; she did not withdrawit.

"For good farming generally!" cried the presi-dent.

"Just now, for example, when I went to yourhouse."

"To Monsieur Bizat of Quincampoix."

"Did I know I should accompany you?"

"Seventy francs."

"A hundred times I wished to go; and I fol-lowed you—I remained."

"Manures!"

"And I shall remain to-night, to-morrow, allother days, all my life!"

"To Monsieur Caron of Argueil, a gold medal!"

"For I have never in the society of any otherperson found so complete a charm."

"To Monsieur Bain of Givry-Saint-Martin."

"And I shall carry away with me the remem-brance of you."

"For a merino ram!"

"But you will forget me; I shall pass away like ashadow."

"To Monsieur Belot of Notre-Dame."

"Oh, no! I shall be something in your thought,in your life, shall I not?"

"Porcine race; prizes—equal, to Messrs. Leher-isse and Cullembourg, sixty francs!"

Rodolphe was pressing her hand, and he felt itall warm and quivering like a captive dove thatwants to fly away; but, whether she was tryingto take it away or whether she was answeringhis pressure; she made a movement with herfingers. He exclaimed—

"Oh, I thank you! You do not repulse me! Youare good! You understand that I am yours! Letme look at you; let me contemplate you!"

A gust of wind that blew in at the window ruf-fled the cloth on the table, and in the squarebelow all the great caps of the peasant womenwere uplifted by it like the wings of white but-terflies fluttering.

"Use of oil-cakes," continued the president. Hewas hurrying on: "Flemish manure-flax-growing-drainage-long leases-domestic ser-vice."

Rodolphe was no longer speaking. They lookedat one another. A supreme desire made theirdry lips tremble, and wearily, without an effort,their fingers intertwined.

"Catherine Nicaise Elizabeth Leroux, of Sasse-tot-la-Guerriere, for fifty-four years of service at

the same farm, a silver medal—value, twenty-five francs!"

"Where is Catherine Leroux?" repeated thecouncillor.

She did not present herself, and one could hearvoices whispering—

"Go up!"

"Don't be afraid!"

"Oh, how stupid she is!"

"Well, is she there?" cried Tuvache.

"Yes; here she is."

"Then let her come up!"

Then there came forward on the platform alittle old woman with timid bearing, whoseemed to shrink within her poor clothes. On

her feet she wore heavy wooden clogs, andfrom her hips hung a large blue apron. Her paleface framed in a borderless cap was morewrinkled than a withered russet apple. Andfrom the sleeves of her red jacket looked outtwo large hands with knotty joints, the dust ofbarns, the potash of washing the grease ofwools had so encrusted, roughened, hardenedthese that they seemed dirty, although they hadbeen rinsed in clear water; and by dint of longservice they remained half open, as if to bearhumble witness for themselves of so much suf-fering endured. Something of monastic rigiditydignified her face. Nothing of sadness or ofemotion weakened that pale look. In her con-stant living with animals she had caught theirdumbness and their calm. It was the first timethat she found herself in the midst of so large acompany, and inwardly scared by the flags, thedrums, the gentlemen in frock-coats, and theorder of the councillor, she stood motionless,not knowing whether to advance or run away,

nor why the crowd was pushing her and thejury were smiling at her.

Thus stood before these radiant bourgeois thishalf-century of servitude.

"Approach, venerable Catherine Nicaise Eliza-beth Leroux!" said the councillor, who hadtaken the list of prize-winners from the presi-dent; and, looking at the piece of paper and theold woman by turns, he repeated in a fatherlytone—"Approach! approach!"

"Are you deaf?" said Tuvache, fidgeting in hisarmchair; and he began shouting in her ear,"Fifty-four years of service. A silver medal!Twenty-five francs! For you!"

Then, when she had her medal, she looked at it,and a smile of beatitude spread over her face;and as she walked away they could hear hermuttering "I'll give it to our cure up home, tosay some masses for me!"

"What fanaticism!" exclaimed the chemist, lean-ing across to the notary.

The meeting was over, the crowd dispersed,and now that the speeches had been read, eachone fell back into his place again, and every-thing into the old grooves; the masters bulliedthe servants, and these struck the animals, in-dolent victors, going back to the stalls, a green-crown on their horns.

The National Guards, however, had gone up tothe first floor of the town hall with buns spittedon their bayonets, and the drummer of the bat-talion carried a basket with bottles. MadameBovary took Rodolphe's arm; he saw her home;they separated at her door; then he walkedabout alone in the meadow while he waited forthe time of the banquet.

The feast was long, noisy, ill served; the guestswere so crowded that they could hardly movetheir elbows; and the narrow planks used for

forms almost broke down under their weight.They ate hugely. Each one stuffed himself onhis own account. Sweat stood on every brow,and a whitish steam, like the vapour of astream on an autumn morning, floated abovethe table between the hanging lamps. Rodol-phe, leaning against the calico of the tent wasthinking so earnestly of Emma that he heardnothing. Behind him on the grass the servantswere piling up the dirty plates, his neighbourswere talking; he did not answer them; theyfilled his glass, and there was silence in histhoughts in spite of the growing noise. He wasdreaming of what she had said, of the line ofher lips; her face, as in a magic mirror, shone onthe plates of the shakos, the folds of her gownfell along the walls, and days of love unrolledto all infinity before him in the vistas of thefuture.

He saw her again in the evening during thefireworks, but she was with her husband, Ma-

dame Homais, and the druggist, who was wor-rying about the danger of stray rockets, andevery moment he left the company to go andgive some advice to Binet.

The pyrotechnic pieces sent to Monsieur Tuva-che had, through an excess of caution, beenshut up in his cellar, and so the damp powderwould not light, and the principal set piece,that was to represent a dragon biting his tail,failed completely. Now and then a meagre Ro-man-candle went off; then the gaping crowdsent up a shout that mingled with the cry of thewomen, whose waists were being squeezed inthe darkness. Emma silently nestled againstCharles's shoulder; then, raising her chin, shewatched the luminous rays of the rocketsagainst the dark sky. Rodolphe gazed at her inthe light of the burning lanterns.

They went out one by one. The stars shone out.A few crops of rain began to fall. She knottedher fichu round her bare head.

At this moment the councillor's carriage cameout from the inn.

His coachman, who was drunk, suddenlydozed off, and one could see from the distance,above the hood, between the two lanterns, themass of his body, that swayed from right to leftwith the giving of the traces.

"Truly," said the druggist, "one ought to pro-ceed most rigorously against drunkenness! Ishould like to see written up weekly at the doorof the town hall on a board ad hoc* the namesof all those who during the week got intoxi-cated on alcohol. Besides, with regard to statis-tics, one would thus have, as it were, publicrecords that one could refer to in case of need.But excuse me!"

*Specifically for that.

And he once more ran off to the captain. Thelatter was going back to see his lathe again.

"Perhaps you would not do ill," Homais said tohim, "to send one of your men, or to go your-self—"

"Leave me alone!" answered the tax-collector."It's all right!"

"Do not be uneasy," said the druggist, when hereturned to his friends. "Monsieur Binet hasassured me that all precautions have beentaken. No sparks have fallen; the pumps arefull. Let us go to rest."

"Ma foi! I want it," said Madame Homais,yawning at large. "But never mind; we've had abeautiful day for our fete."

Rodolphe repeated in a low voice, and with atender look, "Oh, yes! very beautiful!"

And having bowed to one another, they sepa-rated.

Two days later, in the "Final de Rouen," therewas a long article on the show. Homais hadcomposed it with verve the very next morning.

"Why these festoons, these flowers, these gar-lands? Whither hurries this crowd like thewaves of a furious sea under the torrents of atropical sun pouring its heat upon our heads?"

Then he spoke of the condition of the peasants.Certainly the Government was doing much,but not enough. "Courage!" he cried to it; "athousand reforms are indispensable; let us ac-complish them!" Then touching on the entry ofthe councillor, he did not forget "the martial airof our militia;" nor "our most merry villagemaidens;" nor the "bald-headed old men likepatriarchs who were there, and of whom some,the remnants of our phalanxes, still felt theirhearts beat at the manly sound of the drums."He cited himself among the first of the mem-bers of the jury, and he even called attention ina note to the fact that Monsieur Homais, chem-

ist, had sent a memoir on cider to the agricul-tural society.

When he came to the distribution of the prizes,he painted the joy of the prize-winners indithyrambic strophes. "The father embraced theson, the brother the brother, the husband hisconsort. More than one showed his humblemedal with pride; and no doubt when he gothome to his good housewife, he hung it upweeping on the modest walls of his cot.

"About six o'clock a banquet prepared in themeadow of Monsieur Leigeard brought to-gether the principal personages of the fete. Thegreatest cordiality reigned here. Divers toastswere proposed: Monsieur Lieuvain, the King;Monsieur Tuvache, the Prefect; MonsieurDerozerays, Agriculture; Monsieur Homais,Industry and the Fine Arts, those twin sisters;Monsieur Leplichey, Progress. In the eveningsome brilliant fireworks on a sudden illuminedthe air. One would have called it a veritable

kaleidoscope, a real operatic scene; and for amoment our little locality might have thoughtitself transported into the midst of a dream ofthe 'Thousand and One Nights.' Let us statethat no untoward event disturbed this familymeeting." And he added "Only the absence ofthe clergy was remarked. No doubt the priestsunderstand progress in another fashion. Just asyou please, messieurs the followers of Loyola!"

Chapter Nine

Six weeks passed. Rodolphe did not comeagain. At last one evening he appeared.

The day after the show he had said to himself—"We mustn't go back too soon; that would be amistake."

And at the end of a week he had gone off hunt-ing. After the hunting he had thought it wastoo late, and then he reasoned thus—

"If from the first day she loved me, she mustfrom impatience to see me again love me more.Let's go on with it!"

And he knew that his calculation had beenright when, on entering the room, he sawEmma turn pale.

She was alone. The day was drawing in. Thesmall muslin curtain along the windows deep-ened the twilight, and the gilding of the ba-rometer, on which the rays of the sun fell,shone in the looking-glass between the meshesof the coral.

Rodolphe remained standing, and Emmahardly answered his first conventional phrases.

"I," he said, "have been busy. I have been ill."

"Seriously?" she cried.

"Well," said Rodolphe, sitting down at her sideon a footstool, "no; it was because I did notwant to come back."

"Why?"

"Can you not guess?"

He looked at her again, but so hard that shelowered her head, blushing. He went on—

"Emma!"

"Sir," she said, drawing back a little.

"Ah! you see," replied he in a melancholy voice,"that I was right not to come back; for thisname, this name that fills my whole soul, andthat escaped me, you forbid me to use! Ma-dame Bovary! why all the world calls you thus!Besides, it is not your name; it is the name ofanother!"

He repeated, "of another!" And he hid his facein his hands.

"Yes, I think of you constantly. The memory ofyou drives me to despair. Ah! forgive me! I willleave you! Farewell! I will go far away, so farthat you will never hear of me again; and yet—to-day—I know not what force impelled metowards you. For one does not struggle againstHeaven; one cannot resist the smile of angels;one is carried away by that which is beautiful,charming, adorable."

It was the first time that Emma had heard suchwords spoken to herself, and her pride, like onewho reposes bathed in warmth, expandedsoftly and fully at this glowing language.

"But if I did not come," he continued, "if I couldnot see you, at least I have gazed long on allthat surrounds you. At night-every night-Iarose; I came hither; I watched your house, itsglimmering in the moon, the trees in the garden

swaying before your window, and the littlelamp, a gleam shining through the window-panes in the darkness. Ah! you never knew thatthere, so near you, so far from you, was a poorwretch!"

She turned towards him with a sob.

"Oh, you are good!" she said.

"No, I love you, that is all! You do not doubtthat! Tell me—one word—only one word!"

And Rodolphe imperceptibly glided from thefootstool to the ground; but a sound of woodenshoes was heard in the kitchen, and he noticedthe door of the room was not closed.

"How kind it would be of you," he went on,rising, "if you would humour a whim of mine."It was to go over her house; he wanted to knowit; and Madame Bovary seeing no objection tothis, they both rose, when Charles came in.

"Good morning, doctor," Rodolphe said to him.

The doctor, flattered at this unexpected title,launched out into obsequious phrases. Of thisthe other took advantage to pull himself to-gether a little.

"Madame was speaking to me," he then said,"about her health."

Charles interrupted him; he had indeed a thou-sand anxieties; his wife's palpitations of theheart were beginning again. Then Rodolpheasked if riding would not be good.

"Certainly! excellent! just the thing! There's anidea! You ought to follow it up."

And as she objected that she had no horse,Monsieur Rodolphe offered one. She refusedhis offer; he did not insist. Then to explain hisvisit he said that his ploughman, the man of theblood-letting, still suffered from giddiness.

"I'll call around," said Bovary.

"No, no! I'll send him to you; we'll come; thatwill be more convenient for you."

"Ah! very good! I thank you."

And as soon as they were alone, "Why don'tyou accept Monsieur Boulanger's kind offer?"

She assumed a sulky air, invented a thousandexcuses, and finally declared that perhaps itwould look odd.

"Well, what the deuce do I care for that?" saidCharles, making a pirouette. "Health beforeeverything! You are wrong."

"And how do you think I can ride when I have-n't got a habit?"

"You must order one," he answered.

The riding-habit decided her.

When the habit was ready, Charles wrote toMonsieur Boulanger that his wife was at hiscommand, and that they counted on his good-nature.

The next day at noon Rodolphe appeared atCharles's door with two saddle-horses. Onehad pink rosettes at his ears and a deerskinside-saddle.

Rodolphe had put on high soft boots, saying tohimself that no doubt she had never seen any-thing like them. In fact, Emma was charmedwith his appearance as he stood on the landingin his great velvet coat and white corduroybreeches. She was ready; she was waiting forhim.

Justin escaped from the chemist's to see herstart, and the chemist also came out. He wasgiving Monsieur Boulanger a little good advice.

"An accident happens so easily. Be careful!Your horses perhaps are mettlesome."

She heard a noise above her; it was Felicitedrumming on the windowpanes to amuse littleBerthe. The child blew her a kiss; her motheranswered with a wave of her whip.

"A pleasant ride!" cried Monsieur Homais."Prudence! above all, prudence!" And he flour-ished his newspaper as he saw them disappear.

As soon as he felt the ground, Emma's horse setoff at a gallop.

Rodolphe galloped by her side. Now and thenthey exchanged a word. Her figure slightlybent, her hand well up, and her right armstretched out, she gave herself up to the ca-dence of the movement that rocked her in hersaddle. At the bottom of the hill Rodolphe gavehis horse its head; they started together at a

bound, then at the top suddenly the horsesstopped, and her large blue veil fell about her.

It was early in October. There was fog over theland. Hazy clouds hovered on the horizon be-tween the outlines of the hills; others, rentasunder, floated up and disappeared. Some-times through a rift in the clouds, beneath a rayof sunshine, gleamed from afar the roots ofYonville, with the gardens at the water's edge,the yards, the walls and the church steeple.Emma half closed her eyes to pick out herhouse, and never had this poor village whereshe lived appeared so small. From the heighton which they were the whole valley seemedan immense pale lake sending off its vapourinto the air. Clumps of trees here and therestood out like black rocks, and the tall lines ofthe poplars that rose above the mist were like abeach stirred by the wind.

By the side, on the turf between the pines, abrown light shimmered in the warm atmos-

phere. The earth, ruddy like the powder of to-bacco, deadened the noise of their steps, andwith the edge of their shoes the horses as theywalked kicked the fallen fir cones in front ofthem.

Rodolphe and Emma thus went along the skirtof the wood. She turned away from time totime to avoid his look, and then she saw onlythe pine trunks in lines, whose monotonoussuccession made her a little giddy. The horseswere panting; the leather of the saddlescreaked.

Just as they were entering the forest the sunshone out.

"God protects us!" said Rodolphe.

"Do you think so?" she said.

"Forward! forward!" he continued.

He "tchk'd" with his tongue. The two beasts setoff at a trot.

Long ferns by the roadside caught in Emma'sstirrup.

Rodolphe leant forward and removed them asthey rode along. At other times, to turn asidethe branches, he passed close to her, and Emmafelt his knee brushing against her leg. The skywas now blue, the leaves no longer stirred.There were spaces full of heather in flower, andplots of violets alternated with the confusedpatches of the trees that were grey, fawn, orgolden coloured, according to the nature oftheir leaves. Often in the thicket was heard thefluttering of wings, or else the hoarse, soft cryof the ravens flying off amidst the oaks.

They dismounted. Rodolphe fastened up thehorses. She walked on in front on the moss be-tween the paths. But her long habit got in herway, although she held it up by the skirt; and

Rodolphe, walking behind her, saw betweenthe black cloth and the black shoe the finenessof her white stocking, that seemed to him as ifit were a part of her nakedness.

She stopped. "I am tired," she said.

"Come, try again," he went on. "Courage!"

Then some hundred paces farther on she againstopped, and through her veil, that fell side-ways from her man's hat over her hips, her faceappeared in a bluish transparency as if shewere floating under azure waves.

"But where are we going?"

He did not answer. She was breathing irregu-larly. Rodolphe looked round him biting hismoustache. They came to a larger space wherethe coppice had been cut. They sat down on thetrunk of a fallen tree, and Rodolphe beganspeaking to her of his love. He did not begin by

frightening her with compliments. He wascalm, serious, melancholy.

Emma listened to him with bowed head, andstirred the bits of wood on the ground with thetip of her foot. But at the words, "Are not ourdestinies now one?"

"Oh, no!" she replied. "You know that well. It isimpossible!" She rose to go. He seized her bythe wrist. She stopped. Then, having gazed athim for a few moments with an amorous andhumid look, she said hurriedly—

"Ah! do not speak of it again! Where are thehorses? Let us go back."

He made a gesture of anger and annoyance.She repeated:

"Where are the horses? Where are the horses?"

Then smiling a strange smile, his pupil fixed,his teeth set, he advanced with outstretchedarms. She recoiled trembling. She stammered:

"Oh, you frighten me! You hurt me! Let me go!"

"If it must be," he went on, his face changing;and he again became respectful, caressing,timid. She gave him her arm. They went back.He said—

"What was the matter with you? Why? I do notunderstand. You were mistaken, no doubt. Inmy soul you are as a Madonna on a pedestal, ina place lofty, secure, immaculate. But I needyou to live! I must have your eyes, your voice,your thought! Be my friend, my sister, my an-gel!"

And he put out his arm round her waist. Shefeebly tried to disengage herself. He supportedher thus as they walked along.

But they heard the two horses browsing on theleaves.

"Oh! one moment!" said Rodolphe. "Do not letus go! Stay!"

He drew her farther on to a small pool whereduckweeds made a greenness on the water.Faded water lilies lay motionless between thereeds. At the noise of their steps in the grass,frogs jumped away to hide themselves.

"I am wrong! I am wrong!" she said. "I am madto listen to you!"

"Why? Emma! Emma!"

"Oh, Rodolphe!" said the young woman slowly,leaning on his shoulder.

The cloth of her habit caught against the velvetof his coat. She threw back her white neck,swelling with a sigh, and faltering, in tears,

with a long shudder and hiding her face, shegave herself up to him—

The shades of night were falling; the horizontalsun passing between the branches dazzled theeyes. Here and there around her, in the leavesor on the ground, trembled luminous patches,as it hummingbirds flying about had scatteredtheir feathers. Silence was everywhere; some-thing sweet seemed to come forth from thetrees; she felt her heart, whose beating had be-gun again, and the blood coursing through herflesh like a stream of milk. Then far away, be-yond the wood, on the other hills, she heard avague prolonged cry, a voice which lingered,and in silence she heard it mingling like musicwith the last pulsations of her throbbingnerves. Rodolphe, a cigar between his lips, wasmending with his penknife one of the two bro-ken bridles.

They returned to Yonville by the same road. Onthe mud they saw again the traces of their

horses side by side, the same thickets, the samestones to the grass; nothing around themseemed changed; and yet for her somethinghad happened more stupendous than if themountains had moved in their places. Rodol-phe now and again bent forward and took herhand to kiss it.

She was charming on horseback—upright, withher slender waist, her knee bent on the mane ofher horse, her face somewhat flushed by thefresh air in the red of the evening.

On entering Yonville she made her horseprance in the road. People looked at her fromthe windows.

At dinner her husband thought she lookedwell, but she pretended not to hear him whenhe inquired about her ride, and she remainedsitting there with her elbow at the side of herplate between the two lighted candles.

"Emma!" he said.

"What?"

"Well, I spent the afternoon at Monsieur Alex-andre's. He has an old cob, still very fine, only alittle broken-kneed, and that could be bought; Iam sure, for a hundred crowns." He added,"And thinking it might please you, I have be-spoken it—bought it. Have I done right? Do tellme?"

She nodded her head in assent; then a quarterof an hour later—

"Are you going out to-night?" she asked.

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, my dear!"

And as soon as she had got rid of Charles shewent and shut herself up in her room.

At first she felt stunned; she saw the trees, thepaths, the ditches, Rodolphe, and she again feltthe pressure of his arm, while the leaves rustledand the reeds whistled.

But when she saw herself in the glass she won-dered at her face. Never had her eyes been solarge, so black, of so profound a depth. Some-thing subtle about her being transfigured her.She repeated, "I have a lover! a lover!" delight-ing at the idea as if a second puberty had cometo her. So at last she was to know those joys oflove, that fever of happiness of which she haddespaired! She was entering upon marvelswhere all would be passion, ecstasy, delirium.An azure infinity encompassed her, the heightsof sentiment sparkled under her thought, andordinary existence appeared only afar off,down below in the shade, through the inter-spaces of these heights.

Then she recalled the heroines of the books thatshe had read, and the lyric legion of these adul-

terous women began to sing in her memorywith the voice of sisters that charmed her. Shebecame herself, as it were, an actual part ofthese imaginings, and realised the love-dreamof her youth as she saw herself in this type ofamorous women whom she had so envied. Be-sides, Emma felt a satisfaction of revenge. Hadshe not suffered enough? But now she tri-umphed, and the love so long pent up burstforth in full joyous bubblings. She tasted itwithout remorse, without anxiety, withouttrouble.

The day following passed with a new sweet-ness. They made vows to one another She toldhim of her sorrows. Rodolphe interrupted herwith kisses; and she looking at him throughhalf-closed eyes, asked him to call her again byher name—to say that he loved her They werein the forest, as yesterday, in the shed of somewoodenshoe maker. The walls were of straw,

and the roof so low they had to stoop. Theywere seated side by side on a bed of dry leaves.

From that day forth they wrote to one anotherregularly every evening. Emma placed her let-ter at the end of the garden, by the river, in afissure of the wall. Rodolphe came to fetch it,and put another there, that she always foundfault with as too short.

One morning, when Charles had gone out be-fore day break, she was seized with the fancy tosee Rodolphe at once. She would go quickly toLa Huchette, stay there an hour, and be backagain at Yonville while everyone was stillasleep. This idea made her pant with desire,and she soon found herself in the middle of thefield, walking with rapid steps, without lookingbehind her.

Day was just breaking. Emma from afar recog-nised her lover's house. Its two dove-tailed

weathercocks stood out black against the paledawn.

Beyond the farmyard there was a detachedbuilding that she thought must be the chateauShe entered—it was if the doors at her ap-proach had opened wide of their own accord. Alarge straight staircase led up to the corridor.Emma raised the latch of a door, and suddenlyat the end of the room she saw a man sleeping.It was Rodolphe. She uttered a cry.

"You here? You here?" he repeated. "How didyou manage to come? Ah! your dress is damp."

"I love you," she answered, throwing her armsabout his neck.

This first piece of daring successful, now everytime Charles went out early Emma dressedquickly and slipped on tiptoe down the stepsthat led to the waterside.

But when the plank for the cows was taken up,she had to go by the walls alongside of theriver; the bank was slippery; in order not to fallshe caught hold of the tufts of faded wallflow-ers. Then she went across ploughed fields, inwhich she sank, stumbling; and clogging herthin shoes. Her scarf, knotted round her head,fluttered to the wind in the meadows. She wasafraid of the oxen; she began to run; she arrivedout of breath, with rosy cheeks, and breathingout from her whole person a fresh perfume ofsap, of verdure, of the open air. At this hourRodolphe still slept. It was like a spring morn-ing coming into his room.

The yellow curtains along the windows let aheavy, whitish light enter softly. Emma feltabout, opening and closing her eyes, while thedrops of dew hanging from her hair formed, asit were, a topaz aureole around her face.Rodolphe, laughing, drew her to him, andpressed her to his breast.

Then she examined the apartment, opened thedrawers of the tables, combed her hair with hiscomb, and looked at herself in his shaving-glass. Often she even put between her teeth thebig pipe that lay on the table by the bed,amongst lemons and pieces of sugar near a bot-tle of water.

It took them a good quarter of an hour to saygoodbye. Then Emma cried. She would havewished never to leave Rodolphe. Somethingstronger than herself forced her to him; somuch so, that one day, seeing her come unex-pectedly, he frowned as one put out.

"What is the matter with you?" she said. "Areyou ill? Tell me!"

At last he declared with a serious air that hervisits were becoming imprudent—that she wascompromising herself.

Chapter Ten

Gradually Rodolphe's fears took possession ofher. At first, love had intoxicated her; and shehad thought of nothing beyond. But now thathe was indispensable to her life, she feared tolose anything of this, or even that it should bedisturbed. When she came back from his houseshe looked all about her, anxiously watchingevery form that passed in the horizon, andevery village window from which she could beseen. She listened for steps, cries, the noise ofthe ploughs, and she stopped short, white, andtrembling more than the aspen leaves swayingoverhead.

One morning as she was thus returning, shesuddenly thought she saw the long barrel of acarbine that seemed to be aimed at her. It stuckout sideways from the end of a small tub half-buried in the grass on the edge of a ditch.Emma, half-fainting with terror, neverthelesswalked on, and a man stepped out of the tublike a Jack-in-the-box. He had gaiters buckledup to the knees, his cap pulled down over hiseyes, trembling lips, and a red nose. It was Cap-tain Binet lying in ambush for wild ducks.

"You ought to have called out long ago!" heexclaimed; "When one sees a gun, one shouldalways give warning."

The tax-collector was thus trying to hide thefright he had had, for a prefectorial order hav-ing prohibited duckhunting except in boats,Monsieur Binet, despite his respect for the laws,was infringing them, and so he every momentexpected to see the rural guard turn up. Butthis anxiety whetted his pleasure, and, all alone

in his tub, he congratulated himself on his luckand on his cuteness. At sight of Emma heseemed relieved from a great weight, and atonce entered upon a conversation.

"It isn't warm; it's nipping."

Emma answered nothing. He went on—

"And you're out so early?"

"Yes," she said stammering; "I am just comingfrom the nurse where my child is."

"Ah! very good! very good! For myself, I amhere, just as you see me, since break of day; butthe weather is so muggy, that unless one hadthe bird at the mouth of the gun—"

"Good evening, Monsieur Binet," she inter-rupted him, turning on her heel.

"Your servant, madame," he replied drily; andhe went back into his tub.

Emma regretted having left the tax-collector soabruptly. No doubt he would form unfavour-able conjectures. The story about the nurse wasthe worst possible excuse, everyone at Yonvilleknowing that the little Bovary had been athome with her parents for a year. Besides, noone was living in this direction; this path ledonly to La Huchette. Binet, then, would guesswhence she came, and he would not keep si-lence; he would talk, that was certain. She re-mained until evening racking her brain withevery conceivable lying project, and had con-stantly before her eyes that imbecile with thegame-bag.

Charles after dinner, seeing her gloomy, pro-posed, by way of distraction, to take her to thechemist's, and the first person she caught sightof in the shop was the taxcollector again. Hewas standing in front of the counter, lit up bythe gleams of the red bottle, and was saying—

"Please give me half an ounce of vitriol."

"Justin," cried the druggist, "bring us the sul-phuric acid." Then to Emma, who was going upto Madame Homais' room, "No, stay here; itisn't worth while going up; she is just comingdown. Warm yourself at the stove in the mean-time. Excuse me. Good-day, doctor," (for thechemist much enjoyed pronouncing the word"doctor," as if addressing another by it reflectedon himself some of the grandeur that he foundin it). "Now, take care not to upset the mortars!You'd better fetch some chairs from the littleroom; you know very well that the arm-chairsare not to be taken out of the drawing-room."

And to put his arm-chair back in its place hewas darting away from the counter, when Binetasked him for half an ounce of sugar acid.

"Sugar acid!" said the chemist contemptuously,"don't know it; I'm ignorant of it! But perhapsyou want oxalic acid. It is oxalic acid, isn't it?"

Binet explained that he wanted a corrosive tomake himself some copperwater with which toremove rust from his hunting things.

Emma shuddered. The chemist began saying—

"Indeed the weather is not propitious on ac-count of the damp."

"Nevertheless," replied the tax-collector, with asly look, "there are people who like it."

She was stifling.

"And give me—"

"Will he never go?" thought she.

"Half an ounce of resin and turpentine, fourounces of yellow wax, and three half ounces ofanimal charcoal, if you please, to clean the var-nished leather of my togs."

The druggist was beginning to cut the waxwhen Madame Homais appeared, Irma in herarms, Napoleon by her side, and Athalie fol-lowing. She sat down on the velvet seat by thewindow, and the lad squatted down on a foot-stool, while his eldest sister hovered round thejujube box near her papa. The latter was fillingfunnels and corking phials, sticking on labels,making up parcels. Around him all were silent;only from time to time, were heard the weightsjingling in the balance, and a few low wordsfrom the chemist giving directions to his pupil.

"And how's the little woman?" suddenly askedMadame Homais.

"Silence!" exclaimed her husband, who waswriting down some figures in his waste-book.

"Why didn't you bring her?" she went on in alow voice.

"Hush! hush!" said Emma, pointing with herfinger to the druggist.

But Binet, quite absorbed in looking over hisbill, had probably heard nothing. At last hewent out. Then Emma, relieved, uttered a deepsigh.

"How hard you are breathing!" said MadameHomais.

"Well, you see, it's rather warm," she replied.

So the next day they talked over how to ar-range their rendezvous. Emma wanted to bribeher servant with a present, but it would be bet-ter to find some safe house at Yonville. Rodol-phe promised to look for one.

All through the winter, three or four times aweek, in the dead of night he came to the gar-den. Emma had on purpose taken away the keyof the gate, which Charles thought lost.

To call her, Rodolphe threw a sprinkle of sandat the shutters. She jumped up with a start; butsometimes he had to wait, for Charles had amania for chatting by the fireside, and hewould not stop. She was wild with impatience;if her eyes could have done it, she would havehurled him out at the window. At last shewould begin to undress, then take up a book,and go on reading very quietly as if the bookamused her. But Charles, who was in bed,called to her to come too.

"Come, now, Emma," he said, "it is time."

"Yes, I am coming," she answered.

Then, as the candles dazzled him; he turned tothe wall and fell asleep. She escaped, smiling,palpitating, undressed. Rodolphe had a largecloak; he wrapped her in it, and putting his armround her waist, he drew her without a word tothe end of the garden.

It was in the arbour, on the same seat of oldsticks where formerly Leon had looked at herso amorously on the summer evenings. Shenever thought of him now.

The stars shone through the leafless jasminebranches. Behind them they heard the riverflowing, and now and again on the bank therustling of the dry reeds. Masses of shadowhere and there loomed out in the darkness, andsometimes, vibrating with one movement, theyrose up and swayed like immense black wavespressing forward to engulf them. The cold ofthe nights made them clasp closer; the sighs oftheir lips seemed to them deeper; their eyesthat they could hardly see, larger; and in themidst of the silence low words were spokenthat fell on their souls sonorous, crystalline,and that reverberated in multiplied vibrations.

When the night was rainy, they took refuge inthe consulting-room between the cart-shed andthe stable. She lighted one of the kitchen can-

dles that she had hidden behind the books.Rodolphe settled down there as if at home. Thesight of the library, of the bureau, of the wholeapartment, in fine, excited his merriment, andhe could not refrain from making jokes aboutCharles, which rather embarrassed Emma. Shewould have liked to see him more serious, andeven on occasions more dramatic; as, for exam-ple, when she thought she heard a noise of ap-proaching steps in the alley.

"Someone is coming!" she said.

He blew out the light.

"Have you your pistols?"

"Why?"

"Why, to defend yourself," replied Emma.

"From your husband? Oh, poor devil!" AndRodolphe finished his sentence with a gesture

that said, "I could crush him with a flip of myfinger."

She was wonder-stricken at his bravery, al-though she felt in it a sort of indecency and anaive coarseness that scandalised her.

Rodolphe reflected a good deal on the affair ofthe pistols. If she had spoken seriously, it wasvery ridiculous, he thought, even odious; for hehad no reason to hate the good Charles, notbeing what is called devoured by jealousy; andon this subject Emma had taken a great vowthat he did not think in the best of taste.

Besides, she was growing very sentimental. Shehad insisted on exchanging miniatures; theyhad cut off handfuls of hair, and now she wasasking for a ring—a real wedding-ring, in signof an eternal union. She often spoke to him ofthe evening chimes, of the voices of nature.Then she talked to him of her mother—hers!and of his mother—his! Rodolphe had lost his

twenty years ago. Emma none the less consoledhim with caressing words as one would havedone a lost child, and she sometimes even saidto him, gazing at the moon—

"I am sure that above there together they ap-prove of our love."

But she was so pretty. He had possessed so fewwomen of such ingenuousness. This love with-out debauchery was a new experience for him,and, drawing him out of his lazy habits, ca-ressed at once his pride and his sensuality.Emma's enthusiasm, which his bourgeois goodsense disdained, seemed to him in his heart ofhearts charming, since it was lavished on him.Then, sure of being loved, he no longer kept upappearances, and insensibly his ways changed.

He had no longer, as formerly, words so gentlethat they made her cry, nor passionate caressesthat made her mad, so that their great love,which engrossed her life, seemed to lessen be-

neath her like the water of a stream absorbedinto its channel, and she could see the bed of it.She would not believe it; she redoubled in ten-derness, and Rodolphe concealed his indiffer-ence less and less.

She did not know if she regretted havingyielded to him, or whether she did not wish, onthe contrary, to enjoy him the more. The hu-miliation of feeling herself weak was turning torancour, tempered by their voluptuous pleas-ures. It was not affection; it was like a continualseduction. He subjugated her; she almostfeared him.

Appearances, nevertheless, were calmer thanever, Rodolphe having succeeded in carryingout the adultery after his own fancy; and at theend of six months, when the spring-time came,they were to one another like a married couple,tranquilly keeping up a domestic flame.

It was the time of year when old Rouault senthis turkey in remembrance of the setting of hisleg. The present always arrived with a letter.Emma cut the string that tied it to the basket,and read the following lines:—

"My Dear Children—I hope this will find youwell, and that this one will be as good as theothers. For it seems to me a little more tender, ifI may venture to say so, and heavier. But nexttime, for a change, I'll give you a turkeycock,unless you have a preference for some dabs;and send me back the hamper, if you please,with the two old ones. I have had an accidentwith my cart-sheds, whose covering flew offone windy night among the trees. The harvesthas not been overgood either. Finally, I don'tknow when I shall come to see you. It is so dif-ficult now to leave the house since I am alone,my poor Emma."

Here there was a break in the lines, as if the oldfellow had dropped his pen to dream a littlewhile.

"For myself, I am very well, except for a cold Icaught the other day at the fair at Yvetot, whereI had gone to hire a shepherd, having turnedaway mine because he was too dainty. How weare to be pitied with such a lot of thieves! Be-sides, he was also rude. I heard from a pedlar,who, travelling through your part of the coun-try this winter, had a tooth drawn, that Bovarywas as usual working hard. That doesn't sur-prise me; and he showed me his tooth; we hadsome coffee together. I asked him if he had seenyou, and he said not, but that he had seen twohorses in the stables, from which I concludethat business is looking up. So much the better,my dear children, and may God send you everyimaginable happiness! It grieves me not yet tohave seen my dear little grand-daughter, BertheBovary. I have planted an Orleans plum-tree

for her in the garden under your room, and Iwon't have it touched unless it is to have jammade for her by and bye, that I will keep in thecupboard for her when she comes.

"Good-bye, my dear children. I kiss you, mygirl, you too, my son-in-law, and the little oneon both cheeks. I am, with best compliments,your loving father.

"Theodore Rouault."

She held the coarse paper in her fingers forsome minutes. The spelling mistakes were in-terwoven one with the other, and Emma fol-lowed the kindly thought that cackled rightthrough it like a hen half hidden in the hedge ofthorns. The writing had been dried with ashesfrom the hearth, for a little grey powderslipped from the letter on to her dress, and shealmost thought she saw her father bendingover the hearth to take up the tongs. How longsince she had been with him, sitting on the

footstool in the chimney-corner, where sheused to burn the end of a bit of wood in thegreat flame of the sea-sedges! She rememberedthe summer evenings all full of sunshine. Thecolts neighed when anyone passed by, and gal-loped, galloped. Under her window there was abeehive, and sometimes the bees wheelinground in the light struck against her windowlike rebounding balls of gold. What happinessthere had been at that time, what freedom,what hope! What an abundance of illusions!Nothing was left of them now. She had got ridof them all in her soul's life, in all her succes-sive conditions of life, maidenhood, her mar-riage, and her love—thus constantly losingthem all her life through, like a traveller wholeaves something of his wealth at every innalong his road.

But what then, made her so unhappy? Whatwas the extraordinary catastrophe that hadtransformed her? And she raised her head,

looking round as if to seek the cause of thatwhich made her suffer.

An April ray was dancing on the china of thewhatnot; the fire burned; beneath her slippersshe felt the softness of the carpet; the day wasbright, the air warm, and she heard her childshouting with laughter.

In fact, the little girl was just then rolling on thelawn in the midst of the grass that was beingturned. She was lying flat on her stomach at thetop of a rick. The servant was holding her byher skirt. Lestiboudois was raking by her side,and every time he came near she lent forward,beating the air with both her arms.

"Bring her to me," said her mother, rushing toembrace her. "How I love you, my poor child!How I love you!"

Then noticing that the tips of her ears wererather dirty, she rang at once for warm water,

and washed her, changed her linen, her stock-ings, her shoes, asked a thousand questionsabout her health, as if on the return from a longjourney, and finally, kissing her again and cry-ing a little, she gave her back to the servant,who stood quite thunderstricken at this excessof tenderness.

That evening Rodolphe found her more seriousthan usual.

"That will pass over," he concluded; "it's awhim:"

And he missed three rendezvous running.When he did come, she showed herself coldand almost contemptuous.

"Ah! you're losing your time, my lady!"

And he pretended not to notice her melancholysighs, nor the handkerchief she took out.

Then Emma repented. She even asked herselfwhy she detested Charles; if it had not beenbetter to have been able to love him? But hegave her no opportunities for such a revival ofsentiment, so that she was much embarrassedby her desire for sacrifice, when the druggistcame just in time to provide her with an oppor-tunity.

Chapter Eleven

He had recently read a eulogy on a newmethod for curing club-foot, and as he was apartisan of progress, he conceived the patrioticidea that Yonville, in order to keep to the fore,ought to have some operations for strephopodyor club-foot.

"For," said he to Emma, "what risk is there?See—" (and he enumerated on his fingers theadvantages of the attempt), "success, almostcertain relief and beautifying of the patient,celebrity acquired by the operator. Why, forexample, should not your husband relieve poorHippolyte of the 'Lion d'Or'? Note that hewould not fail to tell about his cure to all thetravellers, and then" (Homais lowered his voiceand looked round him) "who is to prevent mefrom sending a short paragraph on the subjectto the paper? Eh! goodness me! an article getsabout; it is talked of; it ends by making a snow-ball! And who knows? who knows?"

