Part II: Chapter Four

by Gustave Flaubert

　　When the first cold days set in Emma left her bedroom for thesitting-room, a long apartment with a low ceiling, in which therewas on the mantelpiece a large bunch of coral spread out againstthe looking-glass. Seated in her arm chair near the window, shecould see the villagers pass along the pavement.

　　Twice a day Leon went from his office to the Lion d'Or. Emmacould hear him coming from afar; she leant forward listening, andthe young man glided past the curtain, always dressed in the sameway, and without turning his head. But in the twilight, when, herchin resting on her left hand, she let the embroidery she hadbegun fall on her knees, she often shuddered at the apparition ofthis shadow suddenly gliding past. She would get up and order thetable to be laid.

　　Monsieur Homais called at dinner-time. Skull-cap in hand, he camein on tiptoe, in order to disturb no one, always repeating thesame phrase, "Good evening, everybody." Then, when he had takenhis seat at the table between the pair, he asked the doctor abouthis patients, and the latter consulted his as to the probabilityof their payment. Next they talked of "what was in the paper."

　　Homais by this hour knew it almost by heart, and he repeated itfrom end to end, with the reflections of the penny-a-liners, andall the stories of individual catastrophes that had occurred inFrance or abroad. But the subject becoming exhausted, he was notslow in throwing out some remarks on the dishes before him.

　　Sometimes