In fact, Bovary might succeed. Nothing provedto Emma that he was not clever; and what asatisfaction for her to have urged him to a stepby which his reputation and fortune would beincreased! She only wished to lean on some-thing more solid than love.

Charles, urged by the druggist and by her, al-lowed himself to be persuaded. He sent toRouen for Dr. Duval's volume, and every eve-ning, holding his head between both hands,plunged into the reading of it.

While he was studying equinus, varus, andvalgus, that is to say, katastrephopody, en-dostrephopody, and exostrephopody (or better,the various turnings of the foot downwards,inwards, and outwards, with the hypostre-phopody and anastrephopody), otherwise tor-sion downwards and upwards, MonsierHomais, with all sorts of arguments, was ex-horting the lad at the inn to submit to the op-eration.

"You will scarcely feel, probably, a slight pain;it is a simple prick, like a little blood-letting,less than the extraction of certain corns."

Hippolyte, reflecting, rolled his stupid eyes.

"However," continued the chemist, "it doesn'tconcern me. It's for your sake, for pure human-ity! I should like to see you, my friend, rid ofyour hideous caudication, together with thatwaddling of the lumbar regions which, what-ever you say, must considerably interfere withyou in the exercise of your calling."

Then Homais represented to him how muchjollier and brisker he would feel afterwards,and even gave him to understand that hewould be more likely to please the women; andthe stable-boy began to smile heavily. Then heattacked him through his vanity:

"Aren't you a man? Hang it! what would youhave done if you had had to go into the army,to go and fight beneath the standard? Ah! Hip-polyte!"

And Homais retired, declaring that he couldnot understand this obstinacy, this blindness inrefusing the benefactions of science.

The poor fellow gave way, for it was like a con-spiracy. Binet, who never interfered with otherpeople's business, Madame Lefrancois, Ar-temise, the neighbours, even the mayor, Mon-sieur Tuvache—everyone persuaded him, lec-tured him, shamed him; but what finally de-cided him was that it would cost him nothing.Bovary even undertook to provide the machinefor the operation. This generosity was an ideaof Emma's, and Charles consented to it, think-ing in his heart of hearts that his wife was anangel.

So by the advice of the chemist, and after threefresh starts, he had a kind of box made by thecarpenter, with the aid of the locksmith, thatweighed about eight pounds, and in whichiron, wood, sheer-iron, leather, screws, andnuts had not been spared.

But to know which of Hippolyte's tendons tocut, it was necessary first of all to find out whatkind of club-foot he had.

He had a foot forming almost a straight linewith the leg, which, however, did not prevent itfrom being turned in, so that it was an equinustogether with something of a varus, or else aslight varus with a strong tendency to equinus.But with this equinus, wide in foot like ahorse's hoof, with rugose skin, dry tendons,and large toes, on which the black nails lookedas if made of iron, the clubfoot ran about like adeer from morn till night. He was constantly tobe seen on the Place, jumping round the carts,thrusting his limping foot forwards. He seemedeven stronger on that leg than the other. By dintof hard service it had acquired, as it were,moral qualities of patience and energy; andwhen he was given some heavy work, he stoodon it in preference to its fellow.

Now, as it was an equinus, it was necessary tocut the tendon of Achilles, and, if need were,the anterior tibial muscle could be seen to af-terwards for getting rid of the varus; for the

doctor did not dare to risk both operations atonce; he was even trembling already for fear ofinjuring some important region that he did notknow.

Neither Ambrose Pare, applying for the firsttime since Celsus, after an interval of fifteencenturies, a ligature to an artery, nor Dupuy-tren, about to open an abscess in the brain, norGensoul when he first took away the superiormaxilla, had hearts that trembled, hands thatshook, minds so strained as Monsieur Bovarywhen he approached Hippolyte, his tenotomebetween his fingers. And as at hospitals, nearby on a table lay a heap of lint, with waxedthread, many bandages—a pyramid of ban-dages—every bandage to be found at the drug-gist's. It was Monsieur Homais who sincemorning had been organising all these prepara-tions, as much to dazzle the multitude as tokeep up his illusions. Charles pierced the skin;a dry crackling was heard. The tendon was cut,

the operation over. Hippolyte could not getover his surprise, but bent over Bovary's handsto cover them with kisses.

"Come, be calm," said the druggist; "later onyou will show your gratitude to your benefac-tor."

And he went down to tell the result to five orsix inquirers who were waiting in the yard, andwho fancied that Hippolyte would reappearwalking properly. Then Charles, having buck-led his patient into the machine, went home,where Emma, all anxiety, awaited him at thedoor. She threw herself on his neck; they satdown to table; he ate much, and at dessert heeven wanted to take a cup of coffee, a luxury heonly permitted himself on Sundays when therewas company.

The evening was charming, full of prattle, ofdreams together. They talked about their futurefortune, of the improvements to be made in

their house; he saw people's estimation of himgrowing, his comforts increasing, his wife al-ways loving him; and she was happy to refreshherself with a new sentiment, healthier, better,to feel at last some tenderness for this poor fel-low who adored her. The thought of Rodolphefor one moment passed through her mind, buther eyes turned again to Charles; she even no-ticed with surprise that he had not bad teeth.

They were in bed when Monsieur Homais, inspite of the servant, suddenly entered the room,holding in his hand a sheet of paper just writ-ten. It was the paragraph he intended for the"Fanal de Rouen." He brought it for them toread.

"Read it yourself," said Bovary.

He read—

"'Despite the prejudices that still invest a part ofthe face of Europe like a net, the light neverthe-

less begins to penetrate our country places.Thus on Tuesday our little town of Yonvillefound itself the scene of a surgical operationwhich is at the same time an act of loftiest phi-lanthropy. Monsieur Bovary, one of our mostdistinguished practitioners—'"

"Oh, that is too much! too much!" said Charles,choking with emotion.

"No, no! not at all! What next!"

"'—Performed an operation on a club-footedman.' I have not used the scientific term, be-cause you know in a newspaper everyonewould not perhaps understand. The massesmust—'"

"No doubt," said Bovary; "go on!"

"I proceed," said the chemist. "'MonsieurBovary, one of our most distinguished practi-tioners, performed an operation on a club-

footed man called Hippolyte Tautain, stable-man for the last twenty-five years at the hotelof the "Lion d'Or," kept by Widow Lefrancois,at the Place d'Armes. The novelty of the at-tempt, and the interest incident to the subject,had attracted such a concourse of persons thatthere was a veritable obstruction on the thresh-old of the establishment. The operation, more-over, was performed as if by magic, and barelya few drops of blood appeared on the skin, asthough to say that the rebellious tendon had atlast given way beneath the efforts of art. Thepatient, strangely enough—we affirm it as aneye-witness—complained of no pain. His con-dition up to the present time leaves nothing tobe desired. Everything tends to show that hisconvelescence will be brief; and who knowseven if at our next village festivity we shall notsee our good Hippolyte figuring in the bacchicdance in the midst of a chorus of joyous boon-companions, and thus proving to all eyes by hisverve and his capers his complete cure? Hon-

our, then, to the generous savants! Honour tothose indefatigable spirits who consecrate theirvigils to the amelioration or to the alleviation oftheir kind! Honour, thrice honour! Is it not timeto cry that the blind shall see, the deaf hear, thelame walk? But that which fanaticism formerlypromised to its elect, science now accomplishesfor all men. We shall keep our readers informedas to the successive phases of this remarkablecure.'"

This did not prevent Mere Lefrancois, fromcoming five days after, scared, and cryingout—

"Help! he is dying! I am going crazy!"

Charles rushed to the "Lion d'Or," and thechemist, who caught sight of him passing alongthe Place hatless, abandoned his shop. He ap-peared himself breathless, red, anxious, andasking everyone who was going up the stairs—

"Why, what's the matter with our interestingstrephopode?"

The strephopode was writhing in hideous con-vulsions, so that the machine in which his legwas enclosed was knocked against the wallenough to break it.

With many precautions, in order not to disturbthe position of the limb, the box was removed,and an awful sight presented itself. The out-lines of the foot disappeared in such a swellingthat the entire skin seemed about to burst, andit was covered with ecchymosis, caused by thefamous machine. Hippolyte had already com-plained of suffering from it. No attention hadbeen paid to him; they had to acknowledge thathe had not been altogether wrong, and he wasfreed for a few hours. But, hardly had the oe-dema gone down to some extent, than the twosavants thought fit to put back the limb in theapparatus, strapping it tighter to hasten mat-ters. At last, three days after, Hippolyte being

unable to endure it any longer, they once moreremoved the machine, and were much sur-prised at the result they saw. The livid tumefac-tion spread over the leg, with blisters here andthere, whence there oozed a black liquid. Mat-ters were taking a serious turn. Hippolyte be-gan to worry himself, and Mere Lefrancois, hadhim installed in the little room near the kitchen,so that he might at least have some distraction.

But the tax-collector, who dined there everyday, complained bitterly of such companion-ship. Then Hippolyte was removed to the bil-liard-room. He lay there moaning under hisheavy coverings, pale with long beard, sunkeneyes, and from time to time turning his perspir-ing head on the dirty pillow, where the fliesalighted. Madame Bovary went to see him. Shebrought him linen for his poultices; she com-forted, and encouraged him. Besides, he did notwant for company, especially on market-days,when the peasants were knocking about the

billiard-balls round him, fenced with the cues,smoked, drank, sang, and brawled.

"How are you?" they said, clapping him on theshoulder. "Ah! you're not up to much, it seems,but it's your own fault. You should do this! dothat!" And then they told him stories of peoplewho had all been cured by other remedies thanhis. Then by way of consolation they added—

"You give way too much! Get up! You coddleyourself like a king! All the same, old chap, youdon't smell nice!"

Gangrene, in fact, was spreading more andmore. Bovary himself turned sick at it. He cameevery hour, every moment. Hippolyte looked athim with eyes full of terror, sobbing—

"When shall I get well? Oh, save me! How un-fortunate I am! How unfortunate I am!"

And the doctor left, always recommending himto diet himself.

"Don't listen to him, my lad," said Mere Lefran-cois, "Haven't they tortured you enough al-ready? You'll grow still weaker. Here! swallowthis."

And she gave him some good beef-tea, a sliceof mutton, a piece of bacon, and sometimessmall glasses of brandy, that he had not thestrength to put to his lips.

Abbe Bournisien, hearing that he was growingworse, asked to see him. He began by pityinghis sufferings, declaring at the same time thathe ought to rejoice at them since it was the willof the Lord, and take advantage of the occasionto reconcile himself to Heaven.

"For," said the ecclesiastic in a paternal tone,"you rather neglected your duties; you wererarely seen at divine worship. How many years

is it since you approached the holy table? I un-derstand that your work, that the whirl of theworld may have kept you from care for yoursalvation. But now is the time to reflect. Yetdon't despair. I have known great sinners, who,about to appear before God (you are not yet atthis point I know), had implored His mercy,and who certainly died in the best frame ofmind. Let us hope that, like them, you will setus a good example. Thus, as a precaution, whatis to prevent you from saying morning andevening a 'Hail Mary, full of grace,' and 'OurFather which art in heaven'? Yes, do that, formy sake, to oblige me. That won't cost you any-thing. Will you promise me?"

The poor devil promised. The cure came backday after day. He chatted with the landlady;and even told anecdotes interspersed withjokes and puns that Hippolyte did not under-stand. Then, as soon as he could, he fell back

upon matters of religion, putting on an appro-priate expression of face.

His zeal seemed successful, for the club-footsoon manifested a desire to go on a pilgrimageto Bon-Secours if he were cured; to which Mon-sieur Bournisien replied that he saw no objec-tion; two precautions were better than one; itwas no risk anyhow.

The druggist was indignant at what he calledthe manoeuvres of the priest; they were preju-dicial, he said, to Hippolyte's convalescence,and he kept repeating to Madame Lefrancois,"Leave him alone! leave him alone! You perturbhis morals with your mysticism." But the goodwoman would no longer listen to him; he wasthe cause of it all. From a spirit of contradictionshe hung up near the bedside of the patient abasin filled with holy-water and a branch ofbox.

Religion, however, seemed no more able tosuccour him than surgery, and the invinciblegangrene still spread from the extremities to-wards the stomach. It was all very well to varythe potions and change the poultices; the mus-cles each day rotted more and more; and at lastCharles replied by an affirmative nod of thehead when Mere Lefrancois, asked him if shecould not, as a forlorn hope, send for MonsieurCanivet of Neufchatel, who was a celebrity.

A doctor of medicine, fifty years of age, enjoy-ing a good position and self-possessed,Charles's colleague did not refrain from laugh-ing disdainfully when he had uncovered theleg, mortified to the knee. Then having flatlydeclared that it must be amputated, he went offto the chemist's to rail at the asses who couldhave reduced a poor man to such a state. Shak-ing Monsieur Homais by the button of his coat,he shouted out in the shop—

"These are the inventions of Paris! These are theideas of those gentry of the capital! It is likestrabismus, chloroform, lithotrity, a heap ofmonstrosities that the Government ought toprohibit. But they want to do the clever, andthey cram you with remedies without, trou-bling about the consequences. We are not soclever, not we! We are not savants, coxcombs,fops! We are practitioners; we cure people, andwe should not dream of operating on anyonewho is in perfect health. Straighten club-feet!As if one could straighten club-feet! It is as ifone wished, for example, to make a hunchbackstraight!"

Homais suffered as he listened to this dis-course, and he concealed his discomfort be-neath a courtier's smile; for he needed to hu-mour Monsier Canivet, whose prescriptionssometimes came as far as Yonville. So he didnot take up the defence of Bovary; he did noteven make a single remark, and, renouncing his

principles, he sacrificed his dignity to the moreserious interests of his business.

This amputation of the thigh by Doctor Canivetwas a great event in the village. On that day allthe inhabitants got up earlier, and the GrandeRue, although full of people, had somethinglugubrious about it, as if an execution had beenexpected. At the grocer's they discussed Hip-polyte's illness; the shops did no business, andMadame Tuvache, the mayor's wife, did notstir from her window, such was her impatienceto see the operator arrive.

He came in his gig, which he drove himself. Butthe springs of the right side having at lengthgiven way beneath the weight of his corpu-lence, it happened that the carriage as it rolledalong leaned over a little, and on the othercushion near him could be seen a large boxcovered in red sheep-leather, whose three brassclasps shone grandly.

After he had entered like a whirlwind theporch of the "Lion d'Or," the doctor, shoutingvery loud, ordered them to unharness hishorse. Then he went into the stable to see thathe was eating his oats all right; for on arrivingat a patient's he first of all looked after his mareand his gig. People even said about this—

"Ah! Monsieur Canivet's a character!"

And he was the more esteemed for this imper-turbable coolness. The universe to the last manmight have died, and he would not havemissed the smallest of his habits.

Homais presented himself.

"I count on you," said the doctor. "Are weready? Come along!"

But the druggist, turning red, confessed that hewas too sensitive to assist at such an operation.

"When one is a simple spectator," he said, "theimagination, you know, is impressed. And thenI have such a nervous system!"

"Pshaw!" interrupted Canivet; "on the contrary,you seem to me inclined to apoplexy. Besides,that doesn't astonish me, for you chemist fel-lows are always poking about your kitchens,which must end by spoiling your constitutions.Now just look at me. I get up every day at fouro'clock; I shave with cold water (and am nevercold). I don't wear flannels, and I never catchcold; my carcass is good enough! I live now inone way, now in another, like a philosopher,taking pot-luck; that is why I am not squeamishlike you, and it is as indifferent to me to carve aChristian as the first fowl that turns up. Then,perhaps, you will say, habit! habit!"

Then, without any consideration for Hippolyte,who was sweating with agony between hissheets, these gentlemen entered into a conver-sation, in which the druggist compared the

coolness of a surgeon to that of a general; andthis comparison was pleasing to Canivet, wholaunched out on the exigencies of his art. Helooked upon, it as a sacred office, although theordinary practitioners dishonoured it. At last,coming back to the patient, he examined thebandages brought by Homais, the same thathad appeared for the club-foot, and asked forsomeone to hold the limb for him. Lestiboudoiswas sent for, and Monsieur Canivet havingturned up his sleeves, passed into the billiard-room, while the druggist stayed with Artemiseand the landlady, both whiter than theiraprons, and with ears strained towards thedoor.

Bovary during this time did not dare to stirfrom his house.

He kept downstairs in the sitting-room by theside of the fireless chimney, his chin on hisbreast, his hands clasped, his eyes staring."What a mishap!" he thought, "what a mishap!"

Perhaps, after all, he had made some slip. Hethought it over, but could hit upon nothing. Butthe most famous surgeons also made mistakes;and that is what no one would ever believe!People, on the contrary, would laugh, jeer! Itwould spread as far as Forges, as Neufchatel, asRouen, everywhere! Who could say if his col-leagues would not write against him. Polemicswould ensue; he would have to answer in thepapers. Hippolyte might even prosecute him.He saw himself dishonoured, ruined, lost; andhis imagination, assailed by a world of hy-potheses, tossed amongst them like an emptycask borne by the sea and floating upon thewaves.

Emma, opposite, watched him; she did notshare his humiliation; she felt another—that ofhaving supposed such a man was worth any-thing. As if twenty times already she had notsufficiently perceived his mediocrity.

Charles was walking up and down the room;his boots creaked on the floor.

"Sit down," she said; "you fidget me."

He sat down again.

How was it that she—she, who was so intelli-gent—could have allowed herself to be de-ceived again? and through what deplorablemadness had she thus ruined her life by con-tinual sacrifices? She recalled all her instincts ofluxury, all the privations of her soul, the sor-didness of marriage, of the household, herdream sinking into the mire like woundedswallows; all that she had longed for, all thatshe had denied herself, all that she might havehad! And for what? for what?

In the midst of the silence that hung over thevillage a heart-rending cry rose on the air.Bovary turned white to fainting. She knit herbrows with a nervous gesture, then went on.

And it was for him, for this creature, for thisman, who understood nothing, who felt noth-ing! For he was there quite quiet, not even sus-pecting that the ridicule of his name wouldhenceforth sully hers as well as his. She hadmade efforts to love him, and she had repentedwith tears for having yielded to another!

"But it was perhaps a valgus!" suddenly ex-claimed Bovary, who was meditating.

At the unexpected shock of this phrase fallingon her thought like a leaden bullet on a silverplate, Emma, shuddering, raised her head inorder to find out what he meant to say; andthey looked at the other in silence, almostamazed to see each other, so far sundered werethey by their inner thoughts. Charles gazed ather with the dull look of a drunken man, whilehe listened motionless to the last cries of thesufferer, that followed each other in long-drawn modulations, broken by sharp spasmslike the far-off howling of some beast being

slaughtered. Emma bit her wan lips, and rollingbetween her fingers a piece of coral that shehad broken, fixed on Charles the burningglance of her eyes like two arrows of fire aboutto dart forth. Everything in him irritated hernow; his face, his dress, what he did not say,his whole person, his existence, in fine. Sherepented of her past virtue as of a crime, andwhat still remained of it rumbled away beneaththe furious blows of her pride. She revelled inall the evil ironies of triumphant adultery. Thememory of her lover came back to her withdazzling attractions; she threw her whole soulinto it, borne away towards this image with afresh enthusiasm; and Charles seemed to her asmuch removed from her life, as absent forever,as impossible and annihilated, as if he had beenabout to die and were passing under her eyes.

There was a sound of steps on the pavement.Charles looked up, and through the loweredblinds he saw at the corner of the market in the

broad sunshine Dr. Canivet, who was wipinghis brow with his handkerchief. Homais, be-hind him, was carrying a large red box in hishand, and both were going towards the chem-ist's.

Then with a feeling of sudden tenderness anddiscouragement Charles turned to his wife say-ing to her—

"Oh, kiss me, my own!"

"Leave me!" she said, red with anger.

"What is the matter?" he asked, stupefied. "Becalm; compose yourself. You know wellenough that I love you. Come!"

"Enough!" she cried with a terrible look.

And escaping from the room, Emma closed thedoor so violently that the barometer fell fromthe wall and smashed on the floor.

Charles sank back into his arm-chair over-whelmed, trying to discover what could bewrong with her, fancying some nervous illness,weeping, and vaguely feeling something fataland incomprehensible whirling round him.

When Rodolphe came to the garden that eve-ning, he found his mistress waiting for him atthe foot of the steps on the lowest stair. Theythrew their arms round one another, and alltheir rancour melted like snow beneath thewarmth of that kiss.

Chapter Twelve

They began to love one another again. Often,even in the middle of the day, Emma suddenlywrote to him, then from the window made a

sign to Justin, who, taking his apron off,quickly ran to La Huchette. Rodolphe wouldcome; she had sent for him to tell him that shewas bored, that her husband was odious, herlife frightful.

"But what can I do?" he cried one day impa-tiently.

"Ah! if you would—"

She was sitting on the floor between his knees,her hair loose, her look lost.

"Why, what?" said Rodolphe.

She sighed.

"We would go and live elsewhere—somewhere!"

"You are really mad!" he said laughing. "Howcould that be possible?"

She returned to the subject; he pretended not tounderstand, and turned the conversation.

What he did not understand was all this worryabout so simple an affair as love. She had a mo-tive, a reason, and, as it were, a pendant to heraffection.

Her tenderness, in fact, grew each day with herrepulsion to her husband. The more she gaveup herself to the one, the more she loathed theother. Never had Charles seemed to her so dis-agreeable, to have such stodgy fingers, suchvulgar ways, to be so dull as when they foundthemselves together after her meeting withRodolphe. Then, while playing the spouse andvirtue, she was burning at the thought of thathead whose black hair fell in a curl over thesunburnt brow, of that form at once so strongand elegant, of that man, in a word, who hadsuch experience in his reasoning, such passionin his desires. It was for him that she filed hernails with the care of a chaser, and that there

was never enough cold-cream for her skin, norof patchouli for her handkerchiefs. She loadedherself with bracelets, rings, and necklaces.When he was coming she filled the two largeblue glass vases with roses, and prepared herroom and her person like a courtesan expectinga prince. The servant had to be constantlywashing linen, and all day Felicite did not stirfrom the kitchen, where little Justin, who oftenkept her company, watched her at work.

With his elbows on the long board on whichshe was ironing, he greedily watched all thesewomen's clothes spread about him, the dimitypetticoats, the fichus, the collars, and the draw-ers with running strings, wide at the hips andgrowing narrower below.

"What is that for?" asked the young fellow,passing his hand over the crinoline or thehooks and eyes.

"Why, haven't you ever seen anything?" Feliciteanswered laughing. "As if your mistress, Ma-dame Homais, didn't wear the same."

"Oh, I daresay! Madame Homais!" And headded with a meditative air, "As if she were alady like madame!"

But Felicite grew impatient of seeing him hang-ing round her. She was six years older than he,and Theodore, Monsieur Guillaumin's servant,was beginning to pay court to her.

"Let me alone," she said, moving her pot ofstarch. "You'd better be off and pound al-monds; you are always dangling about women.Before you meddle with such things, bad boy,wait till you've got a beard to your chin."

"Oh, don't be cross! I'll go and clean her boots."

And he at once took down from the shelfEmma's boots, all coated with mud, the mud of

the rendezvous, that crumbled into powderbeneath his fingers, and that he watched as itgently rose in a ray of sunlight.

"How afraid you are of spoiling them!" said theservant, who wasn't so particular when shecleaned them herself, because as soon as thestuff of the boots was no longer fresh madamehanded them over to her.

Emma had a number in her cupboard that shesquandered one after the other, withoutCharles allowing himself the slightest observa-tion. So also he disbursed three hundred francsfor a wooden leg that she thought proper tomake a present of to Hippolyte. Its top wascovered with cork, and it had spring joints, acomplicated mechanism, covered over by blacktrousers ending in a patent-leather boot. ButHippolyte, not daring to use such a handsomeleg every day, begged Madame Bovary to gethim another more convenient one. The doctor,

of course, had again to defray the expense ofthis purchase.

So little by little the stable-man took up hiswork again. One saw him running about thevillage as before, and when Charles heard fromafar the sharp noise of the wooden leg, he atonce went in another direction.

It was Monsieur Lheureux, the shopkeeper,who had undertaken the order; this providedhim with an excuse for visiting Emma. He chat-ted with her about the new goods from Paris,about a thousand feminine trifles, made himselfvery obliging, and never asked for his money.Emma yielded to this lazy mode of satisfyingall her caprices. Thus she wanted to have a veryhandsome ridding-whip that was at an um-brella-maker's at Rouen to give to Rodolphe.The week after Monsieur Lheureux placed it onher table.

But the next day he called on her with a bill fortwo hundred and seventy francs, not countingthe centimes. Emma was much embarrassed; allthe drawers of the writing-table were empty;they owed over a fortnight's wages to Lesti-boudois, two quarters to the servant, for anyquantity of other things, and Bovary was impa-tiently expecting Monsieur Derozeray's ac-count, which he was in the habit of payingevery year about Midsummer.

She succeeded at first in putting off Lheureux.At last he lost patience; he was being sued; hiscapital was out, and unless he got some in heshould be forced to take back all the goods shehad received.

"Oh, very well, take them!" said Emma.

"I was only joking," he replied; "the only thing Iregret is the whip. My word! I'll ask monsieurto return it to me."

"No, no!" she said.

"Ah! I've got you!" thought Lheureux.

And, certain of his discovery, he went out re-peating to himself in an undertone, and withhis usual low whistle—

"Good! we shall see! we shall see!"

She was thinking how to get out of this whenthe servant coming in put on the mantelpiece asmall roll of blue paper "from MonsieurDerozeray's." Emma pounced upon andopened it. It contained fifteen napoleons; it wasthe account. She heard Charles on the stairs;threw the gold to the back of her drawer, andtook out the key.

Three days after Lheureux reappeared.

"I have an arrangement to suggest to you," hesaid. "If, instead of the sum agreed on, youwould take—"

"Here it is," she said placing fourteen napoleonsin his hand.

The tradesman was dumfounded. Then, to con-ceal his disappointment, he was profuse inapologies and proffers of service, all of whichEmma declined; then she remained a few mo-ments fingering in the pocket of her apron thetwo five-franc pieces that he had given her inchange. She promised herself she wouldeconomise in order to pay back later on."Pshaw!" she thought, "he won't think about itagain."

Besides the riding-whip with its silver-gilt han-dle, Rodolphe had received a seal with themotto Amor nel cor* furthermore, a scarf for amuffler, and, finally, a cigar-case exactly likethe Viscount's, that Charles had formerlypicked up in the road, and that Emma hadkept. These presents, however, humiliated him;he refused several; she insisted, and he ended

by obeying, thinking her tyrannical and over-exacting.

*A loving heart.

Then she had strange ideas.

"When midnight strikes," she said, "you mustthink of me."

And if he confessed that he had not thought ofher, there were floods of reproaches that al-ways ended with the eternal question—

"Do you love me?"

"Why, of course I love you," he answered.

"A great deal?"

"Certainly!"

"You haven't loved any others?"

"Did you think you'd got a virgin?" he ex-claimed laughing.

Emma cried, and he tried to console her, adorn-ing his protestations with puns.

"Oh," she went on, "I love you! I love you sothat I could not live without you, do you see?There are times when I long to see you again,when I am torn by all the anger of love. I askmyself, Where is he? Perhaps he is talking toother women. They smile upon him; he ap-proaches. Oh no; no one else pleases you. Thereare some more beautiful, but I love you best. Iknow how to love best. I am your servant, yourconcubine! You are my king, my idol! You aregood, you are beautiful, you are clever, you arestrong!"

He had so often heard these things said thatthey did not strike him as original. Emma waslike all his mistresses; and the charm of novelty,gradually falling away like a garment, laid bare

the eternal monotony of passion, that has al-ways the same forms and the same language.He did not distinguish, this man of so muchexperience, the difference of sentiment beneaththe sameness of expression. Because lips liber-tine and venal had murmured such words tohim, he believed but little in the candour ofhers; exaggerated speeches hiding mediocreaffections must be discounted; as if the fullnessof the soul did not sometimes overflow in theemptiest metaphors, since no one can ever givethe exact measure of his needs, nor of his con-ceptions, nor of his sorrows; and since humanspeech is like a cracked tin kettle, on which wehammer out tunes to make bears dance whenwe long to move the stars.

But with that superior critical judgment thatbelongs to him who, in no matter what circum-stance, holds back, Rodolphe saw other de-lights to be got out of this love. He thought allmodesty in the way. He treated her quite sans

facon.* He made of her something supple andcorrupt. Hers was an idiotic sort of attachment,full of admiration for him, of voluptuousnessfor her, a beatitude that benumbed her; her soulsank into this drunkenness, shrivelled up,drowned in it, like Clarence in his butt ofMalmsey.

*Off-handedly.

By the mere effect of her love Madame Bovary'smanners changed. Her looks grew bolder, herspeech more free; she even committed the im-propriety of walking out with MonsieurRodolphe, a cigarette in her mouth, "as if todefy the people." At last, those who stilldoubted doubted no longer when one day theysaw her getting out of the "Hirondelle," herwaist squeezed into a waistcoat like a man; andMadame Bovary senior, who, after a fearfulscene with her husband, had taken refuge ather son's, was not the least scandalised of thewomen-folk. Many other things displeased her.

First, Charles had not attended to her adviceabout the forbidding of novels; then the "waysof the house" annoyed her; she allowed herselfto make some remarks, and there were quar-rels, especially one on account of Felicite.

Madame Bovary senior, the evening before,passing along the passage, had surprised her incompany of a man—a man with a brown collar,about forty years old, who, at the sound of herstep, had quickly escaped through the kitchen.Then Emma began to laugh, but the good ladygrew angry, declaring that unless morals wereto be laughed at one ought to look after those ofone's servants.

"Where were you brought up?" asked thedaughter-in-law, with so impertinent a lookthat Madame Bovary asked her if she were notperhaps defending her own case.

"Leave the room!" said the young woman,springing up with a bound.

"Emma! Mamma!" cried Charles, trying to rec-oncile them.

But both had fled in their exasperation. Emmawas stamping her feet as she repeated—

"Oh! what manners! What a peasant!"

He ran to his mother; she was beside herself.She stammered

"She is an insolent, giddy-headed thing, or per-haps worse!"

And she was for leaving at once if the other didnot apologise. So Charles went back again tohis wife and implored her to give way; he kneltto her; she ended by saying—

"Very well! I'll go to her."

And in fact she held out her hand to hermother-in-law with the dignity of a marchion-ess as she said—

"Excuse me, madame."

Then, having gone up again to her room, shethrew herself flat on her bed and cried therelike a child, her face buried in the pillow.

She and Rodolphe had agreed that in the eventof anything extraordinary occurring, sheshould fasten a small piece of white paper tothe blind, so that if by chance he happened tobe in Yonville, he could hurry to the lane be-hind the house. Emma made the signal; she hadbeen waiting three-quarters of an hour whenshe suddenly caught sight of Rodolphe at thecorner of the market. She felt tempted to openthe window and call him, but he had alreadydisappeared. She fell back in despair.

Soon, however, it seemed to her that someonewas walking on the pavement. It was he, nodoubt. She went downstairs, crossed the yard.He was there outside. She threw herself into hisarms.

"Do take care!" he said.

"Ah! if you knew!" she replied.

And she began telling him everything, hur-riedly, disjointedly, exaggerating the facts, in-venting many, and so prodigal of parenthesesthat he understood nothing of it.

"Come, my poor angel, courage! Be comforted!be patient!"

"But I have been patient; I have suffered forfour years. A love like ours ought to show itselfin the face of heaven. They torture me! I canbear it no longer! Save me!"

She clung to Rodolphe. Her eyes, full of tears,flashed like flames beneath a wave; her breastheaved; he had never loved her so much, sothat he lost his head and said "What is, it? Whatdo you wish?"

"Take me away," she cried, "carry me off! Oh, Ipray you!"

And she threw herself upon his mouth, as if toseize there the unexpected consent if breathedforth in a kiss.

"But—" Rodolphe resumed.

"What?"

"Your little girl!"

She reflected a few moments, then replied—

"We will take her! It can't be helped!"

"What a woman!" he said to himself, watchingher as she went. For she had run into the gar-den. Someone was calling her.

On the following days Madame Bovary seniorwas much surprised at the change in herdaughter-in-law. Emma, in fact, was showing

herself more docile, and even carried her defer-ence so far as to ask for a recipe for picklinggherkins.

Was it the better to deceive them both? Or didshe wish by a sort of voluptuous stoicism tofeel the more profoundly the bitterness of thethings she was about to leave?

But she paid no heed to them; on the contrary,she lived as lost in the anticipated delight of hercoming happiness.

It was an eternal subject for conversation withRodolphe. She leant on his shoulder murmur-ing—

"Ah! when we are in the mail-coach! Do youthink about it? Can it be? It seems to me thatthe moment I feel the carriage start, it will be asif we were rising in a balloon, as if we weresetting out for the clouds. Do you know that Icount the hours? And you?"

Never had Madame Bovary been so beautifulas at this period; she had that indefinablebeauty that results from joy, from enthusiasm,from success, and that is only the harmony oftemperament with circumstances. Her desires,her sorrows, the experience of pleasure, andher ever-young illusions, that had, as soil andrain and winds and the sun make flowersgrow, gradually developed her, and she atlength blossomed forth in all the plenitude ofher nature. Her eyelids seemed chiselled ex-pressly for her long amorous looks in which thepupil disappeared, while a strong inspirationexpanded her delicate nostrils and raised thefleshy corner of her lips, shaded in the light bya little black down. One would have thoughtthat an artist apt in conception had arrangedthe curls of hair upon her neck; they fell in athick mass, negligently, and with the changingchances of their adultery, that unbound themevery day. Her voice now took more mellowinfections, her figure also; something subtle

and penetrating escaped even from the folds ofher gown and from the line of her foot. Charles,as when they were first married, thought herdelicious and quite irresistible.

When he came home in the middle of the night,he did not dare to wake her. The porcelainnight-light threw a round trembling gleamupon the ceiling, and the drawn curtains of thelittle cot formed as it were a white hut standingout in the shade, and by the bedside Charleslooked at them. He seemed to hear the lightbreathing of his child. She would grow bignow; every season would bring rapid progress.He already saw her coming from school as theday drew in, laughing, with ink-stains on herjacket, and carrying her basket on her arm.Then she would have to be sent to the board-ing-school; that would cost much; how was it tobe done? Then he reflected. He thought of hir-ing a small farm in the neighbourhood, that hewould superintend every morning on his way

to his patients. He would save up what hebrought in; he would put it in the savings-bank.Then he would buy shares somewhere, no mat-ter where; besides, his practice would increase;he counted upon that, for he wanted Berthe tobe well-educated, to be accomplished, to learnto play the piano. Ah! how pretty she would belater on when she was fifteen, when, resem-bling her mother, she would, like her, wearlarge straw hats in the summer-time; from adistance they would be taken for two sisters.He pictured her to himself working in the eve-ning by their side beneath the light of the lamp;she would embroider him slippers; she wouldlook after the house; she would fill all the homewith her charm and her gaiety. At last, theywould think of her marriage; they would findher some good young fellow with a steadybusiness; he would make her happy; thiswould last for ever.

Emma was not asleep; she pretended to be; andwhile he dozed off by her side she awakened toother dreams.

To the gallop of four horses she was carriedaway for a week towards a new land, whencethey would return no more. They went on andon, their arms entwined, without a word. Oftenfrom the top of a mountain there suddenlyglimpsed some splendid city with domes, andbridges, and ships, forests of citron trees, andcathedrals of white marble, on whose pointedsteeples were storks' nests. They went at awalking-pace because of the great flag-stones,and on the ground there were bouquets offlowers, offered you by women dressed in redbodices. They heard the chiming of bells, theneighing of mules, together with the murmurof guitars and the noise of fountains, whoserising spray refreshed heaps of fruit arrangedlike a pyramid at the foot of pale statues thatsmiled beneath playing waters. And then, one

night they came to a fishing village, wherebrown nets were drying in the wind along thecliffs and in front of the huts. It was there thatthey would stay; they would live in a low, flat-roofed house, shaded by a palm-tree, in theheart of a gulf, by the sea. They would row ingondolas, swing in hammocks, and their exis-tence would be easy and large as their silkgowns, warm and star-spangled as the nightsthey would contemplate. However, in the im-mensity of this future that she conjured up,nothing special stood forth; the days, all mag-nificent, resembled each other like waves; andit swayed in the horizon, infinite, harmonised,azure, and bathed in sunshine. But the childbegan to cough in her cot or Bovary snoredmore loudly, and Emma did not fall asleep tillmorning, when the dawn whitened the win-dows, and when little Justin was already in thesquare taking down the shutters of the chem-ist's shop.

She had sent for Monsieur Lheureux, and hadsaid to him—

"I want a cloak—a large lined cloak with a deepcollar."

"You are going on a journey?" he asked.

"No; but—never mind. I may count on you,may I not, and quickly?"

He bowed.

"Besides, I shall want," she went on, "a trunk—not too heavy—handy."

"Yes, yes, I understand. About three feet by afoot and a half, as they are being made justnow."

"And a travelling bag."

"Decidedly," thought Lheureux, "there's a rowon here."

"And," said Madame Bovary, taking her watchfrom her belt, "take this; you can pay yourselfout of it."

But the tradesman cried out that she waswrong; they knew one another; did he doubther? What childishness!

She insisted, however, on his taking at least thechain, and Lheureux had already put it in hispocket and was going, when she called himback.

"You will leave everything at your place. As tothe cloak"—she seemed to be reflecting—"donot bring it either; you can give me the maker'saddress, and tell him to have it ready for me."

It was the next month that they were to runaway. She was to leave Yonville as if she wasgoing on some business to Rouen. Rodolphewould have booked the seats, procured thepassports, and even have written to Paris in

order to have the whole mail-coach reservedfor them as far as Marseilles, where they wouldbuy a carriage, and go on thence without stop-ping to Genoa. She would take care to send herluggage to Lheureux whence it would be takendirect to the "Hirondelle," so that no one wouldhave any suspicion. And in all this there neverwas any allusion to the child. Rodolpheavoided speaking of her; perhaps he no longerthought about it.

He wished to have two more weeks before himto arrange some affairs; then at the end of aweek he wanted two more; then he said he wasill; next he went on a journey. The month ofAugust passed, and, after all these delays, theydecided that it was to be irrevocably fixed forthe 4th September—a Monday.

At length the Saturday before arrived.

Rodolphe came in the evening earlier thanusual.

"Everything is ready?" she asked him.

"Yes."

Then they walked round a garden-bed, andwent to sit down near the terrace on the kerb-stone of the wall.

"You are sad," said Emma.

"No; why?"

And yet he looked at her strangely in a tenderfashion.

"It is because you are going away?" she wenton; "because you are leaving what is dear toyou—your life? Ah! I understand. I have noth-ing in the world! you are all to me; so shall I beto you. I will be your people, your country; Iwill tend, I will love you!"

"How sweet you are!" he said, seizing her in hisarms.

"Really!" she said with a voluptuous laugh. "Doyou love me? Swear it then!"

"Do I love you—love you? I adore you, mylove."

The moon, full and purple-coloured, was risingright out of the earth at the end of the meadow.She rose quickly between the branches of thepoplars, that hid her here and there like a blackcurtain pierced with holes. Then she appeareddazzling with whiteness in the empty heavensthat she lit up, and now sailing more slowlyalong, let fall upon the river a great stain thatbroke up into an infinity of stars; and the silversheen seemed to writhe through the verydepths like a heedless serpent covered withluminous scales; it also resembled some mon-ster candelabra all along which sparkled dropsof diamonds running together. The soft nightwas about them; masses of shadow filled thebranches. Emma, her eyes half closed, breathedin with deep sighs the fresh wind that was

blowing. They did not speak, lost as they werein the rush of their reverie. The tenderness ofthe old days came back to their hearts, full andsilent as the flowing river, with the softness ofthe perfume of the syringas, and threw acrosstheir memories shadows more immense andmore sombre than those of the still willows thatlengthened out over the grass. Often somenight-animal, hedgehog or weasel, setting outon the hunt, disturbed the lovers, or sometimesthey heard a ripe peach falling all alone fromthe espalier.

"Ah! what a lovely night!" said Rodolphe.

"We shall have others," replied Emma; and, asif speaking to herself: "Yet, it will be good totravel. And yet, why should my heart be soheavy? Is it dread of the unknown? The effectof habits left? Or rather—? No; it is the excessof happiness. How weak I am, am I not? For-give me!"

"There is still time!" he cried. "Reflect! perhapsyou may repent!"

"Never!" she cried impetuously. And comingcloser to him: "What ill could come to me?There is no desert, no precipice, no ocean Iwould not traverse with you. The longer welive together the more it will be like an em-brace, every day closer, more heart to heart.There will be nothing to trouble us, no cares, noobstacle. We shall be alone, all to ourselveseternally. Oh, speak! Answer me!"

At regular intervals he answered, "Yes—Yes—"She had passed her hands through his hair, andshe repeated in a childlike voice, despite the bigtears which were falling, "Rodolphe! Rodolphe!Ah! Rodolphe! dear little Rodolphe!"

Midnight struck.

"Midnight!" said she. "Come, it is to-morrow.One day more!"

He rose to go; and as if the movement he madehad been the signal for their flight, Emma said,suddenly assuming a gay air—

"You have the passports?"

"Yes."

"You are forgetting nothing?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Certainly."

"It is at the Hotel de Provence, is it not, that youwill wait for me at midday?"

He nodded.

"Till to-morrow then!" said Emma in a last ca-ress; and she watched him go.

He did not turn round. She ran after him, and,leaning over the water's edge between the bul-rushes—

"To-morrow!" she cried.

He was already on the other side of the riverand walking fast across the meadow.

After a few moments Rodolphe stopped; andwhen he saw her with her white gown gradu-ally fade away in the shade like a ghost, he wasseized with such a beating of the heart that heleant against a tree lest he should fall.

"What an imbecile I am!" he said with a fearfuloath. "No matter! She was a pretty mistress!"

And immediately Emma's beauty, with all thepleasures of their love, came back to him. For amoment he softened; then he rebelled againsther.

"For, after all," he exclaimed, gesticulating, "Ican't exile myself—have a child on my hands."

He was saying these things to give himselffirmness.

"And besides, the worry, the expense! Ah! no,no, no, no! a thousand times no! That would betoo stupid."

Chapter Thirteen

No sooner was Rodolphe at home than he satdown quickly at his bureau under the stag'shead that hung as a trophy on the wall. Butwhen he had the pen between his fingers, hecould think of nothing, so that, resting on hiselbows, he began to reflect. Emma seemed to

him to have receded into a far-off past, as if theresolution he had taken had suddenly placed adistance between them.

To get back something of her, he fetched fromthe cupboard at the bedside an old Rheims bis-cuit-box, in which he usually kept his lettersfrom women, and from it came an odour of drydust and withered roses. First he saw a hand-kerchief with pale little spots. It was a handker-chief of hers. Once when they were walking hernose had bled; he had forgotten it. Near it,chipped at all the corners, was a miniaturegiven him by Emma: her toilette seemed to himpretentious, and her languishing look in theworst possible taste. Then, from looking at thisimage and recalling the memory of its original,Emma's features little by little grew confused inhis remembrance, as if the living and thepainted face, rubbing one against the other, hadeffaced each other. Finally, he read some of herletters; they were full of explanations relating to

their journey, short, technical, and urgent, likebusiness notes. He wanted to see the long onesagain, those of old times. In order to find themat the bottom of the box, Rodolphe disturbedall the others, and mechanically began rum-maging amidst this mass of papers and things,finding pell-mell bouquets, garters, a blackmask, pins, and hair—hair! dark and fair, someeven, catching in the hinges of the box, brokewhen it was opened.

Thus dallying with his souvenirs, he examinedthe writing and the style of the letters, as variedas their orthography. They were tender or jo-vial, facetious, melancholy; there were somethat asked for love, others that asked formoney. A word recalled faces to him, certaingestures, the sound of a voice; sometimes,however, he remembered nothing at all.

In fact, these women, rushing at once into histhoughts, cramped each other and lessened, asreduced to a uniform level of love that equal-

ised them all. So taking handfuls of the mixed-up letters, he amused himself for some mo-ments with letting them fall in cascades fromhis right into his left hand. At last, bored andweary, Rodolphe took back the box to the cup-board, saying to himself, "What a lot of rub-bish!" Which summed up his opinion; forpleasures, like schoolboys in a school court-yard, had so trampled upon his heart that nogreen thing grew there, and that which passedthrough it, more heedless than children, did noteven, like them, leave a name carved upon thewall.

"Come," said he, "let's begin."

He wrote—

"Courage, Emma! courage! I would not bringmisery into your life."

"After all, that's true," thought Rodolphe. "I amacting in her interest; I am honest."

"Have you carefully weighed your resolution?Do you know to what an abyss I was draggingyou, poor angel? No, you do not, do you? Youwere coming confident and fearless, believingin happiness in the future. Ah! unhappy thatwe are—insensate!"

Rodolphe stopped here to think of some goodexcuse.

"If I told her all my fortune is lost? No! Besides,that would stop nothing. It would all have to bebegun over again later on. As if one could makewomen like that listen to reason!" He reflected,then went on—

"I shall not forget you, oh believe it; and I shallever have a profound devotion for you; butsome day, sooner or later, this ardour (such isthe fate of human things) would have grownless, no doubt. Lassitude would have come tous, and who knows if I should not even havehad the atrocious pain of witnessing your re-

morse, of sharing it myself, since I should havebeen its cause? The mere idea of the grief thatwould come to you tortures me, Emma. Forgetme! Why did I ever know you? Why were youso beautiful? Is it my fault? O my God! No, no!Accuse only fate."

"That's a word that always tells," he said tohimself.

"Ah, if you had been one of those frivolouswomen that one sees, certainly I might, throughegotism, have tried an experiment, in that casewithout danger for you. But that delicious exal-tation, at once your charm and your torment,has prevented you from understanding, ador-able woman that you are, the falseness of ourfuture position. Nor had I reflected upon this atfirst, and I rested in the shade of that idealhappiness as beneath that of the manchineeltree, without foreseeing the consequences."

"Perhaps she'll think I'm giving it up from ava-rice. Ah, well! so much the worse; it must bestopped!"

"The world is cruel, Emma. Wherever we mighthave gone, it would have persecuted us. Youwould have had to put up with indiscreet ques-tions, calumny, contempt, insult perhaps. Insultto you! Oh! And I, who would place you on athrone! I who bear with me your memory as atalisman! For I am going to punish myself byexile for all the ill I have done you. I am goingaway. Whither I know not. I am mad. Adieu!Be good always. Preserve the memory of theunfortunate who has lost you. Teach my nameto your child; let her repeat it in her prayers."

The wicks of the candles flickered. Rodolphegot up to, shut the window, and when he hadsat down again—

"I think it's all right. Ah! and this for fear sheshould come and hunt me up."

"I shall be far away when you read these sadlines, for I have wished to flee as quickly aspossible to shun the temptation of seeing youagain. No weakness! I shall return, and perhapslater on we shall talk together very coldly ofour old love. Adieu!"

And there was a last "adieu" divided into twowords! "A Dieu!" which he thought in very ex-cellent taste.

"Now how am I to sign?" he said to himself."'Yours devotedly?' No! 'Your friend?' Yes,that's it."

"Your friend."

He re-read his letter. He considered it verygood.

"Poor little woman!" he thought with emotion."She'll think me harder than a rock. Thereought to have been some tears on this; but I

can't cry; it isn't my fault." Then, having emp-tied some water into a glass, Rodolphe dippedhis finger into it, and let a big drop fall on thepaper, that made a pale stain on the ink. Thenlooking for a seal, he came upon the one "Amornel cor."

"That doesn't at all fit in with the circum-stances. Pshaw! never mind!"

After which he smoked three pipes and went tobed.

The next day when he was up (at about twoo'clock—he had slept late), Rodolphe had abasket of apricots picked. He put his letter atthe bottom under some vine leaves, and at onceordered Girard, his ploughman, to take it withcare to Madame Bovary. He made use of thismeans for corresponding with her, sendingaccording to the season fruits or game.

"If she asks after me," he said, "you will tell herthat I have gone on a journey. You must givethe basket to her herself, into her own hands.Get along and take care!"

Girard put on his new blouse, knotted hishandkerchief round the apricots, and walkingwith great heavy steps in his thick iron-boundgaloshes, made his way to Yonville.

Madame Bovary, when he got to her house,was arranging a bundle of linen on the kitchen-table with Felicite.

"Here," said the ploughboy, "is something foryou—from the master."

She was seized with apprehension, and as shesought in her pocket for some coppers, shelooked at the peasant with haggard eyes, whilehe himself looked at her with amazement, notunderstanding how such a present could somove anyone. At last he went out. Felicite re-

mained. She could bear it no longer; she raninto the sitting room as if to take the apricotsthere, overturned the basket, tore away theleaves, found the letter, opened it, and, as ifsome fearful fire were behind her, Emma flewto her room terrified.

Charles was there; she saw him; he spoke toher; she heard nothing, and she went onquickly up the stairs, breathless, distraught,dumb, and ever holding this horrible piece ofpaper, that crackled between her fingers like aplate of sheet-iron. On the second floor shestopped before the attic door, which wasclosed.

Then she tried to calm herself; she recalled theletter; she must finish it; she did not dare to.And where? How? She would be seen! "Ah, no!here," she thought, "I shall be all right."

Emma pushed open the door and went in.

The slates threw straight down a heavy heatthat gripped her temples, stifled her; shedragged herself to the closed garret-window.She drew back the bolt, and the dazzling lightburst in with a leap.

Opposite, beyond the roofs, stretched the opencountry till it was lost to sight. Down below,underneath her, the village square was empty;the stones of the pavement glittered, theweathercocks on the houses were motionless.At the corner of the street, from a lower storey,rose a kind of humming with strident modula-tions. It was Binet turning.

She leant against the embrasure of the window,and reread the letter with angry sneers. But themore she fixed her attention upon it, the moreconfused were her ideas. She saw him again,heard him, encircled him with her arms, andthrobs of her heart, that beat against her breastlike blows of a sledge-hammer, grew faster andfaster, with uneven intervals. She looked about

her with the wish that the earth might crumbleinto pieces. Why not end it all? What restrainedher? She was free. She advanced, looking at thepaving-stones, saying to herself, "Come! come!"

The luminous ray that came straight up frombelow drew the weight of her body towards theabyss. It seemed to her that the ground of theoscillating square went up the walls and thatthe floor dipped on end like a tossing boat. Shewas right at the edge, almost hanging, sur-rounded by vast space. The blue of the heavenssuffused her, the air was whirling in her hollowhead; she had but to yield, to let herself betaken; and the humming of the lathe neverceased, like an angry voice calling her.

"Emma! Emma!" cried Charles.

She stopped.

"Wherever are you? Come!"

The thought that she had just escaped fromdeath almost made her faint with terror. Sheclosed her eyes; then she shivered at the touchof a hand on her sleeve; it was Felicite.

"Master is waiting for you, madame; the soup ison the table."

And she had to go down to sit at table.

She tried to eat. The food choked her. Then sheunfolded her napkin as if to examine the darns,and she really thought of applying herself tothis work, counting the threads in the linen.Suddenly the remembrance of the letter re-turned to her. How had she lost it? Wherecould she find it? But she felt such weariness ofspirit that she could not even invent a pretextfor leaving the table. Then she became a cow-ard; she was afraid of Charles; he knew all, thatwas certain! Indeed he pronounced thesewords in a strange manner:

"We are not likely to see Monsieur Rodolphesoon again, it seems."

"Who told you?" she said, shuddering.

"Who told me!" he replied, rather astonished ather abrupt tone. "Why, Girard, whom I met justnow at the door of the Cafe Francais. He hasgone on a journey, or is to go."

She gave a sob.

"What surprises you in that? He absents him-self like that from time to time for a change,and, ma foi, I think he's right, when one has afortune and is a bachelor. Besides, he has jollytimes, has our friend. He's a bit of a rake. Mon-sieur Langlois told me—"

He stopped for propriety's sake because theservant came in. She put back into the basketthe apricots scattered on the sideboard.

Charles, without noticing his wife's colour, hadthem brought to him, took one, and bit into it.

"Ah! perfect!" said he; "just taste!"

And he handed her the basket, which she putaway from her gently.

"Do just smell! What an odour!" he remarked,passing it under her nose several times.

"I am choking," she cried, leaping up. But by aneffort of will the spasm passed; then—

"It is nothing," she said, "it is nothing! It isnervousness. Sit down and go on eating." Forshe dreaded lest he should begin questioningher, attending to her, that she should not be leftalone.

Charles, to obey her, sat down again, and hespat the stones of the apricots into his hands,afterwards putting them on his plate.

Suddenly a blue tilbury passed across thesquare at a rapid trot. Emma uttered a cry andfell back rigid to the ground.

In fact, Rodolphe, after many reflections, haddecided to set out for Rouen. Now, as from LaHuchette to Buchy there is no other way thanby Yonville, he had to go through the village,and Emma had recognised him by the rays ofthe lanterns, which like lightning flashedthrough the twilight.

The chemist, at the tumult which broke out inthe house ran thither. The table with all theplates was upset; sauce, meat, knives, the salt,and cruet-stand were strewn over the room;Charles was calling for help; Berthe, scared,was crying; and Felicite, whose hands trem-bled, was unlacing her mistress, whose wholebody shivered convulsively.

"I'll run to my laboratory for some aromaticvinegar," said the druggist.

Then as she opened her eyes on smelling thebottle—

"I was sure of it," he remarked; "that wouldwake any dead person for you!"

"Speak to us," said Charles; "collect yourself; itis your Charles, who loves you. Do you knowme? See! here is your little girl! Oh, kiss her!"

The child stretched out her arms to her motherto cling to her neck. But turning away her head,Emma said in a broken voice "No, no! no one!"

She fainted again. They carried her to her bed.She lay there stretched at full length, her lipsapart, her eyelids closed, her hands open, mo-tionless, and white as a waxen image. Twostreams of tears flowed from her eyes and fellslowly upon the pillow.

Charles, standing up, was at the back of thealcove, and the chemist, near him, maintained

that meditative silence that is becoming on theserious occasions of life.

"Do not be uneasy," he said, touching his el-bow; "I think the paroxysm is past."

"Yes, she is resting a little now," answeredCharles, watching her sleep. "Poor girl! poorgirl! She had gone off now!"

Then Homais asked how the accident had comeabout. Charles answered that she had beentaken ill suddenly while she was eating someapricots.

"Extraordinary!" continued the chemist. "But itmight be that the apricots had brought on thesyncope. Some natures are so sensitive to cer-tain smells; and it would even be a very finequestion to study both in its pathological andphysiological relation. The priests know theimportance of it, they who have introducedaromatics into all their ceremonies. It is to stu-

pefy the senses and to bring on ecstasies—athing, moreover, very easy in persons of theweaker sex, who are more delicate than theother. Some are cited who faint at the smell ofburnt hartshorn, of new bread—"

"Take care; you'll wake her!" said Bovary in alow voice.

"And not only," the druggist went on, "are hu-man beings subject to such anomalies, but ani-mals also. Thus you are not ignorant of the sin-gularly aphrodisiac effect produced by the Ne-peta cataria, vulgarly called catmint, on thefeline race; and, on the other hand, to quote anexample whose authenticity I can answer for.Bridaux (one of my old comrades, at presentestablished in the Rue Malpalu) possesses adog that falls into convulsions as soon as youhold out a snuff-box to him. He often evenmakes the experiment before his friends at hissummer-house at Guillaume Wood. Wouldanyone believe that a simple sternutation could

produce such ravages on a quadrupedal organ-ism? It is extremely curious, is it not?"

"Yes," said Charles, who was not listening tohim.

"This shows us," went on the other, smilingwith benign self-sufficiency, "the innumerableirregularities of the nervous system. With re-gard to madame, she has always seemed to me,I confess, very susceptible. And so I should byno means recommend to you, my dear friend,any of those so-called remedies that, under thepretence of attacking the symptoms, attack theconstitution. No; no useless physicking! Diet,that is all; sedatives, emollients, dulcification.Then, don't you think that perhaps her imagi-nation should be worked upon?"

"In what way? How?" said Bovary.

"Ah! that is it. Such is indeed the question. 'Thatis the question,' as I lately read in a newspa-per."

But Emma, awaking, cried out—

"The letter! the letter!"

They thought she was delirious; and she wasby midnight. Brain-fever had set in.

For forty-three days Charles did not leave her.He gave up all his patients; he no longer wentto bed; he was constantly feeling her pulse,putting on sinapisms and cold-water com-presses. He sent Justin as far as Neufchatel forice; the ice melted on the way; he sent him backagain. He called Monsieur Canivet into consul-tation; he sent for Dr. Lariviere, his old master,from Rouen; he was in despair. What alarmedhim most was Emma's prostration, for she didnot speak, did not listen, did not even seem to

suffer, as if her body and soul were both restingtogether after all their troubles.

About the middle of October she could sit up inbed supported by pillows. Charles wept whenhe saw her eat her first bread-and-jelly. Herstrength returned to her; she got up for a fewhours of an afternoon, and one day, when shefelt better, he tried to take her, leaning on hisarm, for a walk round the garden. The sand ofthe paths was disappearing beneath the deadleaves; she walked slowly, dragging along herslippers, and leaning against Charles's shoul-der. She smiled all the time.

They went thus to the bottom of the gardennear the terrace. She drew herself up slowly,shading her eyes with her hand to look. Shelooked far off, as far as she could, but on thehorizon were only great bonfires of grass smok-ing on the hills.

"You will tire yourself, my darling!" saidBovary. And, pushing her gently to make hergo into the arbour, "Sit down on this seat; you'llbe comfortable."

"Oh! no; not there!" she said in a faltering voice.

She was seized with giddiness, and from thatevening her illness recommenced, with a moreuncertain character, it is true, and more com-plex symptoms. Now she suffered in her heart,then in the chest, the head, the limbs; she hadvomitings, in which Charles thought he saw thefirst signs of cancer.

And besides this, the poor fellow was worriedabout money matters.

Chapter Fourteen

To begin with, he did not know how he couldpay Monsieur Homais for all the physic sup-plied by him, and though, as a medical man, hewas not obliged to pay for it, he neverthelessblushed a little at such an obligation. Then theexpenses of the household, now that the ser-vant was mistress, became terrible. Bills rainedin upon the house; the tradesmen grumbled;Monsieur Lheureux especially harassed him. Infact, at the height of Emma's illness, the latter,taking advantage of the circumstances to makehis bill larger, had hurriedly brought the cloak,the travelling-bag, two trunks instead of one,and a number of other things. It was very wellfor Charles to say he did not want them. Thetradesman answered arrogantly that these arti-cles had been ordered, and that he would nottake them back; besides, it would vex madamein her convalescence; the doctor had better

think it over; in short, he was resolved to suehim rather than give up his rights and takeback his goods. Charles subsequently orderedthem to be sent back to the shop. Felicite forgot;he had other things to attend to; then thoughtno more about them. Monsieur Lheureux re-turned to the charge, and, by turns threateningand whining, so managed that Bovary endedby signing a bill at six months. But hardly hadhe signed this bill than a bold idea occurred tohim: it was to borrow a thousand francs fromLheureux. So, with an embarrassed air, heasked if it were possible to get them, addingthat it would be for a year, at any interest hewished. Lheureux ran off to his shop, broughtback the money, and dictated another bill, bywhich Bovary undertook to pay to his order onthe 1st of September next the sum of one thou-sand and seventy francs, which, with the hun-dred and eighty already agreed to, made justtwelve hundred and fifty, thus lending at sixper cent in addition to one-fourth for commis-

sion: and the things bringing him in a goodthird at the least, this ought in twelve monthsto give him a profit of a hundred and thirtyfrancs. He hoped that the business would notstop there; that the bills would not be paid; thatthey would be renewed; and that his poor littlemoney, having thriven at the doctor's as at ahospital, would come back to him one day con-siderably more plump, and fat enough to bursthis bag.

Everything, moreover, succeeded with him. Hewas adjudicator for a supply of cider to thehospital at Neufchatel; Monsieur Guillauminpromised him some shares in the turf-pits ofGaumesnil, and he dreamt of establishing anew diligence service between Arcueil andRouen, which no doubt would not be long inruining the ramshackle van of the "Lion d'Or,"and that, travelling faster, at a cheaper rate, andcarrying more luggage, would thus put into hishands the whole commerce of Yonville.

Charles several times asked himself by whatmeans he should next year be able to pay backso much money. He reflected, imagined expe-dients, such as applying to his father or sellingsomething. But his father would be deaf, andhe—he had nothing to sell. Then he foresawsuch worries that he quickly dismissed so dis-agreeable a subject of meditation from hismind. He reproached himself with forgettingEmma, as if, all his thoughts belonging to thiswoman, it was robbing her of something not tobe constantly thinking of her.

The winter was severe, Madame Bovary's con-valescence slow. When it was fine they wheeledher arm-chair to the window that overlookedthe square, for she now had an antipathy to thegarden, and the blinds on that side were alwaysdown. She wished the horse to be sold; whatshe formerly liked now displeased her. All herideas seemed to be limited to the care of herself.She stayed in bed taking little meals, rang for

the servant to inquire about her gruel or to chatwith her. The snow on the market-roof threw awhite, still light into the room; then the rainbegan to fall; and Emma waited daily with amind full of eagerness for the inevitable returnof some trifling events which nevertheless hadno relation to her. The most important was thearrival of the "Hirondelle" in the evening. Thenthe landlady shouted out, and other voices an-swered, while Hippolyte's lantern, as hefetched the boxes from the boot, was like a starin the darkness. At mid-day Charles came in;then he went out again; next she took somebeef-tea, and towards five o'clock, as the daydrew in, the children coming back from school,dragging their wooden shoes along the pave-ment, knocked the clapper of the shutters withtheir rulers one after the other.

It was at this hour that Monsieur Bournisiencame to see her. He inquired after her health,gave her news, exhorted her to religion, in a

coaxing little prattle that was not without itscharm. The mere thought of his cassock com-forted her.

One day, when at the height of her illness, shehad thought herself dying, and had asked forthe communion; and, while they were makingthe preparations in her room for the sacrament,while they were turning the night table coveredwith syrups into an altar, and while Felicitewas strewing dahlia flowers on the floor,Emma felt some power passing over her thatfreed her from her pains, from all perception,from all feeling. Her body, relieved, no longerthought; another life was beginning; it seemedto her that her being, mounting toward God,would be annihilated in that love like a burningincense that melts into vapour. The bed-clotheswere sprinkled with holy water, the priest drewfrom the holy pyx the white wafer; and it wasfainting with a celestial joy that she put out herlips to accept the body of the Saviour presented

to her. The curtains of the alcove floated gentlyround her like clouds, and the rays of the twotapers burning on the night-table seemed toshine like dazzling halos. Then she let her headfall back, fancying she heard in space the musicof seraphic harps, and perceived in an azuresky, on a golden throne in the midst of saintsholding green palms, God the Father, resplen-dent with majesty, who with a sign sent toearth angels with wings of fire to carry heraway in their arms.

This splendid vision dwelt in her memory asthe most beautiful thing that it was possible todream, so that now she strove to recall her sen-sation. That still lasted, however, but in a lessexclusive fashion and with a deeper sweetness.Her soul, tortured by pride, at length found restin Christian humility, and, tasting the joy ofweakness, she saw within herself the destruc-tion of her will, that must have left a wide en-trance for the inroads of heavenly grace. There

existed, then, in the place of happiness, stillgreater joys—another love beyond all loves,without pause and without end, one thatwould grow eternally! She saw amid the illu-sions of her hope a state of purity floatingabove the earth mingling with heaven, to whichshe aspired. She wanted to become a saint. Shebought chaplets and wore amulets; she wishedto have in her room, by the side of her bed, areliquary set in emeralds that she might kiss itevery evening.

The cure marvelled at this humour, althoughEmma's religion, he thought, might, from itsfervour, end by touching on heresy, extrava-gance. But not being much versed in these mat-ters, as soon as they went beyond a certain limithe wrote to Monsieur Boulard, bookseller toMonsignor, to send him "something good for alady who was very clever." The bookseller,with as much indifference as if he had beensending off hardware to niggers, packed up,

pellmell, everything that was then the fashionin the pious book trade. There were littlemanuals in questions and answers, pamphletsof aggressive tone after the manner of Mon-sieur de Maistre, and certain novels in rose-coloured bindings and with a honied style,manufactured by troubadour seminarists orpenitent blue-stockings. There were the "Thinkof it; the Man of the World at Mary's Feet, byMonsieur de ***, decorated with many Orders";"The Errors of Voltaire, for the Use of theYoung," etc.

Madame Bovary's mind was not yet sufficientlyclear to apply herself seriously to anything;moreover, she began this reading in too muchhurry. She grew provoked at the doctrines ofreligion; the arrogance of the polemic writingsdispleased her by their inveteracy in attackingpeople she did not know; and the secular sto-ries, relieved with religion, seemed to her writ-ten in such ignorance of the world, that they

insensibly estranged her from the truths forwhose proof she was looking. Nevertheless, shepersevered; and when the volume slipped fromher hands, she fancied herself seized with thefinest Catholic melancholy that an ethereal soulcould conceive.

As for the memory of Rodolphe, she had thrustit back to the bottom of her heart, and it re-mained there more solemn and more mo-tionless than a king's mummy in a catacomb.An exhalation escaped from this embalmedlove, that, penetrating through everything, per-fumed with tenderness the immaculate atmos-phere in which she longed to live. When sheknelt on her Gothic prie-Dieu, she addressed tothe Lord the same suave words that she hadmurmured formerly to her lover in the out-pourings of adultery. It was to make faithcome; but no delights descended from theheavens, and she arose with tired limbs andwith a vague feeling of a gigantic dupery.

This searching after faith, she thought, wasonly one merit the more, and in the pride of herdevoutness Emma compared herself to thosegrand ladies of long ago whose glory she, haddreamed of over a portrait of La Valliere, andwho, trailing with so much majesty the lace-trimmed trains of their long gowns, retired intosolitudes to shed at the feet of Christ all thetears of hearts that life had wounded.

Then she gave herself up to excessive charity.She sewed clothes for the poor, she sent woodto women in childbed; and Charles one day, oncoming home, found three good-for-nothingsin the kitchen seated at the table eating soup.She had her little girl, whom during her illnessher husband had sent back to the nurse,brought home. She wanted to teach her to read;even when Berthe cried, she was not vexed. Shehad made up her mind to resignation, to uni-versal indulgence. Her language about every-thing was full of ideal expressions. She said to

her child, "Is your stomach-ache better, my an-gel?"

Madame Bovary senior found nothing to cen-sure except perhaps this mania of knitting jack-ets for orphans instead of mending her ownhouse-linen; but, harassed with domestic quar-rels, the good woman took pleasure in thisquiet house, and she even stayed there till afterEaster, to escape the sarcasms of old Bovary,who never failed on Good Friday to order chit-terlings.

Besides the companionship of her mother-in-law, who strengthened her a little by the recti-tude of her judgment and her grave ways,Emma almost every day had other visitors.These were Madame Langlois, Madame Caron,Madame Dubreuil, Madame Tuvache, andregularly from two to five o'clock the excellentMadame Homais, who, for her part, had neverbelieved any of the tittle-tattle about herneighbour. The little Homais also came to see

her; Justin accompanied them. He went up withthem to her bedroom, and remained standingnear the door, motionless and mute. Often evenMadame Bovary; taking no heed of him, beganher toilette. She began by taking out her comb,shaking her head with a quick movement, andwhen he for the first time saw all this mass ofhair that fell to her knees unrolling in blackringlets, it was to him, poor child! like a suddenentrance into something new and strange,whose splendour terrified him.

Emma, no doubt, did not notice his silent atten-tions or his timidity. She had no suspicion thatthe love vanished from her life was there, pal-pitating by her side, beneath that coarse hol-land shirt, in that youthful heart open to theemanations of her beauty. Besides, she nowenveloped all things with such indifference, shehad words so affectionate with looks sohaughty, such contradictory ways, that onecould no longer distinguish egotism from char-

ity, or corruption from virtue. One evening, forexample, she was angry with the servant, whohad asked to go out, and stammered as shetried to find some pretext. Then suddenly—

"So you love him?" she said.

And without waiting for any answer from Fe-licite, who was blushing, she added, "There!run along; enjoy yourself!"

In the beginning of spring she had the gardenturned up from end to end, despite Bovary'sremonstrances. However, he was glad to seeher at last manifest a wish of any kind. As shegrew stronger she displayed more wilfulness.First, she found occasion to expel Mere Rollet,the nurse, who during her convalescence hadcontracted the habit of coming too often to thekitchen with her two nurslings and herboarder, better off for teeth than a cannibal.Then she got rid of the Homais family, succes-sively dismissed all the other visitors, and even

frequented church less assiduously, to the greatapproval of the druggist, who said to her in afriendly way—

"You were going in a bit for the cassock!"

As formerly, Monsieur Bournisien dropped inevery day when he came out after catechismclass. He preferred staying out of doors to tak-ing the air "in the grove," as he called the ar-bour. This was the time when Charles camehome. They were hot; some sweet cider wasbrought out, and they drank together to ma-dame's complete restoration.

Binet was there; that is to say, a little lowerdown against the terrace wall, fishing for cray-fish. Bovary invited him to have a drink, and hethoroughly understood the uncorking of thestone bottles.

"You must," he said, throwing a satisfied glanceall round him, even to the very extremity of the

landscape, "hold the bottle perpendicularly onthe table, and after the strings are cut, press upthe cork with little thrusts, gently, gently, asindeed they do seltzer-water at restaurants."

But during his demonstration the cider oftenspurted right into their faces, and then the ec-clesiastic, with a thick laugh, never missed thisjoke—

"Its goodness strikes the eye!"

He was, in fact, a good fellow and one day hewas not even scandalised at the chemist, whoadvised Charles to give madame some distrac-tion by taking her to the theatre at Rouen tohear the illustrious tenor, Lagardy. Homais,surprised at this silence, wanted to know hisopinion, and the priest declared that he consid-ered music less dangerous for morals than lit-erature.

But the chemist took up the defence of letters.The theatre, he contended, served for railing atprejudices, and, beneath a mask of pleasure,taught virtue.

"'Castigat ridendo mores,'* Monsieur Bour-nisien! Thus consider the greater part of Vol-taire's tragedies; they are cleverly strewn withphilosophical reflections, that made them a vastschool of morals and diplomacy for the peo-ple." *It corrects customs through laughter.

"I," said Binet, "once saw a piece called the'Gamin de Paris,' in which there was the char-acter of an old general that is really hit off to aT. He sets down a young swell who had se-duced a working girl, who at the ending—"

"Certainly," continued Homais, "there is badliterature as there is bad pharmacy, but to con-demn in a lump the most important of the finearts seems to me a stupidity, a Gothic idea,

worthy of the abominable times that impris-oned Galileo."

"I know very well," objected the cure, "thatthere are good works, good authors. However,if it were only those persons of different sexesunited in a bewitching apartment, decoratedrouge, those lights, those effeminate voices, allthis must, in the long-run, engender a certainmental libertinage, give rise to immodestthoughts and impure temptations. Such, at anyrate, is the opinion of all the Fathers. Finally,"he added, suddenly assuming a mystic tone ofvoice while he rolled a pinch of snuff betweenhis fingers, "if the Church has condemned thetheatre, she must be right; we must submit toher decrees."

"Why," asked the druggist, "should she ex-communicate actors? For formerly they openlytook part in religious ceremonies. Yes, in themiddle of the chancel they acted; they per-

formed a kind of farce called 'Mysteries,' whichoften offended against the laws of decency."

The ecclesiastic contented himself with utteringa groan, and the chemist went on—

"It's like it is in the Bible; there there are, youknow, more than one piquant detail, mattersreally libidinous!"

And on a gesture of irritation from MonsieurBournisien—

"Ah! you'll admit that it is not a book to place inthe hands of a young girl, and I should be sorryif Athalie—"

"But it is the Protestants, and not we," cried theother impatiently, "who recommend the Bible."

"No matter," said Homais. "I am surprised thatin our days, in this century of enlightenment,anyone should still persist in proscribing anintellectual relaxation that is inoffensive, moral-

ising, and sometimes even hygienic; is it not,doctor?"

"No doubt," replied the doctor carelessly, eitherbecause, sharing the same ideas, he wished tooffend no one, or else because he had not anyideas.

The conversation seemed at an end when thechemist thought fit to shoot a Parthian arrow.

"I've known priests who put on ordinaryclothes to go and see dancers kicking about."

"Come, come!" said the cure.

"Ah! I've known some!" And separating thewords of his sentence, Homais repeated, "I—have—known—some!"

"Well, they were wrong," said Bournisien, re-signed to anything.

"By Jove! they go in for more than that," ex-claimed the druggist.

"Sir!" replied the ecclesiastic, with such angryeyes that the druggist was intimidated by them.

"I only mean to say," he replied in less brutal atone, "that toleration is the surest way to drawpeople to religion."

"That is true! that is true!" agreed the good fel-low, sitting down again on his chair. But hestayed only a few moments.

Then, as soon as he had gone, MonsieurHomais said to the doctor—

"That's what I call a cock-fight. I beat him, didyou see, in a way!—Now take my advice. Takemadame to the theatre, if it were only for oncein your life, to enrage one of these ravens, hangit! If anyone could take my place, I would ac-company you myself. Be quick about it. La-

gardy is only going to give one performance;he's engaged to go to England at a high salary.From what I hear, he's a regular dog; he's roll-ing in money; he's taking three mistresses and acook along with him. All these great artistsburn the candle at both ends; they require adissolute life, that suits the imagination to someextent. But they die at the hospital, becausethey haven't the sense when young to lay by.Well, a pleasant dinner! Goodbye till to-morrow."

The idea of the theatre quickly germinated inBovary's head, for he at once communicated itto his wife, who at first refused, alleging thefatigue, the worry, the expense; but, for a won-der, Charles did not give in, so sure was he thatthis recreation would be good for her. He sawnothing to prevent it: his mother had sent themthree hundred francs which he had no longerexpected; the current debts were not very large,and the falling in of Lheureux's bills was still so

far off that there was no need to think aboutthem. Besides, imagining that she was refusingfrom delicacy, he insisted the more; so that bydint of worrying her she at last made up hermind, and the next day at eight o'clock they setout in the "Hirondelle."

The druggist, whom nothing whatever kept atYonville, but who thought himself bound not tobudge from it, sighed as he saw them go.

"Well, a pleasant journey!" he said to them;"happy mortals that you are!"

Then addressing himself to Emma, who waswearing a blue silk gown with four flounces—

"You are as lovely as a Venus. You'll cut a fig-ure at Rouen."

The diligence stopped at the "Croix-Rouge" inthe Place Beauvoisine. It was the inn that is inevery provincial faubourg, with large stables

and small bedrooms, where one sees in themiddle of the court chickens pilfering the oatsunder the muddy gigs of the commercial trav-ellers—a good old house, with worm-eatenbalconies that creak in the wind on winternights, always full of people, noise, and feed-ing, whose black tables are sticky with coffeeand brandy, the thick windows made yellow bythe flies, the damp napkins stained with cheapwine, and that always smells of the village, likeploughboys dressed in Sundayclothes, has acafe on the street, and towards the countrysidea kitchen-garden. Charles at once set out. Hemuddled up the stage-boxes with the gallery,the pit with the boxes; asked for explanations,did not understand them; was sent from thebox-office to the acting-manager; came back tothe inn, returned to the theatre, and thus sev-eral times traversed the whole length of thetown from the theatre to the boulevard.

Madame Bovary bought a bonnet, gloves, and abouquet. The doctor was much afraid of miss-ing the beginning, and, without having hadtime to swallow a plate of soup, they presentedthemselves at the doors of the theatre, whichwere still closed.

Chapter Fifteen

The crowd was waiting against the wall, sym-metrically enclosed between the balustrades. Atthe corner of the neighbouring streets huge billsrepeated in quaint letters "Lucie de Lammer-moor-Lagardy-Opera-etc." The weather wasfine, the people were hot, perspiration trickledamid the curls, and handkerchiefs taken frompockets were mopping red foreheads; and nowand then a warm wind that blew from the river

gently stirred the border of the tick awningshanging from the doors of the public-houses. Alittle lower down, however, one was refreshedby a current of icy air that smelt of tallow,leather, and oil. This was an exhalation fromthe Rue des Charrettes, full of large blackwarehouses where they made casks.

For fear of seeming ridiculous, Emma beforegoing in wished to have a little stroll in theharbour, and Bovary prudently kept his ticketsin his hand, in the pocket of his trousers, whichhe pressed against his stomach.

Her heart began to beat as soon as she reachedthe vestibule. She involuntarily smiled withvanity on seeing the crowd rushing to the rightby the other corridor while she went up thestaircase to the reserved seats. She was aspleased as a child to push with her finger thelarge tapestried door. She breathed in with allher might the dusty smell of the lobbies, and

when she was seated in her box she bent for-ward with the air of a duchess.

The theatre was beginning to fill; opera-glasseswere taken from their cases, and the subscrib-ers, catching sight of one another, were bowing.They came to seek relaxation in the fine artsafter the anxieties of business; but "business"was not forgotten; they still talked cottons, spir-its of wine, or indigo. The heads of old menwere to be seen, inexpressive and peaceful,with their hair and complexions looking likesilver medals tarnished by steam of lead. Theyoung beaux were strutting about in the pit,showing in the opening of their waistcoats theirpink or applegreen cravats, and MadameBovary from above admired them leaning ontheir canes with golden knobs in the open palmof their yellow gloves.

Now the lights of the orchestra were lit, thelustre, let down from the ceiling, throwing bythe glimmering of its facets a sudden gaiety

over the theatre; then the musicians came inone after the other; and first there was the pro-tracted hubbub of the basses grumbling, violinssqueaking, cornets trumpeting, flutes and flag-eolets fifing. But three knocks were heard onthe stage, a rolling of drums began, the brassinstruments played some chords, and the cur-tain rising, discovered a country-scene.

It was the cross-roads of a wood, with a foun-tain shaded by an oak to the left. Peasants andlords with plaids on their shoulders were sing-ing a hunting-song together; then a captainsuddenly came on, who evoked the spirit ofevil by lifting both his arms to heaven. Anotherappeared; they went away, and the huntersstarted afresh. She felt herself transported tothe reading of her youth, into the midst of Wal-ter Scott. She seemed to hear through the mistthe sound of the Scotch bagpipes re-echoingover the heather. Then her remembrance of thenovel helping her to understand the libretto,

she followed the story phrase by phrase, whilevague thoughts that came back to her dispersedat once again with the bursts of music. She gaveherself up to the lullaby of the melodies, andfelt all her being vibrate as if the violin bowswere drawn over her nerves. She had not eyesenough to look at the costumes, the scenery, theactors, the painted trees that shook when any-one walked, and the velvet caps, cloaks,swords—all those imaginary things that floatedamid the harmony as in the atmosphere of an-other world. But a young woman stepped for-ward, throwing a purse to a squire in green.She was left alone, and the flute was heard likethe murmur of a fountain or the warbling ofbirds. Lucie attacked her cavatina in G majorbravely. She plained of love; she longed forwings. Emma, too, fleeing from life, wouldhave liked to fly away in an embrace. SuddenlyEdgar-Lagardy appeared.

He had that splendid pallor that gives some-thing of the majesty of marble to the ardentraces of the South. His vigorous form wastightly clad in a brown-coloured doublet; asmall chiselled poniard hung against his leftthigh, and he cast round laughing looks show-ing his white teeth. They said that a Polishprincess having heard him sing one night onthe beach at Biarritz, where he mended boats,had fallen in love with him. She had ruinedherself for him. He had deserted her for otherwomen, and this sentimental celebrity did notfail to enhance his artistic reputation. The dip-lomatic mummer took care always to slip intohis advertisements some poetic phrase on thefascination of his person and the susceptibilityof his soul. A fine organ, imperturbable cool-ness, more temperament than intelligence,more power of emphasis than of real singing,made up the charm of this admirable charlatannature, in which there was something of thehairdresser and the toreador.

From the first scene he evoked enthusiasm. Hepressed Lucy in his arms, he left her, he cameback, he seemed desperate; he had outbursts ofrage, then elegiac gurglings of infinite sweet-ness, and the notes escaped from his bare neckfull of sobs and kisses. Emma leant forward tosee him, clutching the velvet of the box withher nails. She was filling her heart with thesemelodious lamentations that were drawn out tothe accompaniment of the double-basses, likethe cries of the drowning in the tumult of atempest. She recognised all the intoxication andthe anguish that had almost killed her. Thevoice of a prima donna seemed to her to be butechoes of her conscience, and this illusion thatcharmed her as some very thing of her own life.But no one on earth had loved her with suchlove. He had not wept like Edgar that lastmoonlit night when they said, "To-morrow! to-morrow!" The theatre rang with cheers; theyrecommenced the entire movement; the loversspoke of the flowers on their tomb, of vows,

exile, fate, hopes; and when they uttered thefinal adieu, Emma gave a sharp cry that min-gled with the vibrations of the last chords.

"But why," asked Bovary, "does that gentlemanpersecute her?"

"No, no!" she answered; "he is her lover!"

"Yet he vows vengeance on her family, whilethe other one who came on before said, 'I loveLucie and she loves me!' Besides, he went offwith her father arm in arm. For he certainly isher father, isn't he—the ugly little man with acock's feather in his hat?"

Despite Emma's explanations, as soon as therecitative duet began in which Gilbert lays barehis abominable machinations to his masterAshton, Charles, seeing the false troth-ring thatis to deceive Lucie, thought it was a love-giftsent by Edgar. He confessed, moreover, that hedid not understand the story because of the

music, which interfered very much with thewords.

"What does it matter?" said Emma. "Do bequiet!"

"Yes, but you know," he went on, leaningagainst her shoulder, "I like to understandthings."

"Be quiet! be quiet!" she cried impatiently.

Lucie advanced, half supported by her women,a wreath of orange blossoms in her hair, andpaler than the white satin of her gown. Emmadreamed of her marriage day; she saw herselfat home again amid the corn in the little path asthey walked to the church. Oh, why had notshe, like this woman, resisted, implored? She,on the contrary, had been joyous, without see-ing the abyss into which she was throwing her-self. Ah! if in the freshness of her beauty, beforethe soiling of marriage and the disillusions of

adultery, she could have anchored her lifeupon some great, strong heart, then virtue, ten-derness, voluptuousness, and duty blending,she would never have fallen from so high ahappiness. But that happiness, no doubt, was alie invented for the despair of all desire. Shenow knew the smallness of the passions that artexaggerated. So, striving to divert her thoughts,Emma determined now to see in this reproduc-tion of her sorrows only a plastic fantasy, wellenough to please the eye, and she even smiledinternally with disdainful pity when at the backof the stage under the velvet hangings a manappeared in a black cloak.

His large Spanish hat fell at a gesture he made,and immediately the instruments and the sing-ers began the sextet. Edgar, flashing with fury,dominated all the others with his clearer voice;Ashton hurled homicidal provocations at himin deep notes; Lucie uttered her shrill plaint,Arthur at one side, his modulated tones in the

middle register, and the bass of the ministerpealed forth like an organ, while the voices ofthe women repeating his words took them upin chorus delightfully. They were all in a rowgesticulating, and anger, vengeance, jealousy,terror, and stupefaction breathed forth at oncefrom their half-opened mouths. The outragedlover brandished his naked sword; his guipureruffle rose with jerks to the movements of hischest, and he walked from right to left withlong strides, clanking against the boards thesilver-gilt spurs of his soft boots, widening outat the ankles. He, she thought must have aninexhaustible love to lavish it upon the crowdwith such effusion. All her small fault-findingsfaded before the poetry of the part that ab-sorbed her; and, drawn towards this man bythe illusion of the character, she tried to imag-ine to herself his life—that life resonant, ex-traordinary, splendid, and that might havebeen hers if fate had willed it. They would haveknown one another, loved one another. With

him, through all the kingdoms of Europe shewould have travelled from capital to capital,sharing his fatigues and his pride, picking upthe flowers thrown to him, herself embroider-ing his costumes. Then each evening, at theback of a box, behind the golden trellis-workshe would have drunk in eagerly the expan-sions of this soul that would have sung for heralone; from the stage, even as he acted, hewould have looked at her. But the mad ideaseized her that he was looking at her; it wascertain. She longed to run to his arms, to takerefuge in his strength, as in the incarnation oflove itself, and to say to him, to cry out, "Takeme away! carry me with you! let us go! Thine,thine! all my ardour and all my dreams!"

The curtain fell.

The smell of the gas mingled with that of thebreaths, the waving of the fans, made the airmore suffocating. Emma wanted to go out; thecrowd filled the corridors, and she fell back in

her arm-chair with palpitations that chokedher. Charles, fearing that she would faint, ranto the refreshment-room to get a glass of bar-ley-water.

He had great difficulty in getting back to hisseat, for his elbows were jerked at every stepbecause of the glass he held in his hands, andhe even spilt three-fourths on the shoulders of aRouen lady in short sleeves, who feeling thecold liquid running down to her loins, utteredcries like a peacock, as if she were being assas-sinated. Her husband, who was a millowner,railed at the clumsy fellow, and while she waswith her handkerchief wiping up the stainsfrom her handsome cherry-coloured taffetagown, he angrily muttered about indemnity,costs, reimbursement. At last Charles reachedhis wife, saying to her, quite out of breath—

"Ma foi! I thought I should have had to staythere. There is such a crowd—SUCH a crowd!"

He added—

"Just guess whom I met up there! MonsieurLeon!"

"Leon?"

"Himself! He's coming along to pay his re-spects." And as he finished these words the ex-clerk of Yonville entered the box.

He held out his hand with the ease of a gentle-man; and Madame Bovary extended hers,without doubt obeying the attraction of astronger will. She had not felt it since thatspring evening when the rain fell upon thegreen leaves, and they had said good-byestanding at the window. But soon recalling her-self to the necessities of the situation, with aneffort she shook off the torpor of her memories,and began stammering a few hurried words.

"Ah, good-day! What! you here?"

"Silence!" cried a voice from the pit, for thethird act was beginning.

"So you are at Rouen?"

"Yes."

"And since when?"

"Turn them out! turn them out!" People werelooking at them. They were silent.

But from that moment she listened no more;and the chorus of the guests, the scene betweenAshton and his servant, the grand duet in Dmajor, all were for her as far off as if the in-struments had grown less sonorous and thecharacters more remote. She remembered thegames at cards at the druggist's, and the walkto the nurse's, the reading in the arbour, thetete-a-tete by the fireside—all that poor love, socalm and so protracted, so discreet, so tender,and that she had nevertheless forgotten. And

why had he come back? What combination ofcircumstances had brought him back into herlife? He was standing behind her, leaning withhis shoulder against the wall of the box; nowand again she felt herself shuddering beneaththe hot breath from his nostrils falling upon herhair.

"Does this amuse you?" said he, bending overher so closely that the end of his moustachebrushed her cheek. She replied carelessly—

"Oh, dear me, no, not much."

Then he proposed that they should leave thetheatre and go and take an ice somewhere.

"Oh, not yet; let us stay," said Bovary. "Herhair's undone; this is going to be tragic."

But the mad scene did not at all interest Emma,and the acting of the singer seemed to her ex-aggerated.

"She screams too loud," said she, turning toCharles, who was listening.

"Yes—a little," he replied, undecided betweenthe frankness of his pleasure and his respect forhis wife's opinion.

Then with a sigh Leon said—

"The heat is—"

"Unbearable! Yes!"

"Do you feel unwell?" asked Bovary.

"Yes, I am stifling; let us go."

Monsieur Leon put her long lace shawl care-fully about her shoulders, and all three went offto sit down in the harbour, in the open air, out-side the windows of a cafe.

First they spoke of her illness, although Emmainterrupted Charles from time to time, for fear,

she said, of boring Monsieur Leon; and the lat-ter told them that he had come to spend twoyears at Rouen in a large office, in order to getpractice in his profession, which was differentin Normandy and Paris. Then he inquired afterBerthe, the Homais, Mere Lefrancois, and asthey had, in the husband's presence, nothingmore to say to one another, the conversationsoon came to an end.

People coming out of the theatre passed alongthe pavement, humming or shouting at the topof their voices, "O bel ange, ma Lucie!*" ThenLeon, playing the dilettante, began to talk mu-sic. He had seen Tambourini, Rubini, Persiani,Grisi, and, compared with them, Lagardy, de-spite his grand outbursts, was nowhere.

*Oh beautiful angel, my Lucie.

"Yet," interrupted Charles, who was slowlysipping his rum-sherbet, "they say that he isquite admirable in the last act. I regret leaving

before the end, because it was beginning toamuse me."

"Why," said the clerk, "he will soon give an-other performance."

But Charles replied that they were going backnext day. "Unless," he added, turning to hiswife, "you would like to stay alone, kitten?"

And changing his tactics at this unexpectedopportunity that presented itself to his hopes,the young man sang the praises of Lagardy inthe last number. It was really superb, sublime.Then Charles insisted—

"You would get back on Sunday. Come, makeup your mind. You are wrong if you feel thatthis is doing you the least good."

The tables round them, however, were empty-ing; a waiter came and stood discreetly nearthem. Charles, who understood, took out his

purse; the clerk held back his arm, and did notforget to leave two more pieces of silver that hemade chink on the marble.

"I am really sorry," said Bovary, "about themoney which you are—"

The other made a careless gesture full of cor-diality, and taking his hat said—

"It is settled, isn't it? To-morrow at six o'clock?"

Charles explained once more that he could notabsent himself longer, but that nothing pre-vented Emma—

"But," she stammered, with a strange smile, "Iam not sure—"

"Well, you must think it over. We'll see. Nightbrings counsel." Then to Leon, who was walk-ing along with them, "Now that you are in ourpart of the world, I hope you'll come and ask usfor some dinner now and then."

The clerk declared he would not fail to do so,being obliged, moreover, to go to Yonville onsome business for his office. And they partedbefore the Saint-Herbland Passage just as theclock in the cathedral struck half-past eleven.

Part III

Chapter One

Monsieur Leon, while studying law, had gonepretty often to the dancing-rooms, where hewas even a great success amongst the grisettes,

who thought he had a distinguished air. Hewas the best-mannered of the students; he worehis hair neither too long nor too short, didn'tspend all his quarter's money on the first day ofthe month, and kept on good terms with hisprofessors. As for excesses, he had always ab-stained from them, as much from cowardice asfrom refinement.

Often when he stayed in his room to read, orelse when sitting of an evening under the lime-trees of the Luxembourg, he let his Code fall tothe ground, and the memory of Emma cameback to him. But gradually this feeling grewweaker, and other desires gathered over it, al-though it still persisted through them all. ForLeon did not lose all hope; there was for him,as it were, a vague promise floating in the fu-ture, like a golden fruit suspended from somefantastic tree.

Then, seeing her again after three years of ab-sence his passion reawakened. He must, he

thought, at last make up his mind to possessher. Moreover, his timidity had worn off bycontact with his gay companions, and he re-turned to the provinces despising everyonewho had not with varnished shoes trodden theasphalt of the boulevards. By the side of a Pa-risienne in her laces, in the drawing-room ofsome illustrious physician, a person driving hiscarriage and wearing many orders, the poorclerk would no doubt have trembled like achild; but here, at Rouen, on the harbour, withthe wife of this small doctor he felt at his ease,sure beforehand he would shine. Self-possession depends on its environment. Wedon't speak on the first floor as on the fourth;and the wealthy woman seems to have, abouther, to guard her virtue, all her banknotes, likea cuirass in the lining of her corset.

On leaving the Bovarys the night before, Leonhad followed them through the streets at a dis-tance; then having seen them stop at the "Croix-

Rouge," he turned on his heel, and spent thenight meditating a plan.

So the next day about five o'clock he walkedinto the kitchen of the inn, with a choking sen-sation in his throat, pale cheeks, and that reso-lution of cowards that stops at nothing.

"The gentleman isn't in," answered a servant.

This seemed to him a good omen. He went up-stairs.

She was not disturbed at his approach; on thecontrary, she apologised for having neglectedto tell him where they were staying.

"Oh, I divined it!" said Leon.

He pretended he had been guided towards herby chance, by, instinct. She began to smile; andat once, to repair his folly, Leon told her that hehad spent his morning in looking for her in allthe hotels in the town one after the other.

"So you have made up your mind to stay?" headded.

"Yes," she said, "and I am wrong. One oughtnot to accustom oneself to impossible pleasureswhen there are a thousand demands upon one."

"Oh, I can imagine!"

"Ah! no; for you, you are a man!"

But men too had had their trials, and the con-versation went off into certain philosophicalreflections. Emma expatiated much on the mis-ery of earthly affections, and the eternal isola-tion in which the heart remains entombed.

To show off, or from a naive imitation of thismelancholy which called forth his, the youngman declared that he had been awfully boredduring the whole course of his studies. The lawirritated him, other vocations attracted him,and his mother never ceased worrying him in

every one of her letters. As they talked theyexplained more and more fully the motives oftheir sadness, working themselves up in theirprogressive confidence. But they sometimesstopped short of the complete exposition oftheir thought, and then sought to invent aphrase that might express it all the same. Shedid not confess her passion for another; he didnot say that he had forgotten her.

Perhaps he no longer remembered his supperswith girls after masked balls; and no doubt shedid not recollect the rendezvous of old whenshe ran across the fields in the morning to herlover's house. The noises of the town hardlyreached them, and the room seemed small, as ifon purpose to hem in their solitude moreclosely. Emma, in a dimity dressing-gown,leant her head against the back of the old arm-chair; the yellow wall-paper formed, as it were,a golden background behind her, and her barehead was mirrored in the glass with the white

parting in the middle, and the tip of her earspeeping out from the folds of her hair.

"But pardon me!" she said. "It is wrong of me. Iweary you with my eternal complaints."

"No, never, never!"

"If you knew," she went on, raising to the ceil-ing her beautiful eyes, in which a tear wastrembling, "all that I had dreamed!"

"And I! Oh, I too have suffered! Often I wentout; I went away. I dragged myself along thequays, seeking distraction amid the din of thecrowd without being able to banish the heavi-ness that weighed upon me. In an engraver'sshop on the boulevard there is an Italian printof one of the Muses. She is draped in a tunic,and she is looking at the moon, with forget-me-nots in her flowing hair. Something drove methere continually; I stayed there hours to-

gether." Then in a trembling voice, "She resem-bled you a little."

Madame Bovary turned away her head that hemight not see the irrepressible smile she feltrising to her lips.

"Often," he went on, "I wrote you letters that Itore up."

She did not answer. He continued—

"I sometimes fancied that some chance wouldbring you. I thought I recognised you at street-corners, and I ran after all the carriages throughwhose windows I saw a shawl fluttering, a veillike yours."

She seemed resolved to let him go on speakingwithout interruption. Crossing her arms andbending down her face, she looked at the ro-settes on her slippers, and at intervals made

little movements inside the satin of them withher toes.

At last she sighed.

"But the most wretched thing, is it not—is todrag out, as I do, a useless existence. If ourpains were only of some use to someone, weshould find consolation in the thought of thesacrifice."

He started off in praise of virtue, duty, and si-lent immolation, having himself an incrediblelonging for self-sacrifice that he could not sat-isfy.

"I should much like," she said, "to be a nurse ata hospital."

"Alas! men have none of these holy missions,and I see nowhere any calling—unless perhapsthat of a doctor."

With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Emmainterrupted him to speak of her illness, whichhad almost killed her. What a pity! She shouldnot be suffering now! Leon at once envied thecalm of the tomb, and one evening he had evenmade his will, asking to be buried in that beau-tiful rug with velvet stripes he had receivedfrom her. For this was how they would havewished to be, each setting up an ideal to whichthey were now adapting their past life. Besides,speech is a rolling-mill that always thins out thesentiment.

But at this invention of the rug she asked, "Butwhy?"

"Why?" He hesitated. "Because I loved you so!"And congratulating himself at having sur-mounted the difficulty, Leon watched her faceout of the corner of his eyes.

It was like the sky when a gust of wind drivesthe clouds across. The mass of sad thoughts

that darkened them seemed to be lifted fromher blue eyes; her whole face shone. He waited.At last she replied—

"I always suspected it."

Then they went over all the trifling events ofthat far-off existence, whose joys and sorrowsthey had just summed up in one word. Theyrecalled the arbour with clematis, the dressesshe had worn, the furniture of her room, thewhole of her house.

"And our poor cactuses, where are they?"

"The cold killed them this winter."

"Ah! how I have thought of them, do youknow? I often saw them again as of yore, whenon the summer mornings the sun beat downupon your blinds, and I saw your two barearms passing out amongst the flowers."

"Poor friend!" she said, holding out her hand tohim.

Leon swiftly pressed his lips to it. Then, whenhe had taken a deep breath—

"At that time you were to me I know not whatincomprehensible force that took captive mylife. Once, for instance, I went to see you; butyou, no doubt, do not remember it."

"I do," she said; "go on."

"You were downstairs in the ante-room, readyto go out, standing on the last stair; you werewearing a bonnet with small blue flowers; andwithout any invitation from you, in spite ofmyself, I went with you. Every moment, how-ever, I grew more and more conscious of myfolly, and I went on walking by you, not daringto follow you completely, and unwilling toleave you. When you went into a shop, I waitedin the street, and I watched you through the

window taking off your gloves and countingthe change on the counter. Then you rang atMadame Tuvache's; you were let in, and I stoodlike an idiot in front of the great heavy doorthat had closed after you."

Madame Bovary, as she listened to him, won-dered that she was so old. All these things re-appearing before her seemed to widen out herlife; it was like some sentimental immensity towhich she returned; and from time to time shesaid in a low voice, her eyes half closed—

"Yes, it is true—true—true!"

They heard eight strike on the different clocksof the Beauvoisine quarter, which is full ofschools, churches, and large empty hotels. Theyno longer spoke, but they felt as they lookedupon each other a buzzing in their heads, as ifsomething sonorous had escaped from thefixed eyes of each of them. They were hand inhand now, and the past, the future, reminis-

cences and dreams, all were confounded in thesweetness of this ecstasy. Night was darkeningover the walls, on which still shone, half hiddenin the shade, the coarse colours of four billsrepresenting four scenes from the "Tour deNesle," with a motto in Spanish and French atthe bottom. Through the sash-window a patchof dark sky was seen between the pointedroofs.

She rose to light two wax-candles on the draw-ers, then she sat down again.

"Well!" said Leon.

"Well!" she replied.

He was thinking how to resume the interruptedconversation, when she said to him—

"How is it that no one until now has ever ex-pressed such sentiments to me?"

The clerk said that ideal natures were difficultto understand. He from the first moment hadloved her, and he despaired when he thoughtof the happiness that would have been theirs, ifthanks to fortune, meeting her earlier, they hadbeen indissolubly bound to one another.

"I have sometimes thought of it," she went on.

"What a dream!" murmured Leon. And finger-ing gently the blue binding of her long whitesash, he added, "And who prevents us frombeginning now?"

"No, my friend," she replied; "I am too old; youare too young. Forget me! Others will love you;you will love them."

"Not as you!" he cried.

"What a child you are! Come, let us be sensible.I wish it."

She showed him the impossibility of their love,and that they must remain, as formerly, on thesimple terms of a fraternal friendship.

Was she speaking thus seriously? No doubtEmma did not herself know, quite absorbed asshe was by the charm of the seduction, and thenecessity of defending herself from it; and con-templating the young man with a moved look,she gently repulsed the timid caresses that histrembling hands attempted.

"Ah! forgive me!" he cried, drawing back.

Emma was seized with a vague fear at thisshyness, more dangerous to her than the bold-ness of Rodolphe when he advanced to heropen-armed. No man had ever seemed to herso beautiful. An exquisite candour emanatedfrom his being. He lowered his long fine eye-lashes, that curled upwards. His cheek, withthe soft skin reddened, she thought, with desireof her person, and Emma felt an invincible

longing to press her lips to it. Then, leaningtowards the clock as if to see the time—

"Ah! how late it is!" she said; "how we do chat-ter!"

He understood the hint and took up his hat.

"It has even made me forget the theatre. Andpoor Bovary has left me here especially for that.Monsieur Lormeaux, of the Rue Grand-Pont,was to take me and his wife."

And the opportunity was lost, as she was toleave the next day.

"Really!" said Leon.

"Yes."

"But I must see you again," he went on. "Iwanted to tell you—"

"What?"

"Something—important—serious. Oh, no! Be-sides, you will not go; it is impossible. If youshould—listen to me. Then you have not un-derstood me; you have not guessed—"

"Yet you speak plainly," said Emma.

"Ah! you can jest. Enough! enough! Oh, forpity's sake, let me see you once—only once!"

"Well—" She stopped; then, as if thinking betterof it, "Oh, not here!"

"Where you will."

"Will you—" She seemed to reflect; thenabruptly, "To-morrow at eleven o'clock in thecathedral."

"I shall be there," he cried, seizing her hands,which she disengaged.

And as they were both standing up, he behindher, and Emma with her head bent, he stoopedover her and pressed long kisses on her neck.

"You are mad! Ah! you are mad!" she said, withsounding little laughs, while the kisses multi-plied.

Then bending his head over her shoulder, heseemed to beg the consent of her eyes. They fellupon him full of an icy dignity.

Leon stepped back to go out. He stopped on thethreshold; then he whispered with a tremblingvoice, "Tomorrow!"

She answered with a nod, and disappeared likea bird into the next room.

In the evening Emma wrote the clerk an inter-minable letter, in which she cancelled the ren-dezvous; all was over; they must not, for thesake of their happiness, meet again. But when

the letter was finished, as she did not knowLeon's address, she was puzzled.

"I'll give it to him myself," she said; "he willcome."

The next morning, at the open window, andhumming on his balcony, Leon himself var-nished his pumps with several coatings. He puton white trousers, fine socks, a green coat, emp-tied all the scent he had into his handkerchief,then having had his hair curled, he uncurled itagain, in order to give it a more natural ele-gance.

"It is still too early," he thought, looking at thehairdresser's cuckoo-clock, that pointed to thehour of nine. He read an old fashion journal,went out, smoked a cigar, walked up threestreets, thought it was time, and went slowlytowards the porch of Notre Dame.

It was a beautiful summer morning. Silver platesparkled in the jeweller's windows, and thelight falling obliquely on the cathedral mademirrors of the corners of the grey stones; a flockof birds fluttered in the grey sky round the tre-foil bell-turrets; the square, resounding withcries, was fragrant with the flowers that bor-dered its pavement, roses, jasmines, pinks, nar-cissi, and tube-roses, unevenly spaced out be-tween moist grasses, catmint, and chickweedfor the birds; the fountains gurgled in the cen-tre, and under large umbrellas, amidst melons,piled up in heaps, flower-women, bare-headed,were twisting paper round bunches of violets.

The young man took one. It was the first timethat he had bought flowers for a woman, andhis breast, as he smelt them, swelled withpride, as if this homage that he meant for an-other had recoiled upon himself.

But he was afraid of being seen; he resolutelyentered the church. The beadle, who was just

then standing on the threshold in the middle ofthe left doorway, under the "DancingMarianne," with feather cap, and rapier dan-gling against his calves, came in, more majesticthan a cardinal, and as shining as a saint on aholy pyx.

He came towards Leon, and, with that smile ofwheedling benignity assumed by ecclesiasticswhen they question children—

"The gentleman, no doubt, does not belong tothese parts? The gentleman would like to seethe curiosities of the church?"

"No!" said the other.

And he first went round the lower aisles. Thenhe went out to look at the Place. Emma was notcoming yet. He went up again to the choir.

The nave was reflected in the full fonts with thebeginning of the arches and some portions of

the glass windows. But the reflections of thepaintings, broken by the marble rim, were con-tinued farther on upon the flag-stones, like amany-coloured carpet. The broad daylight fromwithout streamed into the church in threeenormous rays from the three opened portals.From time to time at the upper end a sacristanpassed, making the oblique genuflexion of de-vout persons in a hurry. The crystal lustreshung motionless. In the choir a silver lamp wasburning, and from the side chapels and darkplaces of the church sometimes rose soundslike sighs, with the clang of a closing grating,its echo reverberating under the lofty vault.

Leon with solemn steps walked along by thewalls. Life had never seemed so good to him.She would come directly, charming, agitated,looking back at the glances that followed her,and with her flounced dress, her gold eyeglass,her thin shoes, with all sorts of elegant triflesthat he had never enjoyed, and with the ineffa-

ble seduction of yielding virtue. The church likea huge boudoir spread around her; the archesbent down to gather in the shade the confessionof her love; the windows shone resplendent toillumine her face, and the censers would burnthat she might appear like an angel amid thefumes of the sweet-smelling odours.

But she did not come. He sat down on a chair,and his eyes fell upon a blue stained windowrepresenting boatmen carrying baskets. Helooked at it long, attentively, and he countedthe scales of the fishes and the button-holes ofthe doublets, while his thoughts wandered offtowards Emma.

The beadle, standing aloof, was inwardly angryat this individual who took the liberty of ad-miring the cathedral by himself. He seemed tohim to be conducting himself in a monstrousfashion, to be robbing him in a sort, and almostcommitting sacrilege.

But a rustle of silk on the flags, the tip of a bon-net, a lined cloak—it was she! Leon rose andran to meet her.

Emma was pale. She walked fast.

"Read!" she said, holding out a paper to him."Oh, no!"

And she abruptly withdrew her hand to enterthe chapel of the Virgin, where, kneeling on achair, she began to pray.

The young man was irritated at this bigotfancy; then he nevertheless experienced a cer-tain charm in seeing her, in the middle of arendezvous, thus lost in her devotions, like anAndalusian marchioness; then he grew bored,for she seemed never coming to an end.

Emma prayed, or rather strove to pray, hopingthat some sudden resolution might descend toher from heaven; and to draw down divine aid

she filled full her eyes with the splendours ofthe tabernacle. She breathed in the perfumes ofthe full-blown flowers in the large vases, andlistened to the stillness of the church, that onlyheightened the tumult of her heart.

She rose, and they were about to leave, whenthe beadle came forward, hurriedly saying—

"Madame, no doubt, does not belong to theseparts? Madame would like to see the curiositiesof the church?"

"Oh, no!" cried the clerk.

"Why not?" said she. For she clung with herexpiring virtue to the Virgin, the sculptures, thetombs—anything.

Then, in order to proceed "by rule," the beadleconducted them right to the entrance near thesquare, where, pointing out with his cane a

large circle of block-stones without inscriptionor carving—

"This," he said majestically, "is the circumfer-ence of the beautiful bell of Ambroise. Itweighed forty thousand pounds. There was notits equal in all Europe. The workman who castit died of the joy—"

"Let us go on," said Leon.

The old fellow started off again; then, havinggot back to the chapel of the Virgin, hestretched forth his arm with an all-embracinggesture of demonstration, and, prouder than acountry squire showing you his espaliers, wenton—

"This simple stone covers Pierre de Breze, lordof Varenne and of Brissac, grand marshal ofPoitou, and governor of Normandy, who diedat the battle of Montlhery on the 16th of July,1465."

Leon bit his lips, fuming.

"And on the right, this gentleman all encased iniron, on the prancing horse, is his grandson,Louis de Breze, lord of Breval and ofMontchauvet, Count de Maulevrier, Baron deMauny, chamberlain to the king, Knight of theOrder, and also governor of Normandy; diedon the 23rd of July, 1531—a Sunday, as the in-scription specifies; and below, this figure, aboutto descend into the tomb, portrays the sameperson. It is not possible, is it, to see a moreperfect representation of annihilation?"

Madame Bovary put up her eyeglasses. Leon,motionless, looked at her, no longer even at-tempting to speak a single word, to make agesture, so discouraged was he at this two-foldobstinacy of gossip and indifference.

The everlasting guide went on—

"Near him, this kneeling woman who weeps ishis spouse, Diane de Poitiers, Countess deBreze, Duchess de Valentinois, born in 1499,died in 1566, and to the left, the one with thechild is the Holy Virgin. Now turn to this side;here are the tombs of the Ambroise. They wereboth cardinals and archbishops of Rouen. Thatone was minister under Louis XII. He did agreat deal for the cathedral. In his will he leftthirty thousand gold crowns for the poor."

And without stopping, still talking, he pushedthem into a chapel full of balustrades, some putaway, and disclosed a kind of block that cer-tainly might once have been an ill-made statue.

"Truly," he said with a groan, "it adorned thetomb of Richard Coeur de Lion, King of Eng-land and Duke of Normandy. It was the Cal-vinists, sir, who reduced it to this condition.They had buried it for spite in the earth, underthe episcopal seat of Monsignor. See! this is thedoor by which Monsignor passes to his house.

Let us pass on quickly to see the gargoyle win-dows."

But Leon hastily took some silver from hispocket and seized Emma's arm. The beadlestood dumfounded, not able to understand thisuntimely munificence when there were still somany things for the stranger to see. So callinghim back, he cried—

"Sir! sir! The steeple! the steeple!"

"No, thank you!" said Leon.

"You are wrong, sir! It is four hundred andforty feet high, nine less than the great pyramidof Egypt. It is all cast; it—"

Leon was fleeing, for it seemed to him that hislove, that for nearly two hours now had be-come petrified in the church like the stones,would vanish like a vapour through that sort oftruncated funnel, of oblong cage, of open

chimney that rises so grotesquely from the ca-thedral like the extravagant attempt of somefantastic brazier.

"But where are we going?" she said.

Making no answer, he walked on with a rapidstep; and Madame Bovary was already, dip-ping her finger in the holy water when behindthem they heard a panting breath interruptedby the regular sound of a cane. Leon turnedback.

"Sir!"

"What is it?"

And he recognised the beadle, holding underhis arms and balancing against his stomachsome twenty large sewn volumes. They wereworks "which treated of the cathedral."

"Idiot!" growled Leon, rushing out of thechurch.

A lad was playing about the close.

"Go and get me a cab!"

The child bounded off like a ball by the RueQuatre-Vents; then they were alone a few min-utes, face to face, and a little embarrassed.

"Ah! Leon! Really—I don't know—if I ought,"she whispered. Then with a more serious air,"Do you know, it is very improper—"

"How so?" replied the clerk. "It is done atParis."

And that, as an irresistible argument, decidedher.

Still the cab did not come. Leon was afraid shemight go back into the church. At last the cabappeared.

"At all events, go out by the north porch," criedthe beadle, who was left alone on the threshold,

"so as to see the Resurrection, the Last Judg-ment, Paradise, King David, and the Con-demned in Hell-flames."

"Where to, sir?" asked the coachman.

"Where you like," said Leon, forcing Emma intothe cab.

And the lumbering machine set out. It wentdown the Rue Grand-Pont, crossed the Placedes Arts, the Quai Napoleon, the Pont Neuf,and stopped short before the statue of PierreCorneille.

"Go on," cried a voice that came from within.

The cab went on again, and as soon as itreached the Carrefour Lafayette, set off down-hill, and entered the station at a gallop.

"No, straight on!" cried the same voice.

The cab came out by the gate, and soon havingreached the Cours, trotted quietly beneath theelm-trees. The coachman wiped his brow, puthis leather hat between his knees, and drove hiscarriage beyond the side alley by the meadowto the margin of the waters.

It went along by the river, along the towing-path paved with sharp pebbles, and for a longwhile in the direction of Oyssel, beyond theisles.

But suddenly it turned with a dash acrossQuatremares, Sotteville, La Grande-Chaussee,the Rue d'Elbeuf, and made its third halt infront of the Jardin des Plantes.

"Get on, will you?" cried the voice more furi-ously.

And at once resuming its course, it passed bySaint-Sever, by the Quai'des Curandiers, theQuai aux Meules, once more over the bridge,

by the Place du Champ de Mars, and behindthe hospital gardens, where old men in blackcoats were walking in the sun along the terraceall green with ivy. It went up the BoulevardBouvreuil, along the Boulevard Cauchoise, thenthe whole of Mont-Riboudet to the Deville hills.

It came back; and then, without any fixed planor direction, wandered about at hazard. Thecab was seen at Saint-Pol, at Lescure, at MontGargan, at La Rougue-Marc and Place du Gail-lardbois; in the Rue Maladrerie, Rue Di-nanderie, before Saint-Romain, Saint-Vivien,Saint-Maclou, Saint-Nicaise—in front of theCustoms, at the "Vieille Tour," the "Trois Pipes,"and the Monumental Cemetery. From time totime the coachman, on his box cast despairingeyes at the public-houses. He could not under-stand what furious desire for locomotion urgedthese individuals never to wish to stop. Hetried to now and then, and at once exclama-tions of anger burst forth behind him. Then he

lashed his perspiring jades afresh, but indiffer-ent to their jolting, running up against thingshere and there, not caring if he did, demoral-ised, and almost weeping with thirst, fatigue,and depression.

And on the harbour, in the midst of the draysand casks, and in the streets, at the corners, thegood folk opened large wonder-stricken eyes atthis sight, so extraordinary in the provinces, acab with blinds drawn, and which appearedthus constantly shut more closely than a tomb,and tossing about like a vessel.

Once in the middle of the day, in the opencountry, just as the sun beat most fiercelyagainst the old plated lanterns, a bared handpassed beneath the small blinds of yellow can-vas, and threw out some scraps of paper thatscattered in the wind, and farther off lightedlike white butterflies on a field of red clover allin bloom.

At about six o'clock the carriage stopped in aback street of the Beauvoisine Quarter, and awoman got out, who walked with her veildown, and without turning her head.

Chapter Two

On reaching the inn, Madame Bovary was sur-prised not to see the diligence. Hivert, who hadwaited for her fifty-three minutes, had at laststarted.

Yet nothing forced her to go; but she had givenher word that she would return that same eve-ning. Moreover, Charles expected her, and inher heart she felt already that cowardly docilitythat is for some women at once the chastise-ment and atonement of adultery.

She packed her box quickly, paid her bill, tooka cab in the yard, hurrying on the driver, urg-ing him on, every moment inquiring about thetime and the miles traversed. He succeeded incatching up the "Hirondelle" as it neared thefirst houses of Quincampoix.

Hardly was she seated in her corner than sheclosed her eyes, and opened them at the foot ofthe hill, when from afar she recognised Felicite,who was on the lookout in front of the farrier'sshop. Hivert pulled in his horses and, the ser-vant, climbing up to the window, said mysteri-ously—

"Madame, you must go at once to MonsieurHomais. It's for something important."

The village was silent as usual. At the corner ofthe streets were small pink heaps that smokedin the air, for this was the time for jam-making,and everyone at Yonville prepared his supplyon the same day. But in front of the chemist's

shop one might admire a far larger heap, andthat surpassed the others with the superioritythat a laboratory must have over ordinarystores, a general need over individual fancy.

She went in. The large arm-chair was upset,and even the "Fanal de Rouen" lay on theground, outspread between two pestles. Shepushed open the lobby door, and in the middleof the kitchen, amid brown jars full of pickedcurrants, of powdered sugar and lump sugar,of the scales on the table, and of the pans on thefire, she saw all the Homais, small and large,with aprons reaching to their chins, and withforks in their hands. Justin was standing upwith bowed head, and the chemist was scream-ing—

"Who told you to go and fetch it in the Caphar-naum."

"What is it? What is the matter?"

"What is it?" replied the druggist. "We are mak-ing preserves; they are simmering; but theywere about to boil over, because there is toomuch juice, and I ordered another pan. Thenhe, from indolence, from laziness, went andtook, hanging on its nail in my laboratory, thekey of the Capharnaum."

It was thus the druggist called a small roomunder the leads, full of the utensils and thegoods of his trade. He often spent long hoursthere alone, labelling, decanting, and doing upagain; and he looked upon it not as a simplestore, but as a veritable sanctuary, whencethere afterwards issued, elaborated by hishands, all sorts of pills, boluses, infusions, lo-tions, and potions, that would bear far andwide his celebrity. No one in the world set footthere, and he respected it so, that he swept ithimself. Finally, if the pharmacy, open to allcomers, was the spot where he displayed hispride, the Capharnaum was the refuge where,

egoistically concentrating himself, Homais de-lighted in the exercise of his predilections, sothat Justin's thoughtlessness seemed to him amonstrous piece of irreverence, and, redderthan the currants, he repeated—

"Yes, from the Capharnaum! The key that locksup the acids and caustic alkalies! To go and geta spare pan! a pan with a lid! and that I shallperhaps never use! Everything is of importancein the delicate operations of our art! But, deviltake it! one must make distinctions, and notemploy for almost domestic purposes thatwhich is meant for pharmaceutical! It is as ifone were to carve a fowl with a scalpel; as if amagistrate—"

"Now be calm," said Madame Homais.

And Athalie, pulling at his coat, cried "Papa!papa!"

"No, let me alone," went on the druggist "let mealone, hang it! My word! One might as well setup for a grocer. That's it! go it! respect nothing!break, smash, let loose the leeches, burn themallow-paste, pickle the gherkins in the win-dow jars, tear up the bandages!"

"I thought you had—" said Emma.

"Presently! Do you know to what you exposedyourself? Didn't you see anything in the corner,on the left, on the third shelf? Speak, answer,articulate something."

"I—don't—know," stammered the young fel-low.

"Ah! you don't know! Well, then, I do know!You saw a bottle of blue glass, sealed with yel-low wax, that contains a white powder, onwhich I have even written 'Dangerous!' And doyou know what is in it? Arsenic! And you go

and touch it! You take a pan that was next toit!"

"Next to it!" cried Madame Homais, claspingher hands. "Arsenic! You might have poisonedus all."

And the children began howling as if they al-ready had frightful pains in their entrails.

"Or poison a patient!" continued the druggist."Do you want to see me in the prisoner's dockwith criminals, in a court of justice? To see medragged to the scaffold? Don't you know whatcare I take in managing things, although I amso thoroughly used to it? Often I am horrifiedmyself when I think of my responsibility; forthe Government persecutes us, and the absurdlegislation that rules us is a veritable Damocles'sword over our heads."

Emma no longer dreamed of asking what theywanted her for, and the druggist went on inbreathless phrases—

"That is your return for all the kindness wehave shown you! That is how you recompenseme for the really paternal care that I lavish onyou! For without me where would you be?What would you be doing? Who provides youwith food, education, clothes, and all the meansof figuring one day with honour in the ranks ofsociety? But you must pull hard at the oar ifyou're to do that, and get, as, people say, cal-losities upon your hands. Fabricando fit faber,age quod agis.*"

* The worker lives by working, do what hewill.

He was so exasperated he quoted Latin. Hewould have quoted Chinese or Greenlandishhad he known those two languages, for he wasin one of those crises in which the whole soulshows indistinctly what it contains, like the

ocean, which, in the storm, opens itself fromthe seaweeds on its shores down to the sands ofits abysses.

And he went on—

"I am beginning to repent terribly of havingtaken you up! I should certainly have done bet-ter to have left you to rot in your poverty andthe dirt in which you were born. Oh, you'llnever be fit for anything but to herd animalswith horns! You have no aptitude for science!You hardly know how to stick on a label! Andthere you are, dwelling with me snug as a par-son, living in clover, taking your ease!"

But Emma, turning to Madame Homais, "I wastold to come here—"

"Oh, dear me!" interrupted the good woman,with a sad air, "how am I to tell you? It is a mis-fortune!"

She could not finish, the druggist was thunder-ing—"Empty it! Clean it! Take it back! Bequick!"

And seizing Justin by the collar of his blouse,he shook a book out of his pocket. The ladstooped, but Homais was the quicker, and, hav-ing picked up the volume, contemplated it withstaring eyes and open mouth.

"CONJUGAL—LOVE!" he said, slowly separat-ing the two words. "Ah! very good! very good!very pretty! And illustrations! Oh, this is toomuch!"

Madame Homais came forward.

"No, do not touch it!"

The children wanted to look at the pictures.

"Leave the room," he said imperiously; andthey went out.

First he walked up and down with the openvolume in his hand, rolling his eyes, choking,tumid, apoplectic. Then he came straight to hispupil, and, planting himself in front of himwith crossed arms—

"Have you every vice, then, little wretch? Takecare! you are on a downward path. Did not youreflect that this infamous book might fall in thehands of my children, kindle a spark in theirminds, tarnish the purity of Athalie, corruptNapoleon. He is already formed like a man.Are you quite sure, anyhow, that they have notread it? Can you certify to me—"

"But really, sir," said Emma, "you wished to tellme—"

"Ah, yes! madame. Your father-in-law is dead."

In fact, Monsieur Bovary senior had expired theevening before suddenly from an attack ofapoplexy as he got up from table, and by way

of greater precaution, on account of Emma'ssensibility, Charles had begged Homais tobreak the horrible news to her gradually.Homais had thought over his speech; he hadrounded, polished it, made it rhythmical; it wasa masterpiece of prudence and transitions, ofsubtle turns and delicacy; but anger had got thebetter of rhetoric.

Emma, giving up all chance of hearing any de-tails, left the pharmacy; for Monsieur Homaishad taken up the thread of his vituperations.However, he was growing calmer, and wasnow grumbling in a paternal tone whilst hefanned himself with his skull-cap.

"It is not that I entirely disapprove of the work.Its author was a doctor! There are certain scien-tific points in it that it is not ill a man shouldknow, and I would even venture to say that aman must know. But later—later! At any rate,not till you are man yourself and your tem-perament is formed."

When Emma knocked at the door. Charles,who was waiting for her, came forward withopen arms and said to her with tears in hisvoice—

"Ah! my dear!"

And he bent over her gently to kiss her. But atthe contact of his lips the memory of the otherseized her, and she passed her hand over herface shuddering.

But she made answer, "Yes, I know, I know!"

He showed her the letter in which his mothertold the event without any sentimental hypoc-risy. She only regretted her husband had notreceived the consolations of religion, as he haddied at Daudeville, in the street, at the door of acafe after a patriotic dinner with some ex-officers.

Emma gave him back the letter; then at dinner,for appearance's sake, she affected a certainrepugnance. But as he urged her to try, sheresolutely began eating, while Charles oppositeher sat motionless in a dejected attitude.

Now and then he raised his head and gave hera long look full of distress. Once he sighed, "Ishould have liked to see him again!"

She was silent. At last, understanding that shemust say something, "How old was your fa-ther?" she asked.

"Fifty-eight."

"Ah!"

And that was all.

A quarter of an hour after he added, "My poormother! what will become of her now?"

She made a gesture that signified she did notknow. Seeing her so taciturn, Charles imaginedher much affected, and forced himself to saynothing, not to reawaken this sorrow whichmoved him. And, shaking off his own—

"Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?" he asked.

"Yes."

When the cloth was removed, Bovary did notrise, nor did Emma; and as she looked at him,the monotony of the spectacle drove little bylittle all pity from her heart. He seemed to herpaltry, weak, a cipher—in a word, a poor thingin every way. How to get rid of him? What aninterminable evening! Something stupefyinglike the fumes of opium seized her.

They heard in the passage the sharp noise of awooden leg on the boards. It was Hippolytebringing back Emma's luggage. In order to put

it down he described painfully a quarter of acircle with his stump.

"He doesn't even remember any more about it,"she thought, looking at the poor devil, whosecoarse red hair was wet with perspiration.

Bovary was searching at the bottom of hispurse for a centime, and without appearing tounderstand all there was of humiliation for himin the mere presence of this man, who stoodthere like a personified reproach to his incur-able incapacity.

"Hallo! you've a pretty bouquet," he said, notic-ing Leon's violets on the chimney.

"Yes," she replied indifferently; "it's a bouquet Ibought just now from a beggar."

Charles picked up the flowers, and fresheninghis eyes, red with tears, against them, smeltthem delicately.

She took them quickly from his hand and putthem in a glass of water.

The next day Madame Bovary senior arrived.She and her son wept much. Emma, on the pre-text of giving orders, disappeared. The follow-ing day they had a talk over the mourning.They went and sat down with their workboxesby the waterside under the arbour.

Charles was thinking of his father, and wassurprised to feel so much affection for this man,whom till then he had thought he cared littleabout. Madame Bovary senior was thinking ofher husband. The worst days of the pastseemed enviable to her. All was forgotten be-neath the instinctive regret of such a long habit,and from time to time whilst she sewed, a bigtear rolled along her nose and hung suspendedthere a moment. Emma was thinking that itwas scarcely forty-eight hours since they hadbeen together, far from the world, all in afrenzy of joy, and not having eyes enough to

gaze upon each other. She tried to recall theslightest details of that past day. But the pres-ence of her husband and mother-in-law wor-ried her. She would have liked to hear nothing,to see nothing, so as not to disturb the medita-tion on her love, that, do what she would, be-came lost in external sensations.

She was unpicking the lining of a dress, and thestrips were scattered around her. MadameBovary senior was plying her scissor withoutlooking up, and Charles, in his list slippers andhis old brown surtout that he used as a dress-ing-gown, sat with both hands in his pockets,and did not speak either; near them Berthe, in alittle white pinafore, was raking sand in thewalks with her spade. Suddenly she saw Mon-sieur Lheureux, the linendraper, come inthrough the gate.

He came to offer his services "under the sadcircumstances." Emma answered that she

thought she could do without. The shopkeeperwas not to be beaten.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but I should liketo have a private talk with you." Then in a lowvoice, "It's about that affair—you know."

Charles crimsoned to his ears. "Oh, yes! cer-tainly." And in his confusion, turning to hiswife, "Couldn't you, my darling?"

She seemed to understand him, for she rose;and Charles said to his mother, "It is nothingparticular. No doubt, some household trifle."He did not want her to know the story of thebill, fearing her reproaches.

As soon as they were alone, MonsieurLheureux in sufficiently clear terms began tocongratulate Emma on the inheritance, then totalk of indifferent matters, of the espaliers, ofthe harvest, and of his own health, which wasalways so-so, always having ups and downs. In

fact, he had to work devilish hard, although hedidn't make enough, in spite of all people said,to find butter for his bread.

Emma let him talk on. She had bored herself soprodigiously the last two days.

"And so you're quite well again?" he went on."Ma foi! I saw your husband in a sad state. He'sa good fellow, though we did have a little mis-understanding."

She asked what misunderstanding, for Charleshad said nothing of the dispute about the goodssupplied to her.

"Why, you know well enough," cried Lheureux."It was about your little fancies—the travellingtrunks."

He had drawn his hat over his eyes, and, withhis hands behind his back, smiling and whis-

tling, he looked straight at her in an unbearablemanner. Did he suspect anything?

She was lost in all kinds of apprehensions. Atlast, however, he went on—

"We made it up, all the same, and I've comeagain to propose another arrangement."

This was to renew the bill Bovary had signed.The doctor, of course, would do as he pleased;he was not to trouble himself, especially justnow, when he would have a lot of worry. "Andhe would do better to give it over to someoneelse—to you, for example. With a power of at-torney it could be easily managed, and then we(you and I) would have our little businesstransactions together."

She did not understand. He was silent. Then,passing to his trade, Lheureux declared thatmadame must require something. He would

send her a black barege, twelve yards, justenough to make a gown.

"The one you've on is good enough for thehouse, but you want another for calls. I sawthat the very moment that I came in. I've theeye of an American!"

He did not send the stuff; he brought it. Thenhe came again to measure it; he came again onother pretexts, always trying to make himselfagreeable, useful, "enfeoffing himself," asHomais would have said, and always droppingsome hint to Emma about the power of attor-ney. He never mentioned the bill; she did notthink of it. Charles, at the beginning of her con-valescence, had certainly said something aboutit to her, but so many emotions had passedthrough her head that she no longer remem-bered it. Besides, she took care not to talk ofany money questions. Madame Bovary seemedsurprised at this, and attributed the change in

her ways to the religious sentiments she hadcontracted during her illness.

But as soon as she was gone, Emma greatlyastounded Bovary by her practical good sense.It would be necessary to make inquiries, to lookinto mortgages, and see if there were any occa-sion for a sale by auction or a liquidation. Shequoted technical terms casually, pronouncedthe grand words of order, the future, foresight,and constantly exaggerated the difficulties ofsettling his father's affairs so much, that at lastone day she showed him the rough draft of apower of attorney to manage and administerhis business, arrange all loans, sign and en-dorse all bills, pay all sums, etc. She had prof-ited by Lheureux's lessons. Charles naivelyasked her where this paper came from.

"Monsieur Guillaumin"; and with the utmostcoolness she added, "I don't trust him over-much. Notaries have such a bad reputation.

Perhaps we ought to consult—we only know—no one."

"Unless Leon—" replied Charles, who was re-flecting. But it was difficult to explain mattersby letter. Then she offered to make the journey,but he thanked her. She insisted. It was quite acontest of mutual consideration. At last shecried with affected waywardness—

"No, I will go!"

"How good you are!" he said, kissing her fore-head.

The next morning she set out in the "Hiron-delle" to go to Rouen to consult Monsieur Leon,and she stayed there three days.

Chapter Three

They were three full, exquisite days—a truehoneymoon. They were at the Hotel-de-Boulogne, on the harbour; and they lived there,with drawn blinds and closed doors, withflowers on the floor, and iced syrups werebrought them early in the morning.

Towards evening they took a covered boat andwent to dine on one of the islands. It was thetime when one hears by the side of the dock-yard the caulking-mallets sounding against thehull of vessels. The smoke of the tar rose upbetween the trees; there were large fatty dropson the water, undulating in the purple colour ofthe sun, like floating plaques of Florentinebronze.

They rowed down in the midst of mooredboats, whose long oblique cables grazed lightlyagainst the bottom of the boat. The din of the

town gradually grew distant; the rolling of car-riages, the tumult of voices, the yelping of dogson the decks of vessels. She took off her bonnet,and they landed on their island.

They sat down in the low-ceilinged room of atavern, at whose door hung black nets. They atefried smelts, cream and cherries. They laydown upon the grass; they kissed behind thepoplars; and they would fain, like two Robin-sons, have lived for ever in this little place,which seemed to them in their beatitude themost magnificent on earth. It was not the firsttime that they had seen trees, a blue sky, mead-ows; that they had heard the water flowing andthe wind blowing in the leaves; but, no doubt,they had never admired all this, as if Naturehad not existed before, or had only begun to bebeautiful since the gratification of their desires.

At night they returned. The boat glided alongthe shores of the islands. They sat at the bot-tom, both hidden by the shade, in silence. The

square oars rang in the iron thwarts, and, in thestillness, seemed to mark time, like the beatingof a metronome, while at the stern the rudderthat trailed behind never ceased its gentlesplash against the water.

Once the moon rose; they did not fail to makefine phrases, finding the orb melancholy andfull of poetry. She even began to sing—

"One night, do you remember, we were sail-ing," etc.

Her musical but weak voice died away alongthe waves, and the winds carried off the trillsthat Leon heard pass like the flapping of wingsabout him.

She was opposite him, leaning against the par-tition of the shallop, through one of whoseraised blinds the moon streamed in. Her blackdress, whose drapery spread out like a fan,made her seem more slender, taller. Her head

was raised, her hands clasped, her eyes turnedtowards heaven. At times the shadow of thewillows hid her completely; then she reap-peared suddenly, like a vision in the moonlight.

Leon, on the floor by her side, found under hishand a ribbon of scarlet silk. The boatmanlooked at it, and at last said—

"Perhaps it belongs to the party I took out theother day. A lot of jolly folk, gentlemen andladies, with cakes, champagne, cornets—everything in style! There was one especially, atall handsome man with small moustaches,who was that funny! And they all kept saying,'Now tell us something, Adolphe—Dolpe,' Ithink."

She shivered.

"You are in pain?" asked Leon, coming closer toher.

"Oh, it's nothing! No doubt, it is only the nightair."

"And who doesn't want for women, either,"softly added the sailor, thinking he was payingthe stranger a compliment.

Then, spitting on his hands, he took the oarsagain.

Yet they had to part. The adieux were sad. Hewas to send his letters to Mere Rollet, and shegave him such precise instructions about adouble envelope that he admired greatly heramorous astuteness.

"So you can assure me it is all right?" she saidwith her last kiss.

"Yes, certainly."

"But why," he thought afterwards as he cameback through the streets alone, "is she so veryanxious to get this power of attorney?"

Chapter Four

Leon soon put on an air of superiority beforehis comrades, avoided their company, andcompletely neglected his work.

He waited for her letters; he re-read them; hewrote to her. He called her to mind with all thestrength of his desires and of his memories.Instead of lessening with absence, this longingto see her again grew, so that at last on Satur-day morning he escaped from his office.

When, from the summit of the hill, he saw inthe valley below the church-spire with its tinflag swinging in the wind, he felt that delightmingled with triumphant vanity and egoistic

tenderness that millionaires must experiencewhen they come back to their native village.

He went rambling round her house. A lightwas burning in the kitchen. He watched for hershadow behind the curtains, but nothing ap-peared.

Mere Lefrancois, when she saw him, utteredmany exclamations. She thought he "hadgrown and was thinner," while Artemise, onthe contrary, thought him stouter and darker.

He dined in the little room as of yore, but alone,without the tax-gatherer; for Binet, tired ofwaiting for the "Hirondelle," had definitely putforward his meal one hour, and now he dinedpunctually at five, and yet he declared usuallythe rickety old concern "was late."

Leon, however, made up his mind, andknocked at the doctor's door. Madame was inher room, and did not come down for a quarter

of an hour. The doctor seemed delighted to seehim, but he never stirred out that evening, norall the next day.

He saw her alone in the evening, very late, be-hind the garden in the lane; in the lane, as shehad the other one! It was a stormy night, andthey talked under an umbrella by lightningflashes.

Their separation was becoming intolerable. "Iwould rather die!" said Emma. She was writh-ing in his arms, weeping. "Adieu! adieu! Whenshall I see you again?"

They came back again to embrace once more,and it was then that she promised him to findsoon, by no matter what means, a regular op-portunity for seeing one another in freedom atleast once a week. Emma never doubted sheshould be able to do this. Besides, she was fullof hope. Some money was coming to her.

On the strength of it she bought a pair of yel-low curtains with large stripes for her room,whose cheapness Monsieur Lheureux hadcommended; she dreamed of getting a carpet,and Lheureux, declaring that it wasn't "drink-ing the sea," politely undertook to supply herwith one. She could no longer do without hisservices. Twenty times a day she sent for him,and he at once put by his business without amurmur. People could not understand eitherwhy Mere Rollet breakfasted with her everyday, and even paid her private visits.

It was about this time, that is to say, the begin-ning of winter, that she seemed seized withgreat musical fervour.

One evening when Charles was listening to her,she began the same piece four times over, eachtime with much vexation, while he, not notic-ing any difference, cried—

"Bravo! very goodl You are wrong to stop. Goon!"

"Oh, no; it is execrable! My fingers are quiterusty."

The next day he begged her to play him some-thing again.

"Very well; to please you!"

And Charles confessed she had gone off a little.She played wrong notes and blundered; then,stopping short—

"Ah! it is no use. I ought to take some lessons;but—" She bit her lips and added, "Twentyfrancs a lesson, that's too dear!"

"Yes, so it is—rather," said Charles, gigglingstupidly. "But it seems to me that one might beable to do it for less; for there are artists of noreputation, and who are often better than thecelebrities."

"Find them!" said Emma.

The next day when he came home he looked ather shyly, and at last could no longer keep backthe words.

"How obstinate you are sometimes! I went toBarfucheres to-day. Well, Madame Liegardassured me that her three young ladies who areat La Misericorde have lessons at fifty sousapiece, and that from an excellent mistress!"

She shrugged her shoulders and did not openher piano again. But when she passed by it (ifBovary were there), she sighed—

"Ah! my poor piano!"

And when anyone came to see her, she did notfail to inform them she had given up music,and could not begin again now for importantreasons. Then people commiserated her—

"What a pity! she had so much talent!"

They even spoke to Bovary about it. They puthim to shame, and especially the chemist.

"You are wrong. One should never let any ofthe faculties of nature lie fallow. Besides, justthink, my good friend, that by inducing ma-dame to study; you are economising on thesubsequent musical education of your child.For my own part, I think that mothers oughtthemselves to instruct their children. That is anidea of Rousseau's, still rather new perhaps, butthat will end by triumphing, I am certain of it,like mothers nursing their own children andvaccination."

So Charles returned once more to this questionof the piano. Emma replied bitterly that itwould be better to sell it. This poor piano, thathad given her vanity so much satisfaction—tosee it go was to Bovary like the indefinable sui-cide of a part of herself.

"If you liked," he said, "a lesson from time totime, that wouldn't after all be very ruinous."

"But lessons," she replied, "are only of use whenfollowed up."

And thus it was she set about obtaining herhusband's permission to go to town once aweek to see her lover. At the end of a monthshe was even considered to have made consid-erable progress.

Chapter Five

She went on Thursdays. She got up anddressed silently, in order not to awakenCharles, who would have made remarks abouther getting ready too early. Next she walked up

and down, went to the windows, and lookedout at the Place. The early dawn was broaden-ing between the pillars of the market, and thechemist's shop, with the shutters still up,showed in the pale light of the dawn the largeletters of his signboard.

When the clock pointed to a quarter past seven,she went off to the "Lion d'Or," whose doorArtemise opened yawning. The girl then madeup the coals covered by the cinders, and Emmaremained alone in the kitchen. Now and againshe went out. Hivert was leisurely harnessinghis horses, listening, moreover, to Mere Lefran-cois, who, passing her head and nightcapthrough a grating, was charging him withcommissions and giving him explanations thatwould have confused anyone else. Emma keptbeating the soles of her boots against the pave-ment of the yard.

At last, when he had eaten his soup, put on hiscloak, lighted his pipe, and grasped his whip,he calmly installed himself on his seat.

The "Hirondelle" started at a slow trot, and forabout a mile stopped here and there to pick uppassengers who waited for it, standing at theborder of the road, in front of their yard gates.

Those who had secured seats the evening be-fore kept it waiting; some even were still in bedin their houses. Hivert called, shouted, swore;then he got down from his seat and went andknocked loudly at the doors. The wind blewthrough the cracked windows.

The four seats, however, filled up. The carriagerolled off; rows of apple-trees followed oneupon another, and the road between its twolong ditches, full of yellow water, rose, con-stantly narrowing towards the horizon.

Emma knew it from end to end; she knew thatafter a meadow there was a sign-post, next anelm, a barn, or the hut of a lime-kiln tender.Sometimes even, in the hope of getting somesurprise, she shut her eyes, but she never lostthe clear perception of the distance to be trav-ersed.

At last the brick houses began to follow oneanother more closely, the earth resounded be-neath the wheels, the "Hirondelle" glided be-tween the gardens, where through an openingone saw statues, a periwinkle plant, clippedyews, and a swing. Then on a sudden the townappeared. Sloping down like an amphitheatre,and drowned in the fog, it widened out beyondthe bridges confusedly. Then the open countryspread away with a monotonous movement tillit touched in the distance the vague line of thepale sky. Seen thus from above, the wholelandscape looked immovable as a picture; theanchored ships were massed in one corner, the

river curved round the foot of the green hills,and the isles, oblique in shape, lay on the water,like large, motionless, black fishes. The factorychimneys belched forth immense brown fumesthat were blown away at the top. One heard therumbling of the foundries, together with theclear chimes of the churches that stood out inthe mist. The leafless trees on the boulevardsmade violet thickets in the midst of the houses,and the roofs, all shining with the rain, threwback unequal reflections, according to theheight of the quarters in which they were.Sometimes a gust of wind drove the cloudstowards the Saint Catherine hills, like aerialwaves that broke silently against a cliff.

A giddiness seemed to her to detach itself fromthis mass of existence, and her heart swelled asif the hundred and twenty thousand souls thatpalpitated there had all at once sent into it thevapour of the passions she fancied theirs. Herlove grew in the presence of this vastness, and

expanded with tumult to the vague murmur-ings that rose towards her. She poured it outupon the square, on the walks, on the streets,and the old Norman city outspread before hereyes as an enormous capital, as a Babylon intowhich she was entering. She leant with bothhands against the window, drinking in thebreeze; the three horses galloped, the stonesgrated in the mud, the diligence rocked, andHivert, from afar, hailed the carts on the road,while the bourgeois who had spent the night atthe Guillaume woods came quietly down thehill in their little family carriages.

They stopped at the barrier; Emma undid herovershoes, put on other gloves, rearranged hershawl, and some twenty paces farther she gotdown from the "Hirondelle."

The town was then awakening. Shop-boys incaps were cleaning up the shop-fronts, andwomen with baskets against their hips, at in-tervals uttered sonorous cries at the corners of

streets. She walked with downcast eyes, closeto the walls, and smiling with pleasure underher lowered black veil.

For fear of being seen, she did not usually takethe most direct road. She plunged into darkalleys, and, all perspiring, reached the bottomof the Rue Nationale, near the fountain thatstands there. It, is the quarter for theatres, pub-lic-houses, and whores. Often a cart would passnear her, bearing some shaking scenery. Wait-ers in aprons were sprinkling sand on the flag-stones between green shrubs. It all smelt ofabsinthe, cigars, and oysters.

She turned down a street; she recognised himby his curling hair that escaped from beneathhis hat.

Leon walked along the pavement. She followedhim to the hotel. He went up, opened the door,entered—What an embrace!

Then, after the kisses, the words gushed forth.They told each other the sorrows of the week,the presentiments, the anxiety for the letters;but now everything was forgotten; they gazedinto each other's faces with voluptuous laughs,and tender names.

The bed was large, of mahogany, in the shapeof a boat. The curtains were in red levantine,that hung from the ceiling and bulged out toomuch towards the bell-shaped bedside; andnothing in the world was so lovely as herbrown head and white skin standing outagainst this purple colour, when, with amovement of shame, she crossed her bare arms,hiding her face in her hands.

The warm room, with its discreet carpet, its gayornaments, and its calm light, seemed made forthe intimacies of passion. The curtain-rods,ending in arrows, their brass pegs, and thegreat balls of the fire-dogs shone suddenlywhen the sun came in. On the chimney be-

tween the candelabra there were two of thosepink shells in which one hears the murmur ofthe sea if one holds them to the ear.

How they loved that dear room, so full of gai-ety, despite its rather faded splendour! Theyalways found the furniture in the same place,and sometimes hairpins, that she had forgottenthe Thursday before, under the pedestal of theclock. They lunched by the fireside on a littleround table, inlaid with rosewood. Emmacarved, put bits on his plate with all sorts ofcoquettish ways, and she laughed with a sono-rous and libertine laugh when the froth of thechampagne ran over from the glass to the ringson her fingers. They were so completely lost inthe possession of each other that they thoughtthemselves in their own house, and that theywould live there till death, like two spouseseternally young. They said "our room," "ourcarpet," she even said "my slippers," a gift ofLeon's, a whim she had had. They were pink

satin, bordered with swansdown. When she saton his knees, her leg, then too short, hung inthe air, and the dainty shoe, that had no back toit, was held only by the toes to her bare foot.

He for the first time enjoyed the inexpressibledelicacy of feminine refinements. He had nevermet this grace of language, this reserve of cloth-ing, these poses of the weary dove. He admiredthe exaltation of her soul and the lace on herpetticoat. Besides, was she not "a lady" and amarried woman—a real mistress, in fine?

By the diversity of her humour, in turn mysticalor mirthful, talkative, taciturn, passionate, care-less, she awakened in him a thousand desires,called up instincts or memories. She was themistress of all the novels, the heroine of all thedramas, the vague "she" of all the volumes ofverse. He found again on her shoulder the am-ber colouring of the "Odalisque Bathing"; shehad the long waist of feudal chatelaines, and

she resembled the "Pale Woman of Barcelona."But above all she was the Angel!

Often looking at her, it seemed to him that hissoul, escaping towards her, spread like a waveabout the outline of her head, and descendeddrawn down into the whiteness of her breast.He knelt on the ground before her, and withboth elbows on her knees looked at her with asmile, his face upturned.

She bent over him, and murmured, as if chok-ing with intoxication—

"Oh, do not move! do not speak! look at me!Something so sweet comes from your eyes thathelps me so much!"

She called him "child." "Child, do you loveme?"

And she did not listen for his answer in thehaste of her lips that fastened to his mouth.

On the clock there was a bronze cupid, whosmirked as he bent his arm beneath a goldengarland. They had laughed at it many a time,but when they had to part everything seemedserious to them.

Motionless in front of each other, they keptrepeating, "Till Thursday, till Thursday."

Suddenly she seized his head between herhands, kissed him hurriedly on the forehead,crying, "Adieu!" and rushed down the stairs.

She went to a hairdresser's in the Rue de laComedie to have her hair arranged. Night fell;the gas was lighted in the shop. She heard thebell at the theatre calling the mummers to theperformance, and she saw, passing opposite,men with white faces and women in fadedgowns going in at the stage-door.

It was hot in the room, small, and too lowwhere the stove was hissing in the midst of

wigs and pomades. The smell of the tongs, to-gether with the greasy hands that handled herhead, soon stunned her, and she dozed a littlein her wrapper. Often, as he did her hair, theman offered her tickets for a masked ball.

Then she went away. She went up the streets;reached the Croix-Rouge, put on her overshoes,that she had hidden in the morning under theseat, and sank into her place among the impa-tient passengers. Some got out at the foot of thehill. She remained alone in the carriage. Atevery turning all the lights of the town wereseen more and more completely, making agreat luminous vapour about the dim houses.Emma knelt on the cushions and her eyes wan-dered over the dazzling light. She sobbed;called on Leon, sent him tender words andkisses lost in the wind.

On the hillside a poor devil wandered aboutwith his stick in the midst of the diligences. Amass of rags covered his shoulders, and an old

staved-in beaver, turned out like a basin, hidhis face; but when he took it off he discoveredin the place of eyelids empty and bloody orbits.The flesh hung in red shreds, and there flowedfrom it liquids that congealed into green scaledown to the nose, whose black nostrils sniffedconvulsively. To speak to you he threw backhis head with an idiotic laugh; then his bluisheyeballs, rolling constantly, at the temples beatagainst the edge of the open wound. He sang alittle song as he followed the carriages—

"Maids an the warmth of a summer day Dreamof love, and of love always"

And all the rest was about birds and sunshineand green leaves.

Sometimes he appeared suddenly behindEmma, bareheaded, and she drew back with acry. Hivert made fun of him. He would advisehim to get a booth at the Saint Romain fair, or

else ask him, laughing, how his young womanwas.

Often they had started when, with a suddenmovement, his hat entered the diligencethrough the small window, while he clung withhis other arm to the footboard, between thewheels splashing mud. His voice, feeble at firstand quavering, grew sharp; it resounded in thenight like the indistinct moan of a vague dis-tress; and through the ringing of the bells, themurmur of the trees, and the rumbling of theempty vehicle, it had a far-off sound that dis-turbed Emma. It went to the bottom of her soul,like a whirlwind in an abyss, and carried heraway into the distances of a boundless melan-choly. But Hivert, noticing a weight behind,gave the blind man sharp cuts with his whip.The thong lashed his wounds, and he fell backinto the mud with a yell. Then the passengersin the "Hirondelle" ended by falling asleep,some with open mouths, others with lowered

chins, leaning against their neighbour's shoul-der, or with their arm passed through the strap,oscillating regularly with the jolting of the car-riage; and the reflection of the lantern swingingwithout, on the crupper of the wheeler; pene-trating into the interior through the chocolatecalico curtains, threw sanguineous shadowsover all these motionless people. Emma, drunkwith grief, shivered in her clothes, feeling herfeet grow colder and colder, and death in hersoul.

Charles at home was waiting for her; the "Hi-rondelle" was always late on Thursdays. Ma-dame arrived at last, and scarcely kissed thechild. The dinner was not ready. No matter!She excused the servant. This girl now seemedallowed to do just as she liked.

Often her husband, noting her pallor, asked ifshe were unwell.

"No," said Emma.

"But," he replied, "you seem so strange thisevening."

"Oh, it's nothing! nothing!"

There were even days when she had no soonercome in than she went up to her room; andJustin, happening to be there, moved aboutnoiselessly, quicker at helping her than the bestof maids. He put the matches ready, the can-dlestick, a book, arranged her nightgown,turned back the bedclothes.

"Come!" said she, "that will do. Now you cango."

For he stood there, his hands hanging downand his eyes wide open, as if enmeshed in theinnumerable threads of a sudden reverie.

The following day was frightful, and those thatcame after still more unbearable, because of herimpatience to once again seize her happiness;

an ardent lust, inflamed by the images of pastexperience, and that burst forth freely on theseventh day beneath Leon's caresses. His ar-dours were hidden beneath outbursts of won-der and gratitude. Emma tasted this love in adiscreet, absorbed fashion, maintained it by allthe artifices of her tenderness, and trembled alittle lest it should be lost later on.

She often said to him, with her sweet, melan-choly voice—

"Ah! you too, you will leave me! You willmarry! You will be like all the others."

He asked, "What others?"

"Why, like all men," she replied. Then added,repulsing him with a languid movement—

"You are all evil!"

One day, as they were talking philosophicallyof earthly disillusions, to experiment on his

jealousy, or yielding, perhaps, to an over-strongneed to pour out her heart, she told him thatformerly, before him, she had loved someone.

"Not like you," she went on quickly, protestingby the head of her child that "nothing hadpassed between them."

The young man believed her, but none the lessquestioned her to find out what he was.

"He was a ship's captain, my dear."

Was this not preventing any inquiry, and, at thesame time, assuming a higher ground throughthis pretended fascination exercised over a manwho must have been of warlike nature and ac-customed to receive homage?

The clerk then felt the lowliness of his position;he longed for epaulettes, crosses, titles. All thatwould please her—he gathered that from herspendthrift habits.

Emma nevertheless concealed many of theseextravagant fancies, such as her wish to have ablue tilbury to drive into Rouen, drawn by anEnglish horse and driven by a groom in top-boots. It was Justin who had inspired her withthis whim, by begging her to take him into herservice as valet-de-chambre*, and if the priva-tion of it did not lessen the pleasure of her arri-val at each rendezvous, it certainly augmentedthe bitterness of the return.

* Manservant.

Often, when they talked together of Paris, sheended by murmuring, "Ah! how happy weshould be there!"

"Are we not happy?" gently answered theyoung man passing his hands over her hair.

"Yes, that is true," she said. "I am mad. Kissme!"

To her husband she was more charming thanever. She made him pistachio-creams, andplayed him waltzes after dinner. So he thoughthimself the most fortunate of men and Emmawas without uneasiness, when, one eveningsuddenly he said—

"It is Mademoiselle Lempereur, isn't it, whogives you lessons?"

"Yes."

"Well, I saw her just now," Charles went on, "atMadame Liegeard's. I spoke to her about you,and she doesn't know you."

This was like a thunderclap. However, she re-plied quite naturally—

"Ah! no doubt she forgot my name."

"But perhaps," said the doctor, "there are sev-eral Demoiselles Lempereur at Rouen who aremusic-mistresses."

"Possibly!" Then quickly—"But I have my re-ceipts here. See!"

And she went to the writing-table, ransackedall the drawers, rummaged the papers, and atlast lost her head so completely that Charlesearnestly begged her not to take so much trou-ble about those wretched receipts.

"Oh, I will find them," she said.

And, in fact, on the following Friday, asCharles was putting on one of his boots in thedark cabinet where his clothes were kept, hefelt a piece of paper between the leather and hissock. He took it out and read—

"Received, for three months' lessons and sev-eral pieces of music, the sum of sixty-threefrancs.—Felicie Lempereur, professor of mu-sic."

"How the devil did it get into my boots?"

"It must," she replied, "have fallen from the oldbox of bills that is on the edge of the shelf."

From that moment her existence was but onelong tissue of lies, in which she enveloped herlove as in veils to hide it. It was a want, a ma-nia, a pleasure carried to such an extent that ifshe said she had the day before walked on theright side of a road, one might know she hadtaken the left.

One morning, when she had gone, as usual,rather lightly clothed, it suddenly began tosnow, and as Charles was watching theweather from the window, he caught sight ofMonsieur Bournisien in the chaise of MonsieurTuvache, who was driving him to Rouen. Thenhe went down to give the priest a thick shawlthat he was to hand over to Emma as soon ashe reached the "Croix-Rouge." When he got tothe inn, Monsieur Bournisien asked for the wifeof the Yonville doctor. The landlady repliedthat she very rarely came to her establishment.

So that evening, when he recognised MadameBovary in the "Hirondelle," the cure told her hisdilemma, without, however, appearing to at-tach much importance to it, for he began prais-ing a preacher who was doing wonders at theCathedral, and whom all the ladies were rush-ing to hear.

Still, if he did not ask for any explanation, oth-ers, later on, might prove less discreet. So shethought well to get down each time at the"Croix-Rouge," so that the good folk of her vil-lage who saw her on the stairs should suspectnothing.

One day, however, Monsieur Lheureux met hercoming out of the Hotel de Boulogne on Leon'sarm; and she was frightened, thinking hewould gossip. He was not such a fool. But threedays after he came to her room, shut the door,and said, "I must have some money."

She declared she could not give him any.Lheureux burst into lamentations and re-minded her of all the kindnesses he had shownher.

In fact, of the two bills signed by Charles,Emma up to the present had paid only one. Asto the second, the shopkeeper, at her request,had consented to replace it by another, whichagain had been renewed for a long date. Thenhe drew from his pocket a list of goods not paidfor; to wit, the curtains, the carpet, the materialfor the armchairs, several dresses, and diversarticles of dress, the bills for which amountedto about two thousand francs.

She bowed her head. He went on—

"But if you haven't any ready money, you havean estate." And he reminded her of a miserablelittle hovel situated at Barneville, near Aumale,that brought in almost nothing. It had formerlybeen part of a small farm sold by Monsieur

Bovary senior; for Lheureux knew everything,even to the number of acres and the names ofthe neighbours.

"If I were in your place," he said, "I should clearmyself of my debts, and have money left over."

She pointed out the difficulty of getting a pur-chaser. He held out the hope of finding one; butshe asked him how she should manage to sellit.

"Haven't you your power of attorney?" he re-plied.

The phrase came to her like a breath of freshair. "Leave me the bill," said Emma.

"Oh, it isn't worth while," answered Lheureux.

He came back the following week and boastedof having, after much trouble, at last discovereda certain Langlois, who, for a long time, had

had an eye on the property, but without men-tioning his price.

"Never mind the price!" she cried.

But they would, on the contrary, have to wait,to sound the fellow. The thing was worth ajourney, and, as she could not undertake it, heoffered to go to the place to have an interviewwith Langlois. On his return he announced thatthe purchaser proposed four thousand francs.

Emma was radiant at this news.

"Frankly," he added, "that's a good price."

She drew half the sum at once, and when shewas about to pay her account the shopkeepersaid—

"It really grieves me, on my word! to see youdepriving yourself all at once of such a big sumas that."

Then she looked at the bank-notes, and dream-ing of the unlimited number of rendezvousrepresented by those two thousand francs, shestammered—

"What! what!"

"Oh!" he went on, laughing good-naturedly,"one puts anything one likes on receipts. Don'tyou think I know what household affairs are?"And he looked at her fixedly, while in his handhe held two long papers that he slid betweenhis nails. At last, opening his pocket-book, hespread out on the table four bills to order, eachfor a thousand francs.

"Sign these," he said, "and keep it all!"

She cried out, scandalised.

"But if I give you the surplus," replied Mon-sieur Lheureux impudently, "is that not helpingyou?"

And taking a pen he wrote at the bottom of theaccount, "Received of Madame Bovary fourthousand francs."

"Now who can trouble you, since in six monthsyou'll draw the arrears for your cottage, and Idon't make the last bill due till after you'vebeen paid?"

Emma grew rather confused in her calculations,and her ears tingled as if gold pieces, burstingfrom their bags, rang all round her on the floor.At last Lheureux explained that he had a verygood friend, Vincart, a broker at Rouen, whowould discount these four bills. Then he him-self would hand over to madame the remainderafter the actual debt was paid.

But instead of two thousand francs he broughtonly eighteen hundred, for the friend Vincart(which was only fair) had deducted two hun-dred francs for commission and discount. Thenhe carelessly asked for a receipt.

"You understand—in business—sometimes.And with the date, if you please, with the date."

A horizon of realisable whims opened out be-fore Emma. She was prudent enough to lay bya thousand crowns, with which the first threebills were paid when they fell due; but thefourth, by chance, came to the house on aThursday, and Charles, quite upset, patientlyawaited his wife's return for an explanation.

If she had not told him about this bill, it wasonly to spare him such domestic worries; shesat on his knees, caressed him, cooed to him,gave him a long enumeration of all the indis-pensable things that had been got on credit.

"Really, you must confess, considering thequantity, it isn't too dear."

Charles, at his wit's end, soon had recourse tothe eternal Lheureux, who swore he wouldarrange matters if the doctor would sign him

two bills, one of which was for seven hundredfrancs, payable in three months. In order toarrange for this he wrote his mother a patheticletter. Instead of sending a reply she came her-self; and when Emma wanted to know whetherhe had got anything out of her, "Yes," he re-plied; "but she wants to see the account." Thenext morning at daybreak Emma ran toLheureux to beg him to make out another ac-count for not more than a thousand francs, forto show the one for four thousand it would benecessary to say that she had paid two-thirds,and confess, consequently, the sale of the es-tate—a negotiation admirably carried out bythe shopkeeper, and which, in fact, was onlyactually known later on.

Despite the low price of each article, MadameBovary senior, of course, thought the expendi-ture extravagant.

"Couldn't you do without a carpet? Why haverecovered the arm-chairs? In my time there was

a single arm-chair in a house, for elderly per-sons—at any rate it was so at my mother's, whowas a good woman, I can tell you. Everybodycan't be rich! No fortune can hold out againstwaste! I should be ashamed to coddle myself asyou do! And yet I am old. I need looking after.And there! there! fitting up gowns! fallals!What! silk for lining at two francs, when youcan get jaconet for ten sous, or even for eight,that would do well enough!"

Emma, lying on a lounge, replied as quietly aspossible—"Ah! Madame, enough! enough!"

The other went on lecturing her, predictingthey would end in the workhouse. But it wasBovary's fault. Luckily he had promised to de-stroy that power of attorney.

"What?"

"Ah! he swore he would," went on the goodwoman.

Emma opened the window, called Charles, andthe poor fellow was obliged to confess thepromise torn from him by his mother.

Emma disappeared, then came back quickly,and majestically handed her a thick piece ofpaper.

"Thank you," said the old woman. And shethrew the power of attorney into the fire.

Emma began to laugh, a strident, piercing, con-tinuous laugh; she had an attack of hysterics.

"Oh, my God!" cried Charles. "Ah! you reallyare wrong! You come here and make sceneswith her!"

His mother, shrugging her shoulders, declaredit was "all put on."

But Charles, rebelling for the first time, took hiswife's part, so that Madame Bovary, senior,said she would leave. She went the very next

day, and on the threshold, as he was trying todetain her, she replied—

"No, no! You love her better than me, and youare right. It is natural. For the rest, so much theworse! You will see. Good day—for I am notlikely to come soon again, as you say, to makescenes."

Charles nevertheless was very crestfallen be-fore Emma, who did not hide the resentmentshe still felt at his want of confidence, and itneeded many prayers before she would consentto have another power of attorney. He evenaccompanied her to Monsieur Guillaumin tohave a second one, just like the other, drawnup.

"I understand," said the notary; "a man of sci-ence can't be worried with the practical detailsof life."

And Charles felt relieved by this comfortablereflection, which gave his weakness the flatter-ing appearance of higher pre-occupation.

And what an outburst the next Thursday at thehotel in their room with Leon! She laughed,cried, sang, sent for sherbets, wanted to smokecigarettes, seemed to him wild and extravagant,but adorable, superb.

He did not know what recreation of her wholebeing drove her more and more to plunge intothe pleasures of life. She was becoming irrita-ble, greedy, voluptuous; and she walked aboutthe streets with him carrying her head high,without fear, so she said, of compromising her-self. At times, however, Emma shuddered atthe sudden thought of meeting Rodolphe, for itseemed to her that, although they were sepa-rated forever, she was not completely free fromher subjugation to him.

One night she did not return to Yonville at all.Charles lost his head with anxiety, and littleBerthe would not go to bed without hermamma, and sobbed enough to break herheart. Justin had gone out searching the road atrandom. Monsieur Homais even had left hispharmacy.

At last, at eleven o'clock, able to bear it nolonger, Charles harnessed his chaise, jumpedin, whipped up his horse, and reached the"Croix-Rouge" about two o'clock in the morn-ing. No one there! He thought that the clerkhad perhaps seen her; but where did he live?Happily, Charles remembered his employer'saddress, and rushed off there.

Day was breaking, and he could distinguish theescutcheons over the door, and knocked.Someone, without opening the door, shoutedout the required information, adding a few in-sults to those who disturb people in the middleof the night.

The house inhabited by the clerk had neitherbell, knocker, nor porter. Charles knockedloudly at the shutters with his hands. A po-liceman happened to pass by. Then he wasfrightened, and went away.

"I am mad," he said; "no doubt they kept her todinner at Monsieur Lormeaux'." But the Lor-meaux no longer lived at Rouen.

"She probably stayed to look after MadameDubreuil. Why, Madame Dubreuil has beendead these ten months! Where can she be?"

An idea occurred to him. At a cafe he asked fora Directory, and hurriedly looked for the nameof Mademoiselle Lempereur, who lived at No.74 Rue de la Renelle-des-Maroquiniers.

As he was turning into the street, Emma herselfappeared at the other end of it. He threw him-self upon her rather than embraced her, cry-ing—

"What kept you yesterday?"

"I was not well."

"What was it? Where? How?"

She passed her hand over her forehead andanswered, "At Mademoiselle Lempereur's."

"I was sure of it! I was going there."

"Oh, it isn't worth while," said Emma. "Shewent out just now; but for the future don'tworry. I do not feel free, you see, if I know thatthe least delay upsets you like this."

This was a sort of permission that she gave her-self, so as to get perfect freedom in her esca-pades. And she profited by it freely, fully.When she was seized with the desire to seeLeon, she set out upon any pretext; and as hewas not expecting her on that day, she went tofetch him at his office.

It was a great delight at first, but soon he nolonger concealed the truth, which was, that hismaster complained very much about these in-terruptions.

"Pshaw! come along," she said.

And he slipped out.

She wanted him to dress all in black, and growa pointed beard, to look like the portraits ofLouis XIII. She wanted to see his lodgings;thought them poor. He blushed at them, butshe did not notice this, then advised him to buysome curtains like hers, and as he objected tothe expense—

"Ah! ah! you care for your money," she saidlaughing.

Each time Leon had to tell her everything thathe had done since their last meeting. She askedhim for some verses—some verses "for herself,"

a "love poem" in honour of her. But he neversucceeded in getting a rhyme for the secondverse; and at last ended by copying a sonnet ina "Keepsake." This was less from vanity thanfrom the one desire of pleasing her. He did notquestion her ideas; he accepted all her tastes; hewas rather becoming her mistress than she his.She had tender words and kisses that thrilledhis soul. Where could she have learnt this cor-ruption almost incorporeal in the strength of itsprofanity and dissimulation?

Chapter Six

During the journeys he made to see her, Leonhad often dined at the chemist's, and he feltobliged from politeness to invite him in turn.

"With pleasure!" Monsieur Homais replied;"besides, I must invigorate my mind, for I amgetting rusty here. We'll go to the theatre, to therestaurant; we'll make a night of it."

"Oh, my dear!" tenderly murmured MadameHomais, alarmed at the vague perils he waspreparing to brave.

"Well, what? Do you think I'm not sufficientlyruining my health living here amid the contin-ual emanations of the pharmacy? But there!that is the way with women! They are jealous ofscience, and then are opposed to our taking themost legitimate distractions. No matter! Countupon me. One of these days I shall turn up atRouen, and we'll go the pace together."

The druggist would formerly have taken goodcare not to use such an expression, but he wascultivating a gay Parisian style, which hethought in the best taste; and, like hisneighbour, Madame Bovary, he questioned the

clerk curiously about the customs of the capital;he even talked slang to dazzle the bourgeois,saying bender, crummy, dandy, macaroni, thecheese, cut my stick and "I'll hook it," for "I amgoing."

So one Thursday Emma was surprised to meetMonsieur Homais in the kitchen of the "Liond'Or," wearing a traveller's costume, that is tosay, wrapped in an old cloak which no oneknew he had, while he carried a valise in onehand and the foot-warmer of his establishmentin the other. He had confided his intentions tono one, for fear of causing the public anxiety byhis absence.

The idea of seeing again the place where hisyouth had been spent no doubt excited him, forduring the whole journey he never ceased talk-ing, and as soon as he had arrived, he jumpedquickly out of the diligence to go in search ofLeon. In vain the clerk tried to get rid of him.Monsieur Homais dragged him off to the large

Cafe de la Normandie, which he entered majes-tically, not raising his hat, thinking it very pro-vincial to uncover in any public place.

Emma waited for Leon three quarters of anhour. At last she ran to his office; and, lost in allsorts of conjectures, accusing him of indiffer-ence, and reproaching herself for her weakness,she spent the afternoon, her face pressedagainst the window-panes.

At two o'clock they were still at a table oppositeeach other. The large room was emptying; thestove-pipe, in the shape of a palm-tree, spreadits gilt leaves over the white ceiling, and nearthem, outside the window, in the bright sun-shine, a little fountain gurgled in a white basin,where; in the midst of watercress and aspara-gus, three torpid lobsters stretched across tosome quails that lay heaped up in a pile ontheir sides.

Homais was enjoying himself. Although he waseven more intoxicated with the luxury than therich fare, the Pommard wine all the same ratherexcited his faculties; and when the omelette aurhum* appeared, he began propounding im-moral theories about women. What seducedhim above all else was chic. He admired anelegant toilette in a well-furnished apartment,and as to bodily qualities, he didn't dislike ayoung girl.

* In rum.

Leon watched the clock in despair. The drug-gist went on drinking, eating, and talking.

"You must be very lonely," he said suddenly,"here at Rouen. To be sure your lady-lovedoesn't live far away."

And the other blushed—

"Come now, be frank. Can you deny that atYonville—"

The young man stammered something.

"At Madame Bovary's, you're not making loveto—"

"To whom?"

"The servant!"

He was not joking; but vanity getting the betterof all prudence, Leon, in spite of himself pro-tested. Besides, he only liked dark women.

"I approve of that," said the chemist; "they havemore passion."

And whispering into his friend's ear, hepointed out the symptoms by which one couldfind out if a woman had passion. He evenlaunched into an ethnographic digression: theGerman was vapourish, the French womanlicentious, the Italian passionate.

"And negresses?" asked the clerk.

"They are an artistic taste!" said Homais."Waiter! two cups of coffee!"

"Are we going?" at last asked Leon impatiently.

"Ja!"

But before leaving he wanted to see the pro-prietor of the establishment and made him afew compliments. Then the young man, to bealone, alleged he had some business engage-ment.

"Ah! I will escort you," said Homais.

And all the while he was walking through thestreets with him he talked of his wife, his chil-dren; of their future, and of his business; toldhim in what a decayed condition it had for-merly been, and to what a degree of perfectionhe had raised it.

Arrived in front of the Hotel de Boulogne, Leonleft him abruptly, ran up the stairs, and found

his mistress in great excitement. At mention ofthe chemist she flew into a passion. He, how-ever, piled up good reasons; it wasn't his fault;didn't she know Homais—did she believe thathe would prefer his company? But she turnedaway; he drew her back, and, sinking on hisknees, clasped her waist with his arms in a lan-guorous pose, full of concupiscence and suppli-cation.

She was standing up, her large flashing eyeslooked at him seriously, almost terribly. Thentears obscured them, her red eyelids were low-ered, she gave him her hands, and Leon waspressing them to his lips when a servant ap-peared to tell the gentleman that he waswanted.

"You will come back?" she said.

"Yes."

"But when?"

"Immediately."

"It's a trick," said the chemist, when he sawLeon. "I wanted to interrupt this visit, thatseemed to me to annoy you. Let's go and have aglass of garus at Bridoux'."

Leon vowed that he must get back to his office.Then the druggist joked him about quill-driversand the law.

"Leave Cujas and Barthole alone a bit. Who thedevil prevents you? Be a man! Let's go to Bri-doux'. You'll see his dog. It's very interesting."

And as the clerk still insisted—

"I'll go with you. I'll read a paper while I waitfor you, or turn over the leaves of a 'Code.'"

Leon, bewildered by Emma's anger, MonsieurHomais' chatter, and, perhaps, by the heavinessof the luncheon, was undecided, and, as it

were, fascinated by the chemist, who kept re-peating—

"Let's go to Bridoux'. It's just by here, in the RueMalpalu."

Then, through cowardice, through stupidity,through that indefinable feeling that drags usinto the most distasteful acts, he allowed him-self to be led off to Bridoux', whom they foundin his small yard, superintending three work-men, who panted as they turned the largewheel of a machine for making seltzer-water.Homais gave them some good advice. He em-braced Bridoux; they took some garus. Twentytimes Leon tried to escape, but the other seizedhim by the arm saying—

"Presently! I'm coming! We'll go to the 'Fanal deRouen' to see the fellows there. I'll introduceyou to Thornassin."

At last he managed to get rid of him, andrushed straight to the hotel. Emma was nolonger there. She had just gone in a fit of anger.She detested him now. This failing to keep theirrendezvous seemed to her an insult, and shetried to rake up other reasons to separate her-self from him. He was incapable of heroism,weak, banal, more spiritless than a woman,avaricious too, and cowardly.

Then, growing calmer, she at length discoveredthat she had, no doubt, calumniated him. Butthe disparaging of those we love always alien-ates us from them to some extent. We must nottouch our idols; the gilt sticks to our fingers.

They gradually came to talking more fre-quently of matters outside their love, and in theletters that Emma wrote him she spoke of flow-ers, verses, the moon and the stars, naive re-sources of a waning passion striving to keepitself alive by all external aids. She was con-stantly promising herself a profound felicity on

her next journey. Then she confessed to herselfthat she felt nothing extraordinary. This disap-pointment quickly gave way to a new hope,and Emma returned to him more inflamed,more eager than ever. She undressed brutally,tearing off the thin laces of her corset that nes-tled around her hips like a gliding snake. Shewent on tiptoe, barefooted, to see once morethat the door was closed, then, pale, serious,and, without speaking, with one movement,she threw herself upon his breast with a longshudder.

Yet there was upon that brow covered withcold drops, on those quivering lips, in thosewild eyes, in the strain of those arms, some-thing vague and dreary that seemed to Leon toglide between them subtly as if to separatethem.

He did not dare to question her; but, seeing herso skilled, she must have passed, he thought,through every experience of suffering and of

pleasure. What had once charmed now fright-ened him a little. Besides, he rebelled againsthis absorption, daily more marked, by her per-sonality. He begrudged Emma this constantvictory. He even strove not to love her; then,when he heard the creaking of her boots, heturned coward, like drunkards at the sight ofstrong drinks.

She did not fail, in truth, to lavish all sorts ofattentions upon him, from the delicacies of foodto the coquettries of dress and languishinglooks. She brought roses to her breast fromYonville, which she threw into his face; wasanxious about his health, gave him advice as tohis conduct; and, in order the more surely tokeep her hold on him, hoping perhaps thatheaven would take her part, she tied a medal ofthe Virgin round his neck. She inquired like avirtuous mother about his companions. Shesaid to him—

"Don't see them; don't go out; think only ofourselves; love me!"

She would have liked to be able to watch overhis life; and the idea occurred to her of havinghim followed in the streets. Near the hotel therewas always a kind of loafer who accosted trav-ellers, and who would not refuse. But her priderevolted at this.

"Bah! so much the worse. Let him deceive me!What does it matter to me? As If I cared forhim!"

One day, when they had parted early and shewas returning alone along the boulevard, shesaw the walls of her convent; then she sat downon a form in the shade of the elm-trees. Howcalm that time had been! How she longed forthe ineffable sentiments of love that she hadtried to figure to herself out of books! The firstmonth of her marriage, her rides in the wood,the viscount that waltzed, and Lagardy singing,

all repassed before her eyes. And Leon sud-denly appeared to her as far off as the others.

"Yet I love him," she said to herself.

No matter! She was not happy—she never hadbeen. Whence came this insufficiency in life—this instantaneous turning to decay of every-thing on which she leant? But if there weresomewhere a being strong and beautiful, a val-iant nature, full at once of exaltation and re-finement, a poet's heart in an angel's form, alyre with sounding chords ringing out elegiacepithalamia to heaven, why, perchance, shouldshe not find him? Ah! how impossible! Besides,nothing was worth the trouble of seeking it;everything was a lie. Every smile hid a yawn ofboredom, every joy a curse, all pleasure satiety,and the sweetest kisses left upon your lips onlythe unattainable desire for a greater delight.

A metallic clang droned through the air, andfour strokes were heard from the convent-

clock. Four o'clock! And it seemed to her thatshe had been there on that form an eternity. Butan infinity of passions may be contained in aminute, like a crowd in a small space.

Emma lived all absorbed in hers, and troubledno more about money matters than an arch-duchess.

Once, however, a wretched-looking man, rubi-cund and bald, came to her house, saying hehad been sent by Monsieur Vincart of Rouen.He took out the pins that held together theside-pockets of his long green overcoat, stuckthem into his sleeve, and politely handed her apaper.

It was a bill for seven hundred francs, signedby her, and which Lheureux, in spite of all hisprofessions, had paid away to Vincart. She senther servant for him. He could not come. Thenthe stranger, who had remained standing, cast-

ing right and left curious glances, that his thick,fair eyebrows hid, asked with a naive air—

"What answer am I to take Monsieur Vincart?"

"Oh," said Emma, "tell him that I haven't it. Iwill send next week; he must wait; yes, till nextweek."

And the fellow went without another word.

But the next day at twelve o'clock she receiveda summons, and the sight of the stamped pa-per, on which appeared several times in largeletters, "Maitre Hareng, bailiff at Buchy," sofrightened her that she rushed in hot haste tothe linendraper's. She found him in his shop,doing up a parcel.

"Your obedient!" he said; "I am at your service."

But Lheureux, all the same, went on with hiswork, helped by a young girl of about thirteen,

somewhat hunch-backed, who was at once hisclerk and his servant.

Then, his clogs clattering on the shop-boards,he went up in front of Madame Bovary to thefirst door, and introduced her into a narrowcloset, where, in a large bureau in sapon-wood,lay some ledgers, protected by a horizontalpadlocked iron bar. Against the wall, undersome remnants of calico, one glimpsed a safe,but of such dimensions that it must containsomething besides bills and money. MonsieurLheureux, in fact, went in for pawnbroking,and it was there that he had put MadameBovary's gold chain, together with the earringsof poor old Tellier, who, at last forced to sellout, had bought a meagre store of grocery atQuincampoix, where he was dying of catarrhamongst his candles, that were less yellow thanhis face.

Lheureux sat down in a large cane arm-chair,saying: "What news?"

"See!"

And she showed him the paper.

"Well how can I help it?"

Then she grew angry, reminding him of thepromise he had given not to pay away her bills.He acknowledged it.

"But I was pressed myself; the knife was at myown throat."

"And what will happen now?" she went on.

"Oh, it's very simple; a judgment and then adistraint—that's about it!"

Emma kept down a desire to strike him, andasked gently if there was no way of quietingMonsieur Vincart.

"I dare say! Quiet Vincart! You don't know him;he's more ferocious than an Arab!"

Still Monsieur Lheureux must interfere.

"Well, listen. It seems to me so far I've beenvery good to you." And opening one of hisledgers, "See," he said. Then running up thepage with his finger, "Let's see! let's see! August3d, two hundred francs; June 17th, a hundredand fifty; March 23d, forty-six. In April—"

He stopped, as if afraid of making some mis-take.

"Not to speak of the bills signed by MonsieurBovary, one for seven hundred francs, and an-other for three hundred. As to your little in-stallments, with the interest, why, there's noend to 'em; one gets quite muddled over 'em.I'll have nothing more to do with it."

She wept; she even called him "her good Mon-sieur Lheureux." But he always fell back upon"that rascal Vincart." Besides, he hadn't a brassfarthing; no one was paying him now-a-days;

they were eating his coat off his back; a poorshopkeeper like him couldn't advance money.

Emma was silent, and Monsieur Lheureux,who was biting the feathers of a quill, no doubtbecame uneasy at her silence, for he went on—

"Unless one of these days I have somethingcoming in, I might—"

"Besides," said she, "as soon as the balance ofBarneville—"

"What!"

And on hearing that Langlois had not yet paidhe seemed much surprised. Then in a honiedvoice—

"And we agree, you say?"

"Oh! to anything you like."

On this he closed his eyes to reflect, wrotedown a few figures, and declaring it would bevery difficult for him, that the affair was shady,and that he was being bled, he wrote out fourbills for two hundred and fifty francs each, tofall due month by month.

"Provided that Vincart will listen to me! How-ever, it's settled. I don't play the fool; I'mstraight enough."

Next he carelessly showed her several newgoods, not one of which, however, was in hisopinion worthy of madame.

"When I think that there's a dress at threepence-halfpenny a yard, and warranted fast colours!And yet they actually swallow it! Of course youunderstand one doesn't tell them what it reallyis!" He hoped by this confession of dishonestyto others to quite convince her of his probity toher.

Then he called her back to show her three yardsof guipure that he had lately picked up "at asale."

"Isn't it lovely?" said Lheureux. "It is very muchused now for the backs of arm-chairs. It's quitethe rage."

And, more ready than a juggler, he wrappedup the guipure in some blue paper and put it inEmma's hands.

"But at least let me know—"

"Yes, another time," he replied, turning on hisheel.

That same evening she urged Bovary to writeto his mother, to ask her to send as quickly aspossible the whole of the balance due from thefather's estate. The mother-in-law replied thatshe had nothing more, the winding up wasover, and there was due to them besides Barne-

ville an income of six hundred francs, that shewould pay them punctually.

Then Madame Bovary sent in accounts to twoor three patients, and she made large use of thismethod, which was very successful. She wasalways careful to add a postscript: "Do notmention this to my husband; you know howproud he is. Excuse me. Yours obediently."There were some complaints; she interceptedthem.

To get money she began selling her old gloves,her old hats, the old odds and ends, and shebargained rapaciously, her peasant bloodstanding her in good stead. Then on her jour-ney to town she picked up nick-nacks second-hand, that, in default of anyone else, MonsieurLheureux would certainly take off her hands.She bought ostrich feathers, Chinese porcelain,and trunks; she borrowed from Felicite, fromMadame Lefrancois, from the landlady at the

Croix-Rouge, from everybody, no matterwhere.

With the money she at last received from Ba-rneville she paid two bills; the other fifteenhundred francs fell due. She renewed the bills,and thus it was continually.

Sometimes, it is true, she tried to make a calcu-lation, but she discovered things so exorbitantthat she could not believe them possible. Thenshe recommenced, soon got confused, gave itall up, and thought no more about it.

The house was very dreary now. Tradesmenwere seen leaving it with angry faces. Hand-kerchiefs were lying about on the stoves, andlittle Berthe, to the great scandal of MadameHomais, wore stockings with holes in them. IfCharles timidly ventured a remark, she an-swered roughly that it wasn't her fault.

What was the meaning of all these fits of tem-per? He explained everything through her oldnervous illness, and reproaching himself withhaving taken her infirmities for faults, accusedhimself of egotism, and longed to go and takeher in his arms.

"Ah, no!" he said to himself; "I should worryher."

And he did not stir.

After dinner he walked about alone in the gar-den; he took little Berthe on his knees, and un-folding his medical journal, tried to teach her toread. But the child, who never had any lessons,soon looked up with large, sad eyes and beganto cry. Then he comforted her; went to fetchwater in her can to make rivers on the sandpath, or broke off branches from the privethedges to plant trees in the beds. This did notspoil the garden much, all choked now withlong weeds. They owed Lestiboudois for so

many days. Then the child grew cold and askedfor her mother.

"Call the servant," said Charles. "You know,dearie, that mamma does not like to be dis-turbed."

Autumn was setting in, and the leaves werealready falling, as they did two years ago whenshe was ill. Where would it all end? And hewalked up and down, his hands behind hisback.

Madame was in her room, which no one en-tered. She stayed there all day long, torpid, halfdressed, and from time to time burning Turkishpastilles which she had bought at Rouen in anAlgerian's shop. In order not to have at nightthis sleeping man stretched at her side, by dintof manoeuvring, she at last succeeded in ban-ishing him to the second floor, while she readtill morning extravagant books, full of picturesof orgies and thrilling situations. Often, seized

with fear, she cried out, and Charles hurried toher.

"Oh, go away!" she would say.

Or at other times, consumed more ardentlythan ever by that inner flame to which adulteryadded fuel, panting, tremulous, all desire, shethrew open her window, breathed in the coldair, shook loose in the wind her masses of hair,too heavy, and, gazing upon the stars, longedfor some princely love. She thought of him, ofLeon. She would then have given anything fora single one of those meetings that surfeitedher.

These were her gala days. She wanted them tobe sumptuous, and when he alone could notpay the expenses, she made up the deficit liber-ally, which happened pretty well every time.He tried to make her understand that theywould be quite as comfortable somewhere else,

in a smaller hotel, but she always found someobjection.

One day she drew six small silver-gilt spoonsfrom her bag (they were old Roualt's weddingpresent), begging him to pawn them at once forher, and Leon obeyed, though the proceedingannoyed him. He was afraid of compromisinghimself.

Then, on, reflection, he began to think his mis-tress's ways were growing odd, and that theywere perhaps not wrong in wishing to separatehim from her.

In fact someone had sent his mother a longanonymous letter to warn her that he was "ru-ining himself with a married woman," and thegood lady at once conjuring up the eternalbugbear of families, the vague pernicious crea-ture, the siren, the monster, who dwells fantas-tically in depths of love, wrote to LawyerDubocage, his employer, who behaved per-

fectly in the affair. He kept him for three quar-ters of an hour trying to open his eyes, to warnhim of the abyss into which he was falling.Such an intrigue would damage him later on,when he set up for himself. He implored him tobreak with her, and, if he would not make thissacrifice in his own interest, to do it at least forhis, Dubocage's sake.

At last Leon swore he would not see Emmaagain, and he reproached himself with not hav-ing kept his word, considering all the worryand lectures this woman might still draw downupon him, without reckoning the jokes madeby his companions as they sat round the stovein the morning. Besides, he was soon to be headclerk; it was time to settle down. So he gave uphis flute, exalted sentiments, and poetry; forevery bourgeois in the flush of his youth, wereit but for a day, a moment, has believed himselfcapable of immense passions, of lofty enter-prises. The most mediocre libertine has

dreamed of sultanas; every notary bears withinhim the debris of a poet.

He was bored now when Emma suddenly be-gan to sob on his breast, and his heart, like thepeople who can only stand a certain amount ofmusic, dozed to the sound of a love whose deli-cacies he no longer noted.

They knew one another too well for any ofthose surprises of possession that increase itsjoys a hundred-fold. She was as sick of him ashe was weary of her. Emma found again inadultery all the platitudes of marriage.

But how to get rid of him? Then, though shemight feel humiliated at the baseness of suchenjoyment, she clung to it from habit or fromcorruption, and each day she hungered afterthem the more, exhausting all felicity in wish-ing for too much of it. She accused Leon of herbaffled hopes, as if he had betrayed her; andshe even longed for some catastrophe that

would bring about their separation, since shehad not the courage to make up her mind to itherself.

She none the less went on writing him loveletters, in virtue of the notion that a womanmust write to her lover.

But whilst she wrote it was another man shesaw, a phantom fashioned out of her most ar-dent memories, of her finest reading, herstrongest lusts, and at last he became so real, sotangible, that she palpitated wondering, with-out, however, the power to imagine himclearly, so lost was he, like a god, beneath theabundance of his attributes. He dwelt in thatazure land where silk ladders hang from balco-nies under the breath of flowers, in the light ofthe moon. She felt him near her; he was com-ing, and would carry her right away in a kiss.

Then she fell back exhausted, for these trans-ports of vague love wearied her more thangreat debauchery.

She now felt constant ache all over her. Oftenshe even received summonses, stamped paperthat she barely looked at. She would have likednot to be alive, or to be always asleep.

On Mid-Lent she did not return to Yonville, butin the evening went to a masked ball. She worevelvet breeches, red stockings, a club wig, andthree-cornered hat cocked on one side. Shedanced all night to the wild tones of the trom-bones; people gathered round her, and in themorning she found herself on the steps of thetheatre together with five or six masks, de-bardeuses* and sailors, Leon's comrades, whowere talking about having supper.

* People dressed as longshoremen.

The neighbouring cafes were full. They caughtsight of one on the harbour, a very indifferent

restaurant, whose proprietor showed them to alittle room on the fourth floor.

The men were whispering in a corner, no doubtconsorting about expenses. There were a clerk,two medical students, and a shopman—whatcompany for her! As to the women, Emma soonperceived from the tone of their voices thatthey must almost belong to the lowest class.Then she was frightened, pushed back herchair, and cast down her eyes.

The others began to eat; she ate nothing. Herhead was on fire, her eyes smarted, and herskin was ice-cold. In her head she seemed tofeel the floor of the ball-room rebounding againbeneath the rhythmical pulsation of the thou-sands of dancing feet. And now the smell of thepunch, the smoke of the cigars, made hergiddy. She fainted, and they carried her to thewindow.

Day was breaking, and a great stain of purplecolour broadened out in the pale horizon overthe St. Catherine hills. The livid river was shiv-ering in the wind; there was no one on thebridges; the street lamps were going out.

She revived, and began thinking of Bertheasleep yonder in the servant's room. Then a cartfilled with long strips of iron passed by, andmade a deafening metallic vibration against thewalls of the houses.

She slipped away suddenly, threw off her cos-tume, told Leon she must get back, and at lastwas alone at the Hotel de Boulogne. Every-thing, even herself, was now unbearable to her.She wished that, taking wing like a bird, shecould fly somewhere, far away to regions ofpurity, and there grow young again.

She went out, crossed the Boulevard, the PlaceCauchoise, and the Faubourg, as far as an openstreet that overlooked some gardens. She

walked rapidly; the fresh air calming her; and,little by little, the faces of the crowd, the masks,the quadrilles, the lights, the supper, thosewomen, all disappeared like mists fading away.Then, reaching the "Croix-Rouge," she threwherself on the bed in her little room on the sec-ond floor, where there were pictures of the"Tour de Nesle." At four o'clock Hivert awokeher.

When she got home, Felicite showed her be-hind the clock a grey paper. She read—

"In virtue of the seizure in execution of a judg-ment."

What judgment? As a matter of fact, the eve-ning before another paper had been broughtthat she had not yet seen, and she was stunnedby these words—

"By order of the king, law, and justice, to Ma-dame Bovary." Then, skipping several lines, she

read, "Within twenty-four hours, without fail—" But what? "To pay the sum of eight thousandfrancs." And there was even at the bottom, "Shewill be constrained thereto by every form oflaw, and notably by a writ of distraint on herfurniture and effects."

What was to be done? In twenty-four hours—tomorrow. Lheureux, she thought, wanted tofrighten her again; for she saw through all hisdevices, the object of his kindnesses. What reas-sured her was the very magnitude of the sum.

However, by dint of buying and not paying, ofborrowing, signing bills, and renewing thesebills that grew at each new falling-in, she hadended by preparing a capital for MonsieurLheureux which he was impatiently awaitingfor his speculations.

She presented herself at his place with an off-hand air.

"You know what has happened to me? Nodoubt it's a joke!"

"How so?"

He turned away slowly, and, folding his arms,said to her—

"My good lady, did you think I should go on toall eternity being your purveyor and banker,for the love of God? Now be just. I must getback what I've laid out. Now be just."

She cried out against the debt.

"Ah! so much the worse. The court has admit-ted it. There's a judgment. It's been notified toyou. Besides, it isn't my fault. It's Vincart's."

"Could you not—?"

"Oh, nothing whatever."

"But still, now talk it over."

And she began beating about the bush; she hadknown nothing about it; it was a surprise.

"Whose fault is that?" said Lheureux, bowingironically. "While I'm slaving like a nigger, yougo gallivanting about."

"Ah! no lecturing."

"It never does any harm," he replied.

She turned coward; she implored him; she evenpressed her pretty white and slender handagainst the shopkeeper's knee.

"There, that'll do! Anyone'd think you wantedto seduce me!"

"You are a wretch!" she cried.

"Oh, oh! go it! go it!"

"I will show you up. I shall tell my husband."

"All right! I too. I'll show your husband some-thing."

And Lheureux drew from his strong box thereceipt for eighteen hundred francs that shehad given him when Vincart had discountedthe bills.

"Do you think," he added, "that he'll not under-stand your little theft, the poor dear man?"

She collapsed, more overcome than if felled bythe blow of a pole-axe. He was walking up anddown from the window to the bureau, repeat-ing all the while—

"Ah! I'll show him! I'll show him!" Then he ap-proached her, and in a soft voice said—

"It isn't pleasant, I know; but, after all, no bonesare broken, and, since that is the only way thatis left for you paying back my money—"

"But where am I to get any?" said Emma,wringing her hands.

"Bah! when one has friends like you!"

And he looked at her in so keen, so terrible afashion, that she shuddered to her very heart.

"I promise you," she said, "to sign—"

"I've enough of your signatures."

"I will sell something."

"Get along!" he said, shrugging his shoulders;"you've not got anything."

And he called through the peep-hole thatlooked down into the shop—

"Annette, don't forget the three coupons of No.14."

The servant appeared. Emma understood, andasked how much money would be wanted toput a stop to the proceedings.

"It is too late."

"But if I brought you several thousand francs—a quarter of the sum—a third—perhaps thewhole?"

"No; it's no use!"

And he pushed her gently towards the stair-case.

"I implore you, Monsieur Lheureux, just a fewdays more!" She was sobbing.

"There! tears now!"

"You are driving me to despair!"

"What do I care?" said he, shutting the door.

Chapter Seven

She was stoical the next day when MaitreHareng, the bailiff, with two assistants, pre-sented himself at her house to draw up the in-ventory for the distraint.

They began with Bovary's consulting-room,and did not write down the phrenologicalhead, which was considered an "instrument ofhis profession"; but in the kitchen they countedthe plates; the saucepans, the chairs, the can-dlesticks, and in the bedroom all the nick-nackson the whatnot. They examined her dresses, thelinen, the dressing-room; and her whole exis-tence to its most intimate details, was, like a

corpse on whom a post-mortem is made, out-spread before the eyes of these three men.

Maitre Hareng, buttoned up in his thin blackcoat, wearing a white choker and very tightfoot-straps, repeated from time to time—"Allow me, madame. You allow me?" Often heuttered exclamations. "Charming! very pretty."Then he began writing again, dipping his peninto the horn inkstand in his left hand.

When they had done with the rooms they wentup to the attic. She kept a desk there in whichRodolphe's letters were locked. It had to beopened.

"Ah! a correspondence," said Maitre Hareng,with a discreet smile. "But allow me, for I mustmake sure the box contains nothing else." Andhe tipped up the papers lightly, as if to shakeout napoleons. Then she grew angered to seethis coarse hand, with fingers red and pulpy

like slugs, touching these pages against whichher heart had beaten.

They went at last. Felicite came back. Emmahad sent her out to watch for Bovary in order tokeep him off, and they hurriedly installed theman in possession under the roof, where heswore he would remain.

During the evening Charles seemed to hercareworn. Emma watched him with a look ofanguish, fancying she saw an accusation inevery line of his face. Then, when her eyeswandered over the chimney-piece ornamentedwith Chinese screens, over the large curtains,the armchairs, all those things, in a word, thathad, softened the bitterness of her life, remorseseized her or rather an immense regret, that, farfrom crushing, irritated her passion. Charlesplacidly poked the fire, both his feet on the fire-dogs.

Once the man, no doubt bored in his hiding-place, made a slight noise.

"Is anyone walking upstairs?" said Charles.

"No," she replied; "it is a window that has beenleft open, and is rattling in the wind."

The next day, Sunday, she went to Rouen tocall on all the brokers whose names she knew.They were at their country-places or on jour-neys. She was not discouraged; and thosewhom she did manage to see she asked formoney, declaring she must have some, and thatshe would pay it back. Some laughed in herface; all refused.

At two o'clock she hurried to Leon, andknocked at the door. No one answered. Atlength he appeared.

"What brings you here?"

"Do I disturb you?"

"No; but—" And he admitted that his landlorddidn't like his having "women" there.

"I must speak to you," she went on.

Then he took down the key, but she stoppedhim.

"No, no! Down there, in our home!"

And they went to their room at the Hotel deBoulogne.

On arriving she drank off a large glass of water.She was very pale. She said to him—

"Leon, you will do me a service?"

And, shaking him by both hands that shegrasped tightly, she added—

"Listen, I want eight thousand francs."

"But you are mad!"

"Not yet."

And thereupon, telling him the story of thedistraint, she explained her distress to him; forCharles knew nothing of it; her mother-in-lawdetested her; old Rouault could do nothing; buthe, Leon, he would set about finding this indis-pensable sum.

"How on earth can I?"

"What a coward you are!" she cried.

Then he said stupidly, "You are exaggeratingthe difficulty. Perhaps, with a thousand crownsor so the fellow could be stopped."

All the greater reason to try and do something;it was impossible that they could not find threethousand francs. Besides, Leon, could be secu-rity instead of her.

"Go, try, try! I will love you so!"

He went out, and came back at the end of anhour, saying, with solemn face—

"I have been to three people with no success."

Then they remained sitting face to face at thetwo chimney corners, motionless, in silence.Emma shrugged her shoulders as she stampedher feet. He heard her murmuring—

"If I were in your place I should soon get some."

"But where?"

"At your office." And she looked at him.

An infernal boldness looked out from her burn-ing eyes, and their lids drew close togetherwith a lascivious and encouraging look, so thatthe young man felt himself growing weak be-neath the mute will of this woman who wasurging him to a crime. Then he was afraid, andto avoid any explanation he smote his forehead,crying—

"Morel is to come back to-night; he will notrefuse me, I hope" (this was one of his friends,the son of a very rich merchant); "and I willbring it you to-morrow," he added.

Emma did not seem to welcome this hope withall the joy he had expected. Did she suspect thelie? He went on, blushing—

"However, if you don't see me by three o'clockdo not wait for me, my darling. I must be offnow; forgive me! Goodbye!"

He pressed her hand, but it felt quite lifeless.Emma had no strength left for any sentiment.

Four o'clock struck, and she rose to return toYonville, mechanically obeying the force of oldhabits.

The weather was fine. It was one of thoseMarch days, clear and sharp, when the sunshines in a perfectly white sky. The Rouen folk,

in Sunday-clothes, were walking about withhappy looks. She reached the Place du Parvis.People were coming out after vespers; thecrowd flowed out through the three doors likea stream through the three arches of a bridge,and in the middle one, more motionless than arock, stood the beadle.

Then she remembered the day when, all anx-ious and full of hope, she had entered beneaththis large nave, that had opened out before her,less profound than her love; and she walked onweeping beneath her veil, giddy, staggering,almost fainting.

"Take care!" cried a voice issuing from the gateof a courtyard that was thrown open.

She stopped to let pass a black horse, pawingthe ground between the shafts of a tilbury,driven by a gentleman in sable furs. Who wasit? She knew him. The carriage darted by anddisappeared.

Why, it was he—the Viscount. She turnedaway; the street was empty. She was so over-whelmed, so sad, that she had to lean against awall to keep herself from falling.

Then she thought she had been mistaken. Any-how, she did not know. All within her andaround her was abandoning her. She felt lost,sinking at random into indefinable abysses, andit was almost with joy that, on reaching the"Croix-Rouge," she saw the good Homais, whowas watching a large box full of pharmaceuti-cal stores being hoisted on to the "Hirondelle."In his hand he held tied in a silk handkerchiefsix cheminots for his wife.

Madame Homais was very fond of these small,heavy turban-shaped loaves, that are eaten inLent with salt butter; a last vestige of Gothicfood that goes back, perhaps, to the time of theCrusades, and with which the robust Normansgorged themselves of yore, fancying they sawon the table, in the light of the yellow torches,

between tankards of hippocras and huge boars'heads, the heads of Saracens to be devoured.The druggist's wife crunched them up as theyhad done—heroically, despite her wretchedteeth. And so whenever Homais journeyed totown, he never failed to bring her home somethat he bought at the great baker's in the RueMassacre.

"Charmed to see you," he said, offering Emma ahand to help her into the "Hirondelle." Then hehung up his cheminots to the cords of the net-ting, and remained bare-headed in an attitudepensive and Napoleonic.

But when the blind man appeared as usual atthe foot of the hill he exclaimed—

"I can't understand why the authorities toleratesuch culpable industries. Such unfortunatesshould be locked up and forced to work. Pro-gress, my word! creeps at a snail's pace. We arefloundering about in mere barbarism."

The blind man held out his hat, that flappedabout at the door, as if it were a bag in the lin-ing that had come unnailed.

"This," said the chemist, "is a scrofulous affec-tion."

And though he knew the poor devil, he pre-tended to see him for the first time, murmuredsomething about "cornea," "opaque cornea,""sclerotic," "facies," then asked him in a pater-nal tone—

"My friend, have you long had this terrible in-firmity? Instead of getting drunk at the public,you'd do better to die yourself."

He advised him to take good wine, good beer,and good joints. The blind man went on withhis song; he seemed, moreover, almost idiotic.At last Monsieur Homais opened his purse—

"Now there's a sou; give me back two lairds,and don't forget my advice: you'll be the betterfor it."

Hivert openly cast some doubt on the efficacyof it. But the druggist said that he would curehimself with an antiphlogistic pomade of hisown composition, and he gave his address—"Monsieur Homais, near the market, pretty wellknown."

"Now," said Hivert, "for all this trouble you'llgive us your performance."

The blind man sank down on his haunches,with his head thrown back, whilst he rolled hisgreenish eyes, lolled out his tongue, andrubbed his stomach with both hands as he ut-tered a kind of hollow yell like a famished dog.Emma, filled with disgust, threw him over hershoulder a five-franc piece. It was all her for-tune. It seemed to her very fine thus to throw itaway.

The coach had gone on again when suddenlyMonsieur Homais leant out through the win-dow, crying—

"No farinaceous or milk food, wear wool nextthe skin, and expose the diseased parts to thesmoke of juniper berries."

The sight of the well-known objects that defiledbefore her eyes gradually diverted Emma fromher present trouble. An intolerable fatigueoverwhelmed her, and she reached her homestupefied, discouraged, almost asleep.

"Come what may come!" she said to herself."And then, who knows? Why, at any momentcould not some extraordinary event occur?Lheureux even might die!"

At nine o'clock in the morning she was awak-ened by the sound of voices in the Place. Therewas a crowd round the market reading a largebill fixed to one of the posts, and she saw

Justin, who was climbing on to a stone andtearing down the bill. But at this moment therural guard seized him by the collar. MonsieurHomais came out of his shop, and MereLefrangois, in the midst of the crowd, seemedto be perorating.

"Madame! madame!" cried Felicite, running in,"it's abominable!"

And the poor girl, deeply moved, handed her ayellow paper that she had just torn off the door.Emma read with a glance that all her furniturewas for sale.

Then they looked at one another silently. Theservant and mistress had no secret one from theother. At last Felicite sighed—

"If I were you, madame, I should go to Mon-sieur Guillaumin."

"Do you think—"

And this question meant to say—

"You who know the house through the servant,has the master spoken sometimes of me?"

"Yes, you'd do well to go there."

She dressed, put on her black gown, and herhood with jet beads, and that she might not beseen (there was still a crowd on the Place), shetook the path by the river, outside the village.

She reached the notary's gate quite breathless.The sky was sombre, and a little snow was fal-ling. At the sound of the bell, Theodore in a redwaistcoat appeared on the steps; he came toopen the door almost familiarly, as to an ac-quaintance, and showed her into the dining-room.

A large porcelain stove crackled beneath a cac-tus that filled up the niche in the wall, and inblack wood frames against the oak-stained pa-

per hung Steuben's "Esmeralda" and Schopin's"Potiphar." The ready-laid table, the two silverchafing-dishes, the crystal door-knobs, the par-quet and the furniture, all shone with a scrupu-lous, English cleanliness; the windows wereornamented at each corner with stained glass.

"Now this," thought Emma, "is the dining-roomI ought to have."

The notary came in pressing his palm-leafdressing-gown to his breast with his left arm,while with the other hand he raised andquickly put on again his brown velvet cap, pre-tentiously cocked on the right side, whencelooked out the ends of three fair curls drawnfrom the back of the head, following the line ofhis bald skull.

After he had offered her a seat he sat down tobreakfast, apologising profusely for his rude-ness.

"I have come," she said, "to beg you, sir—"

"What, madame? I am listening."

And she began explaining her position to him.Monsieur Guillaumin knew it, being secretlyassociated with the linendraper, from whom healways got capital for the loans on mortgagesthat he was asked to make.

So he knew (and better than she herself) thelong story of the bills, small at first, bearingdifferent names as endorsers, made out at longdates, and constantly renewed up to the day,when, gathering together all the protested bills,the shopkeeper had bidden his friend Vincarttake in his own name all the necessary proceed-ings, not wishing to pass for a tiger with hisfellow-citizens.

She mingled her story with recriminationsagainst Lheureux, to which the notary repliedfrom time to time with some insignificant

word. Eating his cutlet and drinking his tea, heburied his chin in his sky-blue cravat, intowhich were thrust two diamond pins, held to-gether by a small gold chain; and he smiled asingular smile, in a sugary, ambiguous fashion.But noticing that her feet were damp, he said—

"Do get closer to the stove; put your feet upagainst the porcelain."

She was afraid of dirtying it. The notary repliedin a gallant tone—

"Beautiful things spoil nothing."

Then she tried to move him, and, growingmoved herself, she began telling him about thepoorness of her home, her worries, her wants.He could understand that; an elegant woman!and, without leaving off eating, he had turnedcompletely round towards her, so that his kneebrushed against her boot, whose sole curledround as it smoked against the stove.

But when she asked for a thousand sous, heclosed his lips, and declared he was very sorryhe had not had the management of her fortunebefore, for there were hundreds of ways veryconvenient, even for a lady, of turning hermoney to account. They might, either in theturf-peats of Grumesnil or building-ground atHavre, almost without risk, have ventured onsome excellent speculations; and he let her con-sume herself with rage at the thought of thefabulous sums that she would certainly havemade.

"How was it," he went on, "that you didn'tcome to me?"

"I hardly know," she said.

"Why, hey? Did I frighten you so much? It is I,on the contrary, who ought to complain. Wehardly know one another; yet I am very de-voted to you. You do not doubt that, I hope?"

He held out his hand, took hers, covered it witha greedy kiss, then held it on his knee; and heplayed delicately with her fingers whilst hemurmured a thousand blandishments. His in-sipid voice murmured like a running brook; alight shone in his eyes through the glimmeringof his spectacles, and his hand was advancingup Emma's sleeve to press her arm. She feltagainst her cheek his panting breath. This manoppressed her horribly.

She sprang up and said to him—

"Sir, I am waiting."

"For what?" said the notary, who suddenly be-came very pale.

"This money."

"But—" Then, yielding to the outburst of toopowerful a desire, "Well, yes!"

He dragged himself towards her on his knees,regardless of his dressing-gown.

"For pity's sake, stay. I love you!"

He seized her by her waist. Madame Bovary'sface flushed purple. She recoiled with a terriblelook, crying—

"You are taking a shameless advantage of mydistress, sir! I am to be pitied—not to be sold."

And she went out.

The notary remained quite stupefied, his eyesfixed on his fine embroidered slippers. Theywere a love gift, and the sight of them at lastconsoled him. Besides, he reflected that such anadventure might have carried him too far.

"What a wretch! what a scoundrel! what aninfamy!" she said to herself, as she fled withnervous steps beneath the aspens of the path.The disappointment of her failure increased the

indignation of her outraged modesty; it seemedto her that Providence pursued her implacably,and, strengthening herself in her pride, she hadnever felt so much esteem for herself nor somuch contempt for others. A spirit of warfaretransformed her. She would have liked to strikeall men, to spit in their faces, to crush them,and she walked rapidly straight on, pale, quiv-ering, maddened, searching the empty horizonwith tear-dimmed eyes, and as it were rejoicingin the hate that was choking her.

When she saw her house a numbness cameover her. She could not go on; and yet shemust. Besides, whither could she flee?

Felicite was waiting for her at the door. "Well?"

"No!" said Emma.

And for a quarter of an hour the two of themwent over the various persons in Yonville whomight perhaps be inclined to help her. But each

time that Felicite named someone Emma re-plied—

"Impossible! they will not!"

"And the master'll soon be in."

"I know that well enough. Leave me alone."

She had tried everything; there was nothingmore to be done now; and when Charles camein she would have to say to him—

"Go away! This carpet on which you are walk-ing is no longer ours. In your own house youdo not possess a chair, a pin, a straw, and it is I,poor man, who have ruined you."

Then there would be a great sob; next he wouldweep abundantly, and at last, the surprise past,he would forgive her.

"Yes," she murmured, grinding her teeth, "hewill forgive me, he who would give a million if

I would forgive him for having known me! Ne-ver! never!"

This thought of Bovary's superiority to her ex-asperated her. Then, whether she confessed ordid not confess, presently, immediately, to-morrow, he would know the catastrophe all thesame; so she must wait for this horrible scene,and bear the weight of his magnanimity. Thedesire to return to Lheureux's seized her—whatwould be the use? To write to her father—itwas too late; and perhaps, she began to repentnow that she had not yielded to that other,when she heard the trot of a horse in the alley.It was he; he was opening the gate; he waswhiter than the plaster wall. Rushing to thestairs, she ran out quickly to the square; and thewife of the mayor, who was talking to Lesti-boudois in front of the church, saw her go in tothe tax-collector's.

She hurried off to tell Madame Caron, and thetwo ladies went up to the attic, and, hidden by

some linen spread across props, stationedthemselves comfortably for overlooking thewhole of Binet's room.

He was alone in his garret, busy imitating inwood one of those indescribable bits of ivory,composed of crescents, of spheres hollowed outone within the other, the whole as straight as anobelisk, and of no use whatever; and he wasbeginning on the last piece—he was nearing hisgoal. In the twilight of the workshop the whitedust was flying from his tools like a shower ofsparks under the hoofs of a galloping horse; thetwo wheels were turning, droning; Binetsmiled, his chin lowered, his nostrils distended,and, in a word, seemed lost in one of thosecomplete happinesses that, no doubt, belongonly to commonplace occupations, whichamuse the mind with facile difficulties, andsatisfy by a realisation of that beyond whichsuch minds have not a dream.

"Ah! there she is!" exclaimed Madame Tuvache.

But it was impossible because of the lathe tohear what she was saying.

At last these ladies thought they made out theword "francs," and Madame Tuvache whis-pered in a low voice—

"She is begging him to give her time for payingher taxes."

"Apparently!" replied the other.

They saw her walking up and down, examin-ing the napkin-rings, the candlesticks, the ban-ister rails against the walls, while Binet strokedhis beard with satisfaction.

"Do you think she wants to order something ofhim?" said Madame Tuvache.

"Why, he doesn't sell anything," objected herneighbour.

The tax-collector seemed to be listening withwide-open eyes, as if he did not understand.She went on in a tender, suppliant manner. Shecame nearer to him, her breast heaving; they nolonger spoke.

"Is she making him advances?" said MadameTuvache. Binet was scarlet to his very ears. Shetook hold of his hands.

"Oh, it's too much!"

And no doubt she was suggesting somethingabominable to him; for the tax-collector—yet hewas brave, had fought at Bautzen and atLutzen, had been through the French cam-paign, and had even been recommended for thecross—suddenly, as at the sight of a serpent,recoiled as far as he could from her, crying—

"Madame! what do you mean?"

"Women like that ought to be whipped," saidMadame Tuvache.

"But where is she?" continued Madame Caron,for she had disappeared whilst they spoke;then catching sight of her going up the GrandeRue, and turning to the right as if making forthe cemetery, they were lost in conjectures.

"Nurse Rollet," she said on reaching the nurse's,"I am choking; unlace me!" She fell on the bedsobbing. Nurse Rollet covered her with a petti-coat and remained standing by her side. Then,as she did not answer, the good woman with-drew, took her wheel and began spinning flax.

"Oh, leave off!" she murmured, fancying sheheard Binet's lathe.

"What's bothering her?" said the nurse to her-self. "Why has she come here?"

She had rushed thither; impelled by a kind ofhorror that drove her from her home.

Lying on her back, motionless, and with staringeyes, she saw things but vaguely, although shetried to with idiotic persistence. She looked atthe scales on the walls, two brands smokingend to end, and a long spider crawling over herhead in a rent in the beam. At last she began tocollect her thoughts. She remembered—oneday—Leon—Oh! how long ago that was—thesun was shining on the river, and the clematiswere perfuming the air. Then, carried away asby a rushing torrent, she soon began to recallthe day before.

"What time is it?" she asked.

Mere Rollet went out, raised the fingers of herright hand to that side of the sky that wasbrightest, and came back slowly, saying—

"Nearly three."

"Ahl thanks, thanks!"

For he would come; he would have found somemoney. But he would, perhaps, go down yon-der, not guessing she was here, and she told thenurse to run to her house to fetch him.

"Be quick!"

"But, my dear lady, I'm going, I'm going!"

She wondered now that she had not thought ofhim from the first. Yesterday he had given hisword; he would not break it. And she alreadysaw herself at Lheureux's spreading out herthree bank-notes on his bureau. Then shewould have to invent some story to explainmatters to Bovary. What should it be?

The nurse, however, was a long while gone.But, as there was no clock in the cot, Emmafeared she was perhaps exaggerating the lengthof time. She began walking round the garden,

step by step; she went into the path by thehedge, and returned quickly, hoping that thewoman would have come back by anotherroad. At last, weary of waiting, assailed byfears that she thrust from her, no longer con-scious whether she had been here a century ora moment, she sat down in a corner, closed hereyes, and stopped her ears. The gate grated; shesprang up. Before she had spoken Mere Rolletsaid to her—

"There is no one at your house!"

"What?"

"Oh, no one! And the doctor is crying. He iscalling for you; they're looking for you."

Emma answered nothing. She gasped as sheturned her eyes about her, while the peasantwoman, frightened at her face, drew back in-stinctively, thinking her mad. Suddenly shestruck her brow and uttered a cry; for the

thought of Rodolphe, like a flash of lightning ina dark night, had passed into her soul. He wasso good, so delicate, so generous! And besides,should he hesitate to do her this service, shewould know well enough how to constrain himto it by re-waking, in a single moment, theirlost love. So she set out towards La Huchette,not seeing that she was hastening to offer her-self to that which but a while ago had so an-gered her, not in the least conscious of her pros-titution.

Chapter Eight

She asked herself as she walked along, "Whatam I going to say? How shall I begin?" And asshe went on she recognised the thickets, thetrees, the sea-rushes on the hill, the chateau

yonder. All the sensations of her first tender-ness came back to her, and her poor achingheart opened out amorously. A warm windblew in her face; the melting snow fell drop bydrop from the buds to the grass.

She entered, as she used to, through the smallpark-gate. She reached the avenue bordered bya double row of dense lime-trees. They wereswaying their long whispering branches to andfro. The dogs in their kennels all barked, andthe noise of their voices resounded, but broughtout no one.

She went up the large straight staircase withwooden balusters that led to the corridor pavedwith dusty flags, into which several doors in arow opened, as in a monastery or an inn. Hiswas at the top, right at the end, on the left.When she placed her fingers on the lock herstrength suddenly deserted her. She was afraid,almost wished he would not be there, thoughthis was her only hope, her last chance of salva-

tion. She collected her thoughts for one mo-ment, and, strengthening herself by the feelingof present necessity, went in.

He was in front of the fire, both his feet on themantelpiece, smoking a pipe.

"What! it is you!" he said, getting up hurriedly.

"Yes, it is I, Rodolphe. I should like to ask youradvice."

And, despite all her efforts, it was impossiblefor her to open her lips.

"You have not changed; you are charming asever!"

"Oh," she replied bitterly, "they are poorcharms since you disdained them."

Then he began a long explanation of his con-duct, excusing himself in vague terms, in de-fault of being able to invent better.

She yielded to his words, still more to his voiceand the sight of him, so that, she pretended tobelieve, or perhaps believed; in the pretext hegave for their rupture; this was a secret onwhich depended the honour, the very life of athird person.

"No matter!" she said, looking at him sadly. "Ihave suffered much."

He replied philosophically—

"Such is life!"

"Has life," Emma went on, "been good to you atleast, since our separation?"

"Oh, neither good nor bad."

"Perhaps it would have been better never tohave parted."

"Yes, perhaps."

"You think so?" she said, drawing nearer, andshe sighed. "Oh, Rodolphe! if you but knew! Iloved you so!"

It was then that she took his hand, and theyremained some time, their fingers intertwined,like that first day at the Show. With a gesture ofpride he struggled against this emotion. Butsinking upon his breast she said to him—

"How did you think I could live without you?One cannot lose the habit of happiness. I wasdesolate. I thought I should die. I will tell youabout all that and you will see. And you—youfled from me!"

For, all the three years, he had carefullyavoided her in consequence of that naturalcowardice that characterises the stronger sex.Emma went on, with dainty little nods, morecoaxing than an amorous kitten—

"You love others, confess it! Oh, I understandthem, dear! I excuse them. You probably se-duced them as you seduced me. You are indeeda man; you have everything to make one loveyou. But we'll begin again, won't we? We willlove one another. See! I am laughing; I amhappy! Oh, speak!"

And she was charming to see, with her eyes, inwhich trembled a tear, like the rain of a stormin a blue corolla.

He had drawn her upon his knees, and with theback of his hand was caressing her smooth hair,where in the twilight was mirrored like agolden arrow one last ray of the sun. She bentdown her brow; at last he kissed her on theeyelids quite gently with the tips of his lips.

"Why, you have been crying! What for?"

She burst into tears. Rodolphe thought this wasan outburst of her love. As she did not speak,

he took this silence for a last remnant of resis-tance, and then he cried out—

"Oh, forgive me! You are the only one whopleases me. I was imbecile and cruel. I loveyou. I will love you always. What is it. Tell me!"He was kneeling by her.

"Well, I am ruined, Rodolphe! You must lendme three thousand francs."

"But—but—" said he, getting up slowly, whilehis face assumed a grave expression.

"You know," she went on quickly, "that myhusband had placed his whole fortune at a no-tary's. He ran away. So we borrowed; the pa-tients don't pay us. Moreover, the settling of theestate is not yet done; we shall have the moneylater on. But to-day, for want of three thousandfrancs, we are to be sold up. It is to be at once,this very moment, and, counting upon yourfriendship, I have come to you."

"Ah!" thought Rodolphe, turning very pale,"that was what she came for." At last he saidwith a calm air—

"Dear madame, I have not got them."

He did not lie. If he had had them, he would,no doubt, have given them, although it is gen-erally disagreeable to do such fine things: ademand for money being, of all the winds thatblow upon love, the coldest and most destruc-tive.

First she looked at him for some moments.

"You have not got them!" she repeated severaltimes. "You have not got them! I ought to havespared myself this last shame. You never lovedme. You are no better than the others."

She was betraying, ruining herself.

Rodolphe interrupted her, declaring he was"hard up" himself.

"Ah! I pity you," said Emma. "Yes—verymuch."

And fixing her eyes upon an embossed cara-bine, that shone against its panoply, "But whenone is so poor one doesn't have silver on thebutt of one's gun. One doesn't buy a clockinlaid with tortoise shell," she went on, point-ing to a buhl timepiece, "nor silver-gilt whistlesfor one's whips," and she touched them, "norcharms for one's watch. Oh, he wants for noth-ing! even to a liqueur-stand in his room! Foryou love yourself; you live well. You have achateau, farms, woods; you go hunting; youtravel to Paris. Why, if it were but that," shecried, taking up two studs from the man-telpiece, "but the least of these trifles, one canget money for them. Oh, I do not want them,keep them!"

And she threw the two links away from her,their gold chain breaking as it struck againstthe wall.

"But I! I would have given you everything. Iwould have sold all, worked for you with myhands, I would have begged on the highroadsfor a smile, for a look, to hear you say 'Thanks!'And you sit there quietly in your arm-chair, asif you had not made me suffer enough already!But for you, and you know it, I might havelived happily. What made you do it? Was it abet? Yet you loved me—you said so. And but amoment since—Ah! it would have been betterto have driven me away. My hands are hotwith your kisses, and there is the spot on thecarpet where at my knees you swore an eter-nity of love! You made me believe you; for twoyears you held me in the most magnificent, thesweetest dream! Eh! Our plans for the journey,do you remember? Oh, your letter! your letter!it tore my heart! And then when I come back tohim—to him, rich, happy, free—to implore thehelp the first stranger would give, a suppliant,and bringing back to him all my tenderness, he

repulses me because it would cost him threethousand francs!"

"I haven't got them," replied Rodolphe, withthat perfect calm with which resigned ragecovers itself as with a shield.

She went out. The walls trembled, the ceilingwas crushing her, and she passed back throughthe long alley, stumbling against the heaps ofdead leaves scattered by the wind. At last shereached the ha-ha hedge in front of the gate;she broke her nails against the lock in her hasteto open it. Then a hundred steps farther on,breathless, almost falling, she stopped. Andnow turning round, she once more saw theimpassive chateau, with the park, the gardens,the three courts, and all the windows of thefacade.

She remained lost in stupor, and having nomore consciousness of herself than through thebeating of her arteries, that she seemed to hear

bursting forth like a deafening music filling allthe fields. The earth beneath her feet was moreyielding than the sea, and the furrows seemedto her immense brown waves breaking intofoam. Everything in her head, of memories,ideas, went off at once like a thousand pieces offireworks. She saw her father, Lheureux'scloset, their room at home, another landscape.Madness was coming upon her; she grewafraid, and managed to recover herself, in aconfused way, it is true, for she did not in theleast remember the cause of the terrible condi-tion she was in, that is to say, the question ofmoney. She suffered only in her love, and felther soul passing from her in this memory; aswounded men, dying, feel their life ebb fromtheir bleeding wounds.

Night was falling, crows were flying about.

Suddenly it seemed to her that fiery sphereswere exploding in the air like fulminating ballswhen they strike, and were whirling, whirling,

to melt at last upon the snow between thebranches of the trees. In the midst of each ofthem appeared the face of Rodolphe. They mul-tiplied and drew near her, penetrating, her. Itall disappeared; she recognised the lights of thehouses that shone through the fog.

Now her situation, like an abyss, rose up beforeher. She was panting as if her heart wouldburst. Then in an ecstasy of heroism, that madeher almost joyous, she ran down the hill,crossed the cow-plank, the foot-path, the alley,the market, and reached the chemist's shop. Shewas about to enter, but at the sound of the bellsomeone might come, and slipping in by thegate, holding her breath, feeling her way alongthe walls, she went as far as the door of thekitchen, where a candle stuck on the stove wasburning. Justin in his shirt-sleeves was carryingout a dish.

"Ah! they are dining; I will wait."

He returned; she tapped at the window. Hewent out.

"The key! the one for upstairs where he keepsthe—"

"What?"

And he looked at her, astonished at the pallorof her face, that stood out white against theblack background of the night. She seemed tohim extraordinarily beautiful and majestic as aphantom. Without understanding what shewanted, he had the presentiment of somethingterrible.

But she went on quickly in a love voice; in asweet, melting voice, "I want it; give it to me."

As the partition wall was thin, they could hearthe clatter of the forks on the plates in the din-ing-room.

She pretended that she wanted to kill the ratsthat kept her from sleeping.

"I must tell master."

"No, stay!" Then with an indifferent air, "Oh,it's not worth while; I'll tell him presently.Come, light me upstairs."

She entered the corridor into which the labora-tory door opened. Against the wall was a keylabelled Capharnaum.

"Justin!" called the druggist impatiently.

"Let us go up."

And he followed her. The key turned in thelock, and she went straight to the third shelf, sowell did her memory guide her, seized the bluejar, tore out the cork, plunged in her hand, andwithdrawing it full of a white powder, she be-gan eating it.

"Stop!" he cried, rushing at her.

"Hush! someone will come."

He was in despair, was calling out.

"Say nothing, or all the blame will fall on yourmaster."

Then she went home, suddenly calmed, andwith something of the serenity of one that hadperformed a duty.

When Charles, distracted by the news of thedistraint, returned home, Emma had just goneout. He cried aloud, wept, fainted, but she didnot return. Where could she be? He sent Feliciteto Homais, to Monsieur Tuvache, to Lheureux,to the "Lion d'Or," everywhere, and in the in-tervals of his agony he saw his reputation de-stroyed, their fortune lost, Berthe's future ru-ined. By what?—Not a word! He waited till sixin the evening. At last, unable to bear it any

longer, and fancying she had gone to Rouen, heset out along the highroad, walked a mile, metno one, again waited, and returned home. Shehad come back.

"What was the matter? Why? Explain to me."

She sat down at her writing-table and wrote aletter, which she sealed slowly, adding the dateand the hour. Then she said in a solemn tone:

"You are to read it to-morrow; till then, I prayyou, do not ask me a single question. No, notone!"

"But—"

"Oh, leave me!"

She lay down full length on her bed. A bittertaste that she felt in her mouth awakened her.She saw Charles, and again closed her eyes.

She was studying herself curiously, to see if shewere not suffering. But no! nothing as yet. Sheheard the ticking of the clock, the crackling ofthe fire, and Charles breathing as he stood up-right by her bed.

"Ah! it is but a little thing, death!" she thought."I shall fall asleep and all will be over."

She drank a mouthful of water and turned tothe wall. The frightful taste of ink continued.

"I am thirsty; oh! so thirsty," she sighed.

"What is it?" said Charles, who was handingher a glass.

"It is nothing! Open the window; I am choking."

She was seized with a sickness so sudden thatshe had hardly time to draw out her handker-chief from under the pillow.

"Take it away," she said quickly; "throw itaway."

He spoke to her; she did not answer. She laymotionless, afraid that the slightest movementmight make her vomit. But she felt an icy coldcreeping from her feet to her heart.

"Ah! it is beginning," she murmured.

"What did you say?"

She turned her head from side to side with agentle movement full of agony, while con-stantly opening her mouth as if something veryheavy were weighing upon her tongue. Ateight o'clock the vomiting began again.

Charles noticed that at the bottom of the basinthere was a sort of white sediment sticking tothe sides of the porcelain.

"This is extraordinary—very singular," he re-peated.

But she said in a firm voice, "No, you are mis-taken."

Then gently, and almost as caressing her, hepassed his hand over her stomach. She uttereda sharp cry. He fell back terror-stricken.

Then she began to groan, faintly at first. Hershoulders were shaken by a strong shuddering,and she was growing paler than the sheets inwhich her clenched fingers buried themselves.Her unequal pulse was now almost impercep-tible.

Drops of sweat oozed from her bluish face, thatseemed as if rigid in the exhalations of a metal-lic vapour. Her teeth chattered, her dilated eyeslooked vaguely about her, and to all questionsshe replied only with a shake of the head; sheeven smiled once or twice. Gradually, hermoaning grew louder; a hollow shriek burstfrom her; she pretended she was better and that

she would get up presently. But she was seizedwith convulsions and cried out—

"Ah! my God! It is horrible!"

He threw himself on his knees by her bed.

"Tell me! what have you eaten? Answer, forheaven's sake!"

And he looked at her with a tenderness in hiseyes such as she had never seen.

"Well, there—there!" she said in a faint voice.He flew to the writing-table, tore open the seal,and read aloud: "Accuse no one." He stopped,passed his hands across his eyes, and read itover again.

"What! help—help!"

He could only keep repeating the word: "Poi-soned! poisoned!" Felicite ran to Homais, whoproclaimed it in the market-place; Madame

Lefrancois heard it at the "Lion d'Or"; some gotup to go and tell their neighbours, and all nightthe village was on the alert.

Distraught, faltering, reeling, Charles wan-dered about the room. He knocked against thefurniture, tore his hair, and the chemist hadnever believed that there could be so terrible asight.

He went home to write to Monsieur Canivetand to Doctor Lariviere. He lost his head, andmade more than fifteen rough copies. Hip-polyte went to Neufchatel, and Justin sospurred Bovary's horse that he left it founderedand three parts dead by the hill at Bois-Guillaume.

Charles tried to look up his medical dictionary,but could not read it; the lines were dancing.

"Be calm," said the druggist; "we have only toadminister a powerful antidote. What is thepoison?"

Charles showed him the letter. It was arsenic.

"Very well," said Homais, "we must make ananalysis."

For he knew that in cases of poisoning ananalysis must be made; and the other, who didnot understand, answered—

"Oh, do anything! save her!"

Then going back to her, he sank upon the car-pet, and lay there with his head leaning againstthe edge of her bed, sobbing.

"Don't cry," she said to him. "Soon I shall nottrouble you any more."

"Why was it? Who drove you to it?"

She replied. "It had to be, my dear!"

"Weren't you happy? Is it my fault? I did all Icould!"

"Yes, that is true—you are good—you."

And she passed her hand slowly over his hair.The sweetness of this sensation deepened hissadness; he felt his whole being dissolving indespair at the thought that he must lose her,just when she was confessing more love for himthan ever. And he could think of nothing; hedid not know, he did not dare; the urgent needfor some immediate resolution gave the finish-ing stroke to the turmoil of his mind.

So she had done, she thought, with all thetreachery; and meanness, and numberless de-sires that had tortured her. She hated no onenow; a twilight dimness was settling upon herthoughts, and, of all earthly noises, Emmaheard none but the intermittent lamentations of

this poor heart, sweet and indistinct like theecho of a symphony dying away.

"Bring me the child," she said, raising herself onher elbow.

"You are not worse, are you?" asked Charles.

"No, no!"

The child, serious, and still half-asleep, wascarried in on the servant's arm in her longwhite nightgown, from which her bare feetpeeped out. She looked wonderingly at thedisordered room, and half-closed her eyes,dazzled by the candles burning on the table.They reminded her, no doubt, of the morningof New Year's day and Mid-Lent, when thusawakened early by candle-light she came to hermother's bed to fetch her presents, for she be-gan saying—

"But where is it, mamma?" And as everybodywas silent, "But I can't see my little stocking."

Felicite held her over the bed while she stillkept looking towards the mantelpiece.

"Has nurse taken it?" she asked.

And at this name, that carried her back to thememory of her adulteries and her calamities,Madame Bovary turned away her head, as atthe loathing of another bitterer poison that roseto her mouth. But Berthe remained perched onthe bed.

"Oh, how big your eyes are, mamma! How paleyou are! how hot you are!"

Her mother looked at her. "I am frightened!"cried the child, recoiling.

Emma took her hand to kiss it; the child strug-gled.

"That will do. Take her away," cried Charles,who was sobbing in the alcove.

Then the symptoms ceased for a moment; sheseemed less agitated; and at every insignificantword, at every respiration a little more easy, heregained hope. At last, when Canivet came in,he threw himself into his arms.

"Ah! it is you. Thanks! You are good! But she isbetter. See! look at her."

His colleague was by no means of this opinion,and, as he said of himself, "never beating aboutthe bush," he prescribed, an emetic in order toempty the stomach completely.

She soon began vomiting blood. Her lips be-came drawn. Her limbs were convulsed, herwhole body covered with brown spots, and herpulse slipped beneath the fingers like astretched thread, like a harp-string nearlybreaking.

After this she began to scream horribly. Shecursed the poison, railed at it, and implored itto be quick, and thrust away with her stiffenedarms everything that Charles, in more agonythan herself, tried to make her drink. He stoodup, his handkerchief to his lips, with a rattlingsound in his throat, weeping, and choked bysobs that shook his whole body. Felicite wasrunning hither and thither in the room.Homais, motionless, uttered great sighs; andMonsieur Canivet, always retaining his self-command, nevertheless began to feel uneasy.

"The devil! yet she has been purged, and fromthe moment that the cause ceases—"

"The effect must cease," said Homais, "that isevident."

"Oh, save her!" cried Bovary.

And, without listening to the chemist, who wasstill venturing the hypothesis, "It is perhaps a

salutary paroxysm," Canivet was about to ad-minister some theriac, when they heard thecracking of a whip; all the windows rattled, anda post-chaise drawn by three horses abreast, upto their ears in mud, drove at a gallop roundthe corner of the market. It was DoctorLariviere.

The apparition of a god would not have causedmore commotion. Bovary raised his hands;Canivet stopped short; and Homais pulled offhis skull-cap long before the doctor had comein.

He belonged to that great school of surgerybegotten of Bichat, to that generation, now ex-tinct, of philosophical practitioners, who, lov-ing their art with a fanatical love, exercised itwith enthusiasm and wisdom. Everyone in hishospital trembled when he was angry; and hisstudents so revered him that they tried, as soonas they were themselves in practice, to imitatehim as much as possible. So that in all the

towns about they were found wearing his longwadded merino overcoat and black frock-coat,whose buttoned cuffs slightly covered hisbrawny hands—very beautiful hands, and thatnever knew gloves, as though to be more readyto plunge into suffering. Disdainful of honours,of titles, and of academies, like one of the oldKnight-Hospitallers, generous, fatherly to thepoor, and practising virtue without believing init, he would almost have passed for a saint ifthe keenness of his intellect had not caused himto be feared as a demon. His glance, more pene-trating than his bistouries, looked straight intoyour soul, and dissected every lie athwart allassertions and all reticences. And thus he wentalong, full of that debonair majesty that is givenby the consciousness of great talent, of fortune,and of forty years of a labourious and irre-proachable life.

He frowned as soon as he had passed the doorwhen he saw the cadaverous face of Emma

stretched out on her back with her mouth open.Then, while apparently listening to Canivet, herubbed his fingers up and down beneath hisnostrils, and repeated—

"Good! good!"

But he made a slow gesture with his shoulders.Bovary watched him; they looked at one an-other; and this man, accustomed as he was tothe sight of pain, could not keep back a tearthat fell on his shirt-frill.

He tried to take Canivet into the next room.Charles followed him.

"She is very ill, isn't she? If we put on sinap-isms? Anything! Oh, think of something, youwho have saved so many!"

Charles caught him in both his arms, and gazedat him wildly, imploringly, half-fainting againsthis breast.

"Come, my poor fellow, courage! There is noth-ing more to be done."

And Doctor Lariviere turned away.

"You are going?"

"I will come back."

He went out only to give an order to thecoachman, with Monsieur Canivet, who did notcare either to have Emma die under his hands.

The chemist rejoined them on the Place. Hecould not by temperament keep away fromcelebrities, so he begged Monsieur Lariviere todo him the signal honour of accepting somebreakfast.

He sent quickly to the "Lion d'Or" for somepigeons; to the butcher's for all the cutlets thatwere to be had; to Tuvache for cream; and toLestiboudois for eggs; and the druggist himselfaided in the preparations, while Madame

Homais was saying as she pulled together thestrings of her jacket—

"You must excuse us, sir, for in this poor place,when one hasn't been told the night before—"

"Wine glasses!" whispered Homais.

"If only we were in town, we could fall backupon stuffed trotters."

"Be quiet! Sit down, doctor!"

He thought fit, after the first few mouthfuls, togive some details as to the catastrophe.

"We first had a feeling of siccity in the pharynx,then intolerable pains at the epigastrium, superpurgation, coma."

"But how did she poison herself?"

"I don't know, doctor, and I don't even knowwhere she can have procured the arseniousacid."

Justin, who was just bringing in a pile of plates,began to tremble.

"What's the matter?" said the chemist.

At this question the young man dropped thewhole lot on the ground with a crash.

"Imbecile!" cried Homais, "awkward lout!block-head! confounded ass!"

But suddenly controlling himself—

"I wished, doctor, to make an analysis, andprimo I delicately introduced a tube—"

"You would have done better," said the physi-cian, "to introduce your fingers into her throat."

His colleague was silent, having just beforeprivately received a severe lecture about hisemetic, so that this good Canivet, so arrogantand so verbose at the time of the clubfoot, wasto-day very modest. He smiled without ceasingin an approving manner.

Homais dilated in Amphytrionic pride, and theaffecting thought of Bovary vaguely contrib-uted to his pleasure by a kind of egotistic reflexupon himself. Then the presence of the doctortransported him. He displayed his erudition,cited pell-mell cantharides, upas, the manchi-neel, vipers.

"I have even read that various persons havefound themselves under toxicological symp-toms, and, as it were, thunderstricken by black-pudding that had been subjected to a too ve-hement fumigation. At least, this was stated ina very fine report drawn up by one of ourpharmaceutical chiefs, one of our masters, theillustrious Cadet de Gassicourt!"

Madame Homais reappeared, carrying one ofthose shaky machines that are heated with spir-its of wine; for Homais liked to make his coffeeat table, having, moreover, torrefied it, pulver-ised it, and mixed it himself.

"Saccharum, doctor?" said he, offering thesugar.

Then he had all his children brought down,anxious to have the physician's opinion on theirconstitutions.

At last Monsieur Lariviere was about to leave,when Madame Homais asked for a consultationabout her husband. He was making his bloodtoo thick by going to sleep every evening afterdinner.

"Oh, it isn't his blood that's too thick," said thephysician.

And, smiling a little at his unnoticed joke, thedoctor opened the door. But the chemist's shopwas full of people; he had the greatest difficultyin getting rid of Monsieur Tuvache, who fearedhis spouse would get inflammation of thelungs, because she was in the habit of spittingon the ashes; then of Monsieur Binet, whosometimes experienced sudden attacks of greathunger; and of Madame Caron, who sufferedfrom tinglings; of Lheureux, who had vertigo;of Lestiboudois, who had rheumatism; and ofMadame Lefrancois, who had heartburn. Atlast the three horses started; and it was the gen-eral opinion that he had not shown himself atall obliging.

Public attention was distracted by the appear-ance of Monsieur Bournisien, who was goingacross the market with the holy oil.

Homais, as was due to his principles, comparedpriests to ravens attracted by the odour ofdeath. The sight of an ecclesiastic was person-

ally disagreeable to him, for the cassock madehim think of the shroud, and he detested theone from some fear of the other.

Nevertheless, not shrinking from what hecalled his mission, he returned to Bovary's incompany with Canivet whom MonsieurLariviere, before leaving, had strongly urged tomake this visit; and he would, but for his wife'sobjections, have taken his two sons with him, inorder to accustom them to great occasions; thatthis might be a lesson, an example, a solemnpicture, that should remain in their heads lateron.

The room when they went in was full ofmournful solemnity. On the work-table, cov-ered over with a white cloth, there were five orsix small balls of cotton in a silver dish, near alarge crucifix between two lighted candles.

Emma, her chin sunken upon her breast, hadher eyes inordinately wide open, and her poor

hands wandered over the sheets with thathideous and soft movement of the dying, thatseems as if they wanted already to cover them-selves with the shroud. Pale as a statue andwith eyes red as fire, Charles, not weeping,stood opposite her at the foot of the bed, whilethe priest, bending one knee, was mutteringwords in a low voice.

She turned her face slowly, and seemed filledwith joy on seeing suddenly the violet stole, nodoubt finding again, in the midst of a tempo-rary lull in her pain, the lost voluptuousness ofher first mystical transports, with the visions ofeternal beatitude that were beginning.

The priest rose to take the crucifix; then shestretched forward her neck as one who isathirst, and glueing her lips to the body of theMan-God, she pressed upon it with all her ex-piring strength the fullest kiss of love that shehad ever given. Then he recited the Misereaturand the Indulgentiam, dipped his right thumb

in the oil, and began to give extreme unction.First upon the eyes, that had so coveted allworldly pomp; then upon the nostrils, that hadbeen greedy of the warm breeze and amorousodours; then upon the mouth, that had utteredlies, that had curled with pride and cried out inlewdness; then upon the hands that had de-lighted in sensual touches; and finally upon thesoles of the feet, so swift of yore, when she wasrunning to satisfy her desires, and that wouldnow walk no more.

The cure wiped his fingers, threw the bit ofcotton dipped in oil into the fire, and came andsat down by the dying woman, to tell her thatshe must now blend her sufferings with thoseof Jesus Christ and abandon herself to the di-vine mercy.

Finishing his exhortations, he tried to place inher hand a blessed candle, symbol of the celes-tial glory with which she was soon to be sur-rounded. Emma, too weak, could not close her

fingers, and the taper, but for Monsieur Bour-nisien would have fallen to the ground.

However, she was not quite so pale, and herface had an expression of serenity as if the sac-rament had cured her.

The priest did not fail to point this out; he evenexplained to Bovary that the Lord sometimesprolonged the life of persons when he thoughtit meet for their salvation; and Charles remem-bered the day when, so near death, she hadreceived the communion. Perhaps there was noneed to despair, he thought.

In fact, she looked around her slowly, as oneawakening from a dream; then in a distinctvoice she asked for her looking-glass, and re-mained some time bending over it, until the bigtears fell from her eyes. Then she turned awayher head with a sigh and fell back upon thepillows.

Her chest soon began panting rapidly; thewhole of her tongue protruded from hermouth; her eyes, as they rolled, grew paler, likethe two globes of a lamp that is going out, sothat one might have thought her already deadbut for the fearful labouring of her ribs, shakenby violent breathing, as if the soul were strug-gling to free itself. Felicite knelt down beforethe crucifix, and the druggist himself slightlybent his knees, while Monsieur Canivet lookedout vaguely at the Place. Bournisien had againbegun to pray, his face bowed against the edgeof the bed, his long black cassock trailing be-hind him in the room. Charles was on the otherside, on his knees, his arms outstretched to-wards Emma. He had taken her hands andpressed them, shuddering at every beat of herheart, as at the shaking of a falling ruin. As thedeath-rattle became stronger the priest prayedfaster; his prayers mingled with the stifled sobsof Bovary, and sometimes all seemed lost in the

muffled murmur of the Latin syllables thattolled like a passing bell.

Suddenly on the pavement was heard a loudnoise of clogs and the clattering of a stick; and avoice rose—a raucous voice—that sang—

"Maids in the warmth of a summer day Dreamof love and of love always"

Emma raised herself like a galvanised corpse,her hair undone, her eyes fixed, staring.

"Where the sickle blades have been, Nannette,gathering ears of corn, Passes bending down,my queen, To the earth where they were born."

"The blind man!" she cried. And Emma beganto laugh, an atrocious, frantic, despairinglaugh, thinking she saw the hideous face of thepoor wretch that stood out against the eternalnight like a menace.

"The wind is strong this summer day, Her pet-ticoat has flown away."

She fell back upon the mattress in a convulsion.They all drew near. She was dead.

Chapter Nine

There is always after the death of anyone akind of stupefaction; so difficult is it to graspthis advent of nothingness and to resign our-selves to believe in it. But still, when he sawthat she did not move, Charles threw himselfupon her, crying—

"Farewell! farewell!"

Homais and Canivet dragged him from theroom.

"Restrain yourself!"

"Yes." said he, struggling, "I'll be quiet. I'll notdo anything. But leave me alone. I want to seeher. She is my wife!"

And he wept.

"Cry," said the chemist; "let nature take hercourse; that will solace you."

Weaker than a child, Charles let himself be leddownstairs into the sitting-room, and MonsieurHomais soon went home. On the Place he wasaccosted by the blind man, who, havingdragged himself as far as Yonville, in the hopeof getting the antiphlogistic pomade, was ask-ing every passer-by where the druggist lived.

"There now! as if I hadn't got other fish to fry.Well, so much the worse; you must come lateron."

And he entered the shop hurriedly.

He had to write two letters, to prepare a sooth-ing potion for Bovary, to invent some lie thatwould conceal the poisoning, and work it upinto an article for the "Fanal," without countingthe people who were waiting to get the newsfrom him; and when the Yonvillers had allheard his story of the arsenic that she had mis-taken for sugar in making a vanilla cream.Homais once more returned to Bovary's.

He found him alone (Monsieur Canivet hadleft), sitting in an arm-chair near the window,staring with an idiotic look at the flags of thefloor.

"Now," said the chemist, "you ought yourself tofix the hour for the ceremony."

"Why? What ceremony?" Then, in a stammer-ing, frightened voice, "Oh, no! not that. No! Iwant to see her here."

Homais, to keep himself in countenance, tookup a water-bottle on the whatnot to water thegeraniums.

"Ah! thanks," said Charles; "you are good."

But he did not finish, choking beneath thecrowd of memories that this action of the drug-gist recalled to him.

Then to distract him, Homais thought fit to talka little horticulture: plants wanted humidity.Charles bowed his head in sign of approbation.

"Besides, the fine days will soon be here again."

"Ah!" said Bovary.

The druggist, at his wit's end, began softly todraw aside the small window-curtain.

"Hallo! there's Monsieur Tuvache passing."

Charles repeated like a machine—-

"Monsieur Tuvache passing!"

Homais did not dare to speak to him againabout the funeral arrangements; it was thepriest who succeeded in reconciling him tothem.

He shut himself up in his consulting-room,took a pen, and after sobbing for some time,wrote—

"I wish her to be buried in her wedding-dress,with white shoes, and a wreath. Her hair is tobe spread out over her shoulders. Three coffins,one of oak, one of mahogany, one of lead. Letno one say anything to me. I shall havestrength. Over all there is to be placed a largepiece of green velvet. This is my wish; see thatit is done."

The two men were much surprised at Bovary'sromantic ideas. The chemist at once went tohim and said—

"This velvet seems to me a superfetation. Be-sides, the expense—"

"What's that to you?" cried Charles. "Leave me!You did not love her. Go!"

The priest took him by the arm for a turn in thegarden. He discoursed on the vanity of earthlythings. God was very great, was very good: onemust submit to his decrees without a murmur;nay, must even thank him.

Charles burst out into blasphemies: "I hate yourGod!"

"The spirit of rebellion is still upon you," sighedthe ecclesiastic.

Bovary was far away. He was walking withgreat strides along by the wall, near the espal-ier, and he ground his teeth; he raised toheaven looks of malediction, but not so muchas a leaf stirred.

A fine rain was falling: Charles, whose chestwas bare, at last began to shiver; he went in andsat down in the kitchen.

At six o'clock a noise like a clatter of old ironwas heard on the Place; it was the "Hirondelle"coming in, and he remained with his foreheadagainst the windowpane, watching all the pas-sengers get out, one after the other. Felicite putdown a mattress for him in the drawing-room.He threw himself upon it and fell asleep.

Although a philosopher, Monsieur Homaisrespected the dead. So bearing no grudge topoor Charles, he came back again in the eve-ning to sit up with the body; bringing with himthree volumes and a pocket-book for takingnotes.

Monsieur Bournisien was there, and two largecandles were burning at the head of the bed,that had been taken out of the alcove. Thedruggist, on whom the silence weighed, was

not long before he began formulating someregrets about this "unfortunate young woman."and the priest replied that there was nothing todo now but pray for her.

"Yet," Homais went on, "one of two things; ei-ther she died in a state of grace (as the Churchhas it), and then she has no need of our prayers;or else she departed impertinent (that is, I be-lieve, the ecclesiastical expression), and then—"

Bournisien interrupted him, replying testilythat it was none the less necessary to pray.

"But," objected the chemist, "since God knowsall our needs, what can be the good of prayer?"

"What!" cried the ecclesiastic, "prayer! Why,aren't you a Christian?"

"Excuse me," said Homais; "I admire Christian-ity. To begin with, it enfranchised the slaves,introduced into the world a morality—"

"That isn't the question. All the texts-"

"Oh! oh! As to texts, look at history; it, is knownthat all the texts have been falsified by the Jesu-its."

Charles came in, and advancing towards thebed, slowly drew the curtains.

Emma's head was turned towards her rightshoulder, the corner of her mouth, which wasopen, seemed like a black hole at the lower partof her face; her two thumbs were bent into thepalms of her hands; a kind of white dust be-sprinkled her lashes, and her eyes were begin-ning to disappear in that viscous pallor thatlooks like a thin web, as if spiders had spun itover. The sheet sunk in from her breast to herknees, and then rose at the tips of her toes, andit seemed to Charles that infinite masses, anenormous load, were weighing upon her.

The church clock struck two. They could hearthe loud murmur of the river flowing in thedarkness at the foot of the terrace. MonsieurBournisien from time to time blew his nosenoisily, and Homais' pen was scratching overthe paper.

"Come, my good friend," he said, "withdraw;this spectacle is tearing you to pieces."

Charles once gone, the chemist and the curerecommenced their discussions.

"Read Voltaire," said the one, "read D'Holbach,read the 'Encyclopaedia'!"

"Read the 'Letters of some Portuguese Jews,'"said the other; "read 'The Meaning of Christian-ity,' by Nicolas, formerly a magistrate."

They grew warm, they grew red, they bothtalked at once without listening to each other.Bournisien was scandalized at such audacity;

Homais marvelled at such stupidity; and theywere on the point of insulting one anotherwhen Charles suddenly reappeared. A fascina-tion drew him. He was continually coming up-stairs.

He stood opposite her, the better to see her, andhe lost himself in a contemplation so deep thatit was no longer painful.

He recalled stories of catalepsy, the marvels ofmagnetism, and he said to himself that by will-ing it with all his force he might perhaps suc-ceed in reviving her. Once he even bent to-wards he, and cried in a low voice, "Emma!Emma!" His strong breathing made the flamesof the candles tremble against the wall.

At daybreak Madame Bovary senior arrived.Charles as he embraced her burst into anotherflood of tears. She tried, as the chemist haddone, to make some remarks to him on the ex-penses of the funeral. He became so angry that

she was silent, and he even commissioned herto go to town at once and buy what was neces-sary.

Charles remained alone the whole afternoon;they had taken Berthe to Madame Homais';Felicite was in the room upstairs with MadameLefrancois.

In the evening he had some visitors. He rose,pressed their hands, unable to speak. Then theysat down near one another, and formed a largesemicircle in front of the fire. With loweredfaces, and swinging one leg crossed over theother knee, they uttered deep sighs at intervals;each one was inordinately bored, and yet nonewould be the first to go.

Homais, when he returned at nine o'clock (forthe last two days only Homais seemed to havebeen on the Place), was laden with a stock ofcamphor, of benzine, and aromatic herbs. Healso carried a large jar full of chlorine water, to

keep off all miasmata. Just then the servant,Madame Lefrancois, and Madame Bovary sen-ior were busy about Emma, finishing dressingher, and they were drawing down the long stiffveil that covered her to her satin shoes.

Felicite was sobbing—"Ah! my poor mistress!my poor mistress!"

"Look at her," said the landlady, sighing; "howpretty she still is! Now, couldn't you swear shewas going to get up in a minute?"

Then they bent over her to put on her wreath.They had to raise the head a little, and a rush ofblack liquid issued, as if she were vomiting,from her mouth.

"Oh, goodness! The dress; take care!" cried Ma-dame Lefrancois. "Now, just come and help,"she said to the chemist. "Perhaps you'reafraid?"

"I afraid?" replied he, shrugging his shoulders."I dare say! I've seen all sorts of things at thehospital when I was studying pharmacy. Weused to make punch in the dissecting room!Nothingness does not terrify a philosopher;and, as I often say, I even intend to leave mybody to the hospitals, in order, later on, to servescience."

The cure on his arrival inquired how MonsieurBovary was, and, on the reply of the druggist,went on—"The blow, you see, is still too re-cent."

Then Homais congratulated him on not beingexposed, like other people, to the loss of a be-loved companion; whence there followed adiscussion on the celibacy of priests.

"For," said the chemist, "it is unnatural that aman should do without women! There havebeen crimes—"

"But, good heaven!" cried the ecclesiastic, "howdo you expect an individual who is married tokeep the secrets of the confessional, for exam-ple?"

Homais fell foul of the confessional. Bournisiendefended it; he enlarged on the acts of restitu-tion that it brought about. He cited various an-ecdotes about thieves who had suddenly be-come honest. Military men on approaching thetribunal of penitence had felt the scales fallfrom their eyes. At Fribourg there was a minis-ter—

His companion was asleep. Then he felt some-what stifled by the over-heavy atmosphere ofthe room; he opened the window; this awokethe chemist.

"Come, take a pinch of snuff," he said to him."Take it; it'll relieve you."

A continual barking was heard in the distance."Do you hear that dog howling?" said thechemist.

"They smell the dead," replied the priest. "It'slike bees; they leave their hives on the deceaseof any person."

Homais made no remark upon these preju-dices, for he had again dropped asleep. Mon-sieur Bournisien, stronger than he, went onmoving his lips gently for some time, then in-sensibly his chin sank down, he let fall his bigblack boot, and began to snore.

They sat opposite one another, with protrudingstomachs, puffed-up faces, and frowning looks,after so much disagreement uniting at last inthe same human weakness, and they moved nomore than the corpse by their side, that seemedto be sleeping.

Charles coming in did not wake them. It wasthe last time; he came to bid her farewell.

The aromatic herbs were still smoking, andspirals of bluish vapour blended at the win-dow-sash with the fog that was coming in.There were few stars, and the night was warm.The wax of the candles fell in great drops uponthe sheets of the bed. Charles watched themburn, tiring his eyes against the glare of theiryellow flame.

The watering on the satin gown shimmeredwhite as moonlight. Emma was lost beneath it;and it seemed to him that, spreading beyondher own self, she blended confusedly with eve-rything around her—the silence, the night, thepassing wind, the damp odours rising from theground.

Then suddenly he saw her in the garden atTostes, on a bench against the thorn hedge, orelse at Rouen in the streets, on the threshold of

their house, in the yard at Bertaux. He againheard the laughter of the happy boys beneaththe apple-trees: the room was filled with theperfume of her hair; and her dress rustled in hisarms with a noise like electricity. The dress wasstill the same.

For a long while he thus recalled all his lostjoys, her attitudes, her movements, the soundof her voice. Upon one fit of despair followedanother, and even others, inexhaustible as thewaves of an overflowing sea.

A terrible curiosity seized him. Slowly, with thetips of his fingers, palpitating, he lifted her veil.But he uttered a cry of horror that awoke theother two.

They dragged him down into the sitting-room.Then Felicite came up to say that he wantedsome of her hair.

"Cut some off," replied the druggist.

And as she did not dare to, he himself steppedforward, scissors in hand. He trembled so thathe pierced the skin of the temple in severalplaces. At last, stiffening himself against emo-tion, Homais gave two or three great cuts atrandom that left white patches amongst thatbeautiful black hair.

The chemist and the cure plunged anew intotheir occupations, not without sleeping fromtime to time, of which they accused each otherreciprocally at each fresh awakening. ThenMonsieur Bournisien sprinkled the room withholy water and Homais threw a little chlorinewater on the floor.

Felicite had taken care to put on the chest ofdrawers, for each of them, a bottle of brandy,some cheese, and a large roll. And the druggist,who could not hold out any longer, about fourin the morning sighed—

"My word! I should like to take some suste-nance."

The priest did not need any persuading; hewent out to go and say mass, came back, andthen they ate and hobnobbed, giggling a littlewithout knowing why, stimulated by thatvague gaiety that comes upon us after times ofsadness, and at the last glass the priest said tothe druggist, as he clapped him on the shoul-der—

"We shall end by understanding one another."

In the passage downstairs they met the under-taker's men, who were coming in. Then Charlesfor two hours had to suffer the torture of hear-ing the hammer resound against the wood.Next day they lowered her into her oak coffin,that was fitted into the other two; but as thebier was too large, they had to fill up the gapswith the wool of a mattress. At last, when thethree lids had been planed down, nailed, sol-

dered, it was placed outside in front of thedoor; the house was thrown open, and the peo-ple of Yonville began to flock round.

Old Rouault arrived, and fainted on the Placewhen he saw the black cloth!

Chapter Ten

He had only received the chemist's letter thirty-six hours after the event; and, from considera-tion for his feelings, Homais had so worded itthat it was impossible to make out what it wasall about.

First, the old fellow had fallen as if struck byapoplexy. Next, he understood that she was notdead, but she might be. At last, he had put on

his blouse, taken his hat, fastened his spurs tohis boots, and set out at full speed; and thewhole of the way old Rouault, panting, wastorn by anguish. Once even he was obliged todismount. He was dizzy; he heard voices roundabout him; he felt himself going mad.

Day broke. He saw three black hens asleep in atree. He shuddered, horrified at this omen.Then he promised the Holy Virgin three chasu-bles for the church, and that he would go bare-footed from the cemetery at Bertaux to thechapel of Vassonville.

He entered Maromme shouting for the peopleof the inn, burst open the door with a thrust ofhis shoulder, made for a sack of oats, emptied abottle of sweet cider into the manger, and againmounted his nag, whose feet struck fire as itdashed along.

He said to himself that no doubt they wouldsave her; the doctors would discover some

remedy surely. He remembered all the miracu-lous cures he had been told about. Then sheappeared to him dead. She was there; before hiseyes, lying on her back in the middle of theroad. He reined up, and the hallucination dis-appeared.

At Quincampoix, to give himself heart, hedrank three cups of coffee one after the other.He fancied they had made a mistake in thename in writing. He looked for the letter in hispocket, felt it there, but did not dare to open it.

At last he began to think it was all a joke;someone's spite, the jest of some wag; and be-sides, if she were dead, one would have knownit. But no! There was nothing extraordinaryabout the country; the sky was blue, the treesswayed; a flock of sheep passed. He saw thevillage; he was seen coming bending forwardupon his horse, belabouring it with greatblows, the girths dripping with blood.

When he had recovered consciousness, he fell,weeping, into Bovary's arms: "My girl! Emma!my child! tell me—"

The other replied, sobbing, "I don't know! Idon't know! It's a curse!"

The druggist separated them. "These horribledetails are useless. I will tell this gentleman allabout it. Here are the people coming. Dignity!Come now! Philosophy!"

The poor fellow tried to show himself brave,and repeated several times. "Yes! courage!"

"Oh," cried the old man, "so I will have, byGod! I'll go along o' her to the end!"

The bell began tolling. All was ready; they hadto start. And seated in a stall of the choir, sideby side, they saw pass and repass in front ofthem continually the three chanting choristers.

The serpent-player was blowing with all hismight. Monsieur Bournisien, in full vestments,was singing in a shrill voice. He bowed beforethe tabernacle, raising his hands, stretched outhis arms. Lestiboudois went about the churchwith his whalebone stick. The bier stood nearthe lectern, between four rows of candles.Charles felt inclined to get up and put themout.

Yet he tried to stir himself to a feeling of devo-tion, to throw himself into the hope of a futurelife in which he should see her again. He imag-ined to himself she had gone on a long journey,far away, for a long time. But when he thoughtof her lying there, and that all was over, thatthey would lay her in the earth, he was seizedwith a fierce, gloomy, despairful rage. At timeshe thought he felt nothing more, and he en-joyed this lull in his pain, whilst at the sametime he reproached himself for being a wretch.

The sharp noise of an iron-ferruled stick washeard on the stones, striking them at irregularintervals. It came from the end of the church,and stopped short at the lower aisles. A man ina coarse brown jacket knelt down painfully. Itwas Hippolyte, the stable-boy at the "Liond'Or." He had put on his new leg.

One of the choristers went round the nave mak-ing a collection, and the coppers chinked oneafter the other on the silver plate.

"Oh, make haste! I am in pain!" cried Bovary,angrily throwing him a five-franc piece. Thechurchman thanked him with a deep bow.

They sang, they knelt, they stood up; it wasendless! He remembered that once, in the earlytimes, they had been to mass together, and theyhad sat down on the other side, on the right, bythe wall. The bell began again. There was agreat moving of chairs; the bearers slipped their

three staves under the coffin, and everyone leftthe church.

Then Justin appeared at the door of the shop.He suddenly went in again, pale, staggering.

People were at the windows to see the proces-sion pass. Charles at the head walked erect. Heaffected a brave air, and saluted with a nodthose who, coming out from the lanes or fromtheir doors, stood amidst the crowd.

The six men, three on either side, walkedslowly, panting a little. The priests, the choris-ters, and the two choirboys recited the De pro-fundis*, and their voices echoed over the fields,rising and falling with their undulations. Some-times they disappeared in the windings of thepath; but the great silver cross rose always be-fore the trees. *Psalm CXXX.

The women followed in black cloaks withturned-down hoods; each of them carried inher hands a large lighted candle, and Charlesfelt himself growing weaker at this continualrepetition of prayers and torches, beneath thisoppressive odour of wax and of cassocks. Afresh breeze was blowing; the rye and colzawere sprouting, little dewdrops trembled at theroadsides and on the hawthorn hedges. Allsorts of joyous sounds filled the air; the joltingof a cart rolling afar off in the ruts, the crowingof a cock, repeated again and again, or thegambling of a foal running away under theapple-trees: The pure sky was fretted with rosyclouds; a bluish haze rested upon the cots cov-ered with iris. Charles as he passed recognisedeach courtyard. He remembered mornings likethis, when, after visiting some patient, he cameout from one and returned to her.

The black cloth bestrewn with white beadsblew up from time to time, laying bare the cof-

fin. The tired bearers walked more slowly, andit advanced with constant jerks, like a boat thatpitches with every wave.

They reached the cemetery. The men went rightdown to a place in the grass where a grave wasdug. They ranged themselves all round; andwhile the priest spoke, the red soil thrown upat the sides kept noiselessly slipping down atthe corners.

Then when the four ropes were arranged thecoffin was placed upon them. He watched itdescend; it seemed descending for ever. At lasta thud was heard; the ropes creaked as theywere drawn up. Then Bournisien took thespade handed to him by Lestiboudois; with hisleft hand all the time sprinkling water, with theright he vigorously threw in a large spadeful;and the wood of the coffin, struck by the peb-bles, gave forth that dread sound that seems tous the reverberation of eternity.

The ecclesiastic passed the holy water sprinklerto his neighbour. This was Homais. He swungit gravely, then handed it to Charles, who sankto his knees in the earth and threw in handfulsof it, crying, "Adieu!" He sent her kisses; hedragged himself towards the grave, to engulfhimself with her. They led him away, and hesoon grew calmer, feeling perhaps, like the oth-ers, a vague satisfaction that it was all over.

Old Rouault on his way back began quietlysmoking a pipe, which Homais in his inner-most conscience thought not quite the thing. Healso noticed that Monsieur Binet had not beenpresent, and that Tuvache had "made off" aftermass, and that Theodore, the notary's servantwore a blue coat, "as if one could not have got ablack coat, since that is the custom, by Jove!"And to share his observations with others hewent from group to group. They were deplor-ing Emma's death, especially Lheureux, whohad not failed to come to the funeral.

"Poor little woman! What a trouble for her hus-band!"

The druggist continued, "Do you know that butfor me he would have committed some fatalattempt upon himself?"

"Such a good woman! To think that I saw heronly last Saturday in my shop."

"I haven't had leisure," said Homais, "to pre-pare a few words that I would have cast uponher tomb."

Charles on getting home undressed, and oldRouault put on his blue blouse. It was a newone, and as he had often during the journeywiped his eyes on the sleeves, the dye hadstained his face, and the traces of tears madelines in the layer of dust that covered it.

Madame Bovary senior was with them. Allthree were silent. At last the old fellowsighed—

"Do you remember, my friend, that I went toTostes once when you had just lost your firstdeceased? I consoled you at that time. I thoughtof something to say then, but now—" Then,with a loud groan that shook his whole chest,"Ah! this is the end for me, do you see! I sawmy wife go, then my son, and now to-day it'smy daughter."

He wanted to go back at once to Bertaux, say-ing that he could not sleep in this house. Heeven refused to see his granddaughter.

"No, no! It would grieve me too much. Onlyyou'll kiss her many times for me. Good-bye!you're a good fellow! And then I shall neverforget that," he said, slapping his thigh. "Neverfear, you shall always have your turkey."

But when he reached the top of the hill heturned back, as he had turned once before onthe road of Saint-Victor when he had partedfrom her. The windows of the village were allon fire beneath the slanting rays of the sunsinking behind the field. He put his hand overhis eyes, and saw in the horizon an enclosure ofwalls, where trees here and there formed blackclusters between white stones; then he went onhis way at a gentle trot, for his nag had gonelame.

Despite their fatigue, Charles and his motherstayed very long that evening talking together.They spoke of the days of the past and of thefuture. She would come to live at Yonville; shewould keep house for him; they would neverpart again. She was ingenious and caressing,rejoicing in her heart at gaining once more anaffection that had wandered from her for somany years. Midnight struck. The village as

usual was silent, and Charles, awake, thoughtalways of her.

Rodolphe, who, to distract himself, had beenrambling about the wood all day, was sleepingquietly in his chateau, and Leon, down yonder,always slept.

There was another who at that hour was notasleep.

On the grave between the pine-trees a childwas on his knees weeping, and his heart, rentby sobs, was beating in the shadow beneath theload of an immense regret, sweeter than themoon and fathomless as the night. The gatesuddenly grated. It was Lestiboudois; he cameto fetch his spade, that he had forgotten. Herecognised Justin climbing over the wall, and atlast knew who was the culprit who stole hispotatoes.

Chapter Eleven

The next day Charles had the child broughtback. She asked for her mamma. They told hershe was away; that she would bring her backsome playthings. Berthe spoke of her againseveral times, then at last thought no more ofher. The child's gaiety broke Bovary's heart,and he had to bear besides the intolerable con-solations of the chemist.

Money troubles soon began again, MonsieurLheureux urging on anew his friend Vincart,and Charles pledged himself for exorbitantsums; for he would never consent to let thesmallest of the things that had belonged to HERbe sold. His mother was exasperated with him;

he grew even more angry than she did. He hadaltogether changed. She left the house.

Then everyone began "taking advantage" ofhim. Mademoiselle Lempereur presented a billfor six months' teaching, although Emma hadnever taken a lesson (despite the receipted billshe had shown Bovary); it was an arrangementbetween the two women. The man at the circu-lating library demanded three years' subscrip-tions; Mere Rollet claimed the postage due forsome twenty letters, and when Charles askedfor an explanation, she had the delicacy to re-ply—

"Oh, I don't know. It was for her business af-fairs."

With every debt he paid Charles thought hehad come to the end of them. But others fol-lowed ceaselessly. He sent in accounts for pro-fessional attendance. He was shown the lettershis wife had written. Then he had to apologise.

Felicite now wore Madame Bovary's gowns;not all, for he had kept some of them, and hewent to look at them in her dressing-room,locking himself up there; she was about herheight, and often Charles, seeing her from be-hind, was seized with an illusion, and criedout—

"Oh, stay, stay!"

But at Whitsuntide she ran away from Yonville,carried off by Theodore, stealing all that wasleft of the wardrobe.

It was about this time that the widow Dupuishad the honour to inform him of the "marriageof Monsieur Leon Dupuis her son, notary atYvetot, to Mademoiselle Leocadie Leboeuf ofBondeville." Charles, among the other con-gratulations he sent him, wrote this sentence—

"How glad my poor wife would have been!"

One day when, wandering aimlessly about thehouse, he had gone up to the attic, he felt a pel-let of fine paper under his slipper. He opened itand read: "Courage, Emma, courage. I wouldnot bring misery into your life." It was Rodol-phe's letter, fallen to the ground between theboxes, where it had remained, and that thewind from the dormer window had just blowntowards the door. And Charles stood, mo-tionless and staring, in the very same placewhere, long ago, Emma, in despair, and palereven than he, had thought of dying. At last hediscovered a small R at the bottom of the sec-ond page. What did this mean? He remem-bered Rodolphe's attentions, his sudden, dis-appearance, his constrained air when they hadmet two or three times since. But the respectfultone of the letter deceived him.

"Perhaps they loved one another platonically,"he said to himself.

Besides, Charles was not of those who go to thebottom of things; he shrank from the proofs,and his vague jealousy was lost in the immen-sity of his woe.

Everyone, he thought, must have adored her;all men assuredly must have coveted her. Sheseemed but the more beautiful to him for this;he was seized with a lasting, furious desire forher, that inflamed his despair, and that wasboundless, because it was now unrealisable.

To please her, as if she were still living, headopted her predilections, her ideas; he boughtpatent leather boots and took to wearing whitecravats. He put cosmetics on his moustache,and, like her, signed notes of hand. She cor-rupted him from beyond the grave.

He was obliged to sell his silver piece by piece;next he sold the drawing-room furniture. Allthe rooms were stripped; but the bedroom, herown room, remained as before. After his dinner

Charles went up there. He pushed the roundtable in front of the fire, and drew up her arm-chair. He sat down opposite it. A candle burntin one of the gilt candlesticks. Berthe by his sidewas painting prints.

He suffered, poor man, at seeing her so badlydressed, with laceless boots, and the arm-holesof her pinafore torn down to the hips; for thecharwoman took no care of her. But she was sosweet, so pretty, and her little head bent for-ward so gracefully, letting the dear fair hair fallover her rosy cheeks, that an infinite joy cameupon him, a happiness mingled with bitterness,like those ill-made wines that taste of resin. Hemended her toys, made her puppets from card-board, or sewed up half-torn dolls. Then, if hiseyes fell upon the workbox, a ribbon lyingabout, or even a pin left in a crack of the table,he began to dream, and looked so sad that shebecame as sad as he.

No one now came to see them, for Justin hadrun away to Rouen, where he was a grocer'sassistant, and the druggist's children saw lessand less of the child, Monsieur Homais not car-ing, seeing the difference of their social posi-tion, to continue the intimacy.

The blind man, whom he had not been able tocure with the pomade, had gone back to the hillof Bois-Guillaume, where he told the travellersof the vain attempt of the druggist, to such anextent, that Homais when he went to town hidhimself behind the curtains of the "Hirondelle"to avoid meeting him. He detested him, andwishing, in the interests of his own reputation,to get rid of him at all costs, he directed againsthim a secret battery, that betrayed the depth ofhis intellect and the baseness of his vanity.Thus, for six consecutive months, one couldread in the "Fanal de Rouen" editorials such asthese—

"All who bend their steps towards the fertileplains of Picardy have, no doubt, remarked, bythe Bois-Guillaume hill, a wretch sufferingfrom a horrible facial wound. He importunes,persecutes one, and levies a regular tax on alltravellers. Are we still living in the monstroustimes of the Middle Ages, when vagabondswere permitted to display in our public placesleprosy and scrofulas they had brought backfrom the Crusades?"

Or—

"In spite of the laws against vagabondage, theapproaches to our great towns continue to beinfected by bands of beggars. Some are seengoing about alone, and these are not, perhaps,the least dangerous. What are our edilesabout?"

Then Homais invented anecdotes—

"Yesterday, by the Bois-Guillaume hill, a skit-tish horse—" And then followed the story of anaccident caused by the presence of the blindman.

He managed so well that the fellow was lockedup. But he was released. He began again, andHomais began again. It was a struggle. Homaiswon it, for his foe was condemned to life-longconfinement in an asylum.

This success emboldened him, and henceforththere was no longer a dog run over, a barnburnt down, a woman beaten in the parish, ofwhich he did not immediately inform the pub-lic, guided always by the love of progress andthe hate of priests. He instituted comparisonsbetween the elementary and clerical schools tothe detriment of the latter; called to mind themassacre of St. Bartholomew a propos of agrant of one hundred francs to the church, anddenounced abuses, aired new views. That was

his phrase. Homais was digging and delving;he was becoming dangerous.

However, he was stifling in the narrow limitsof journalism, and soon a book, a work wasnecessary to him. Then he composed "GeneralStatistics of the Canton of Yonville, followed byClimatological Remarks." The statistics drovehim to philosophy. He busied himself withgreat questions: the social problem, moralisa-tion of the poorer classes, pisciculture, caout-chouc, railways, etc. He even began to blush atbeing a bourgeois. He affected the artistic style,he smoked. He bought two chic Pompadourstatuettes to adorn his drawing-room.

He by no means gave up his shop. On the con-trary, he kept well abreast of new discoveries.He followed the great movement of chocolates;he was the first to introduce "cocoa" and "reva-lenta" into the Seine-Inferieure. He was enthu-siastic about the hydro-electric Pulvermacherchains; he wore one himself, and when at night

he took off his flannel vest, Madame Homaisstood quite dazzled before the golden spiralbeneath which he was hidden, and felt her ar-dour redouble for this man more bandagedthan a Scythian, and splendid as one of theMagi.

He had fine ideas about Emma's tomb. First heproposed a broken column with some drapery,next a pyramid, then a Temple of Vesta, a sortof rotunda, or else a "mass of ruins." And in allhis plans Homais always stuck to the weepingwillow, which he looked upon as the indispen-sable symbol of sorrow.

Charles and he made a journey to Rouen to-gether to look at some tombs at a funeral fur-nisher's, accompanied by an artist, one Vaufry-lard, a friend of Bridoux's, who made puns allthe time. At last, after having examined somehundred designs, having ordered an estimateand made another journey to Rouen, Charlesdecided in favour of a mausoleum, which on

the two principal sides was to have a "spiritbearing an extinguished torch."

As to the inscription, Homais could think ofnothing so fine as Sta viator*, and he got nofurther; he racked his brain, he constantly re-peated Sta viator. At last he hit upon Amabilenconjugem calcas**, which was adopted. * Rest traveler.

** Tread upon a loving wife.

A strange thing was that Bovary, while con-tinually thinking of Emma, was forgetting her.He grew desperate as he felt this image fadingfrom his memory in spite of all efforts to retainit. Yet every night he dreamt of her; it was al-ways the same dream. He drew near her, butwhen he was about to clasp her she fell intodecay in his arms.

For a week he was seen going to church in theevening. Monsieur Bournisien even paid him

two or three visits, then gave him up. More-over, the old fellow was growing intolerant,fanatic, said Homais. He thundered against thespirit of the age, and never failed, every otherweek, in his sermon, to recount the death ag-ony of Voltaire, who died devouring his ex-crements, as everyone knows.

In spite of the economy with which Bovarylived, he was far from being able to pay off hisold debts. Lheureux refused to renew any morebills. A distraint became imminent. Then heappealed to his mother, who consented to lethim take a mortgage on her property, but witha great many recriminations against Emma;and in return for her sacrifice she asked for ashawl that had escaped the depredations ofFelicite. Charles refused to give it her; theyquarrelled.

She made the first overtures of reconciliation byoffering to have the little girl, who could helpher in the house, to live with her. Charles con-

sented to this, but when the time for partingcame, all his courage failed him. Then therewas a final, complete rupture.

As his affections vanished, he clung moreclosely to the love of his child. She made himanxious, however, for she coughed sometimes,and had red spots on her cheeks.

Opposite his house, flourishing and merry, wasthe family of the chemist, with whom every-thing was prospering. Napoleon helped him inthe laboratory, Athalie embroidered him askullcap, Irma cut out rounds of paper to coverthe preserves, and Franklin recited Pythagoras'table in a breath. He was the happiest of fa-thers, the most fortunate of men.

Not so! A secret ambition devoured him.Homais hankered after the cross of the Legionof Honour. He had plenty of claims to it.

"First, having at the time of the cholera distin-guished myself by a boundless devotion; sec-ond, by having published, at my expense, vari-ous works of public utility, such as" (and herecalled his pamphlet entitled, "Cider, itsmanufacture and effects," besides observationon the lanigerous plant-louse, sent to the Acad-emy; his volume of statistics, and down to hispharmaceutical thesis); "without counting that Iam a member of several learned societies" (hewas member of a single one).

"In short!" he cried, making a pirouette, "if itwere only for distinguishing myself at fires!"

Then Homais inclined towards the Govern-ment. He secretly did the prefect great serviceduring the elections. He sold himself—in aword, prostituted himself. He even addressed apetition to the sovereign in which he imploredhim to "do him justice"; he called him "ourgood king," and compared him to Henri IV.

And every morning the druggist rushed for thepaper to see if his nomination were in it. It wasnever there. At last, unable to bear it anylonger, he had a grass plot in his garden de-signed to represent the Star of the Cross ofHonour with two little strips of grass runningfrom the top to imitate the ribband. He walkedround it with folded arms, meditating on thefolly of the Government and the ingratitude ofmen.

From respect, or from a sort of sensuality thatmade him carry on his investigations slowly,Charles had not yet opened the secret drawerof a rosewood desk which Emma had generallyused. One day, however, he sat down before it,turned the key, and pressed the spring. AllLeon's letters were there. There could be nodoubt this time. He devoured them to the verylast, ransacked every corner, all the furniture,all the drawers, behind the walls, sobbing, cry-ing aloud, distraught, mad. He found a box and

broke it open with a kick. Rodolphe's portraitflew full in his face in the midst of the over-turned love-letters.

People wondered at his despondency. He neverwent out, saw no one, refused even to visit hispatients. Then they said "he shut himself up todrink."

Sometimes, however, some curious personclimbed on to the garden hedge, and saw withamazement this long-bearded, shabbilyclothed, wild man, who wept aloud as hewalked up and down.

In the evening in summer he took his little girlwith him and led her to the cemetery. Theycame back at nightfall, when the only light leftin the Place was that in Binet's window.

The voluptuousness of his grief was, however,incomplete, for he had no one near him to share

it, and he paid visits to Madame Lefrancois tobe able to speak of her.

But the landlady only listened with half an ear,having troubles like himself. For Lheureux hadat last established the "Favorites du Com-merce," and Hivert, who enjoyed a great repu-tation for doing errands, insisted on a rise ofwages, and was threatening to go over "to theopposition shop."

One day when he had gone to the market atArgueil to sell his horse—his last resource—hemet Rodolphe.

They both turned pale when they caught sightof one another. Rodolphe, who had only senthis card, first stammered some apologies, thengrew bolder, and even pushed his assurance (itwas in the month of August and very hot) tothe length of inviting him to have a bottle ofbeer at the public-house.

Leaning on the table opposite him, he chewedhis cigar as he talked, and Charles was lost inreverie at this face that she had loved. Heseemed to see again something of her in it. Itwas a marvel to him. He would have liked tohave been this man.

The other went on talking agriculture, cattle,pasturage, filling out with banal phrases all thegaps where an allusion might slip in. Charleswas not listening to him; Rodolphe noticed it,and he followed the succession of memoriesthat crossed his face. This gradually grew red-der; the nostrils throbbed fast, the lips quiv-ered. There was at last a moment whenCharles, full of a sombre fury, fixed his eyes onRodolphe, who, in something of fear, stoppedtalking. But soon the same look of weary lassi-tude came back to his face.

"I don't blame you," he said.

Rodolphe was dumb. And Charles, his head inhis hands, went on in a broken voice, and withthe resigned accent of infinite sorrow—

"No, I don't blame you now."

He even added a fine phrase, the only one heever made—

"It is the fault of fatality!"

Rodolphe, who had managed the fatality,thought the remark very offhand from a man inhis position, comic even, and a little mean.

The next day Charles went to sit down on theseat in the arbour. Rays of light were strayingthrough the trellis, the vine leaves threw theirshadows on the sand, the jasmines perfumedthe air, the heavens were blue, Spanish fliesbuzzed round the lilies in bloom, and Charleswas suffocating like a youth beneath the vaguelove influences that filled his aching heart.

At seven o'clock little Berthe, who had not seenhim all the afternoon, went to fetch him to din-ner.

His head was thrown back against the wall, hiseyes closed, his mouth open, and in his handwas a long tress of black hair.

"Come along, papa," she said.

And thinking he wanted to play; she pushedhim gently. He fell to the ground. He was dead.

Thirty-six hours after, at the druggist's request,Monsieur Canivet came thither. He made apost-mortem and found nothing.

When everything had been sold, twelve francsseventy-five centimes remained, that served topay for Mademoiselle Bovary's going to hergrandmother. The good woman died the sameyear; old Rouault was paralysed, and it was an

aunt who took charge of her. She is poor, andsends her to a cotton-factory to earn a living.

Since Bovary's death three doctors have fol-lowed one another at Yonville without any suc-cess, so severely did Homais attack them. Hehas an enormous practice; the authorities treathim with consideration, and public opinionprotects him.

He has just received the cross of the Legion ofHonour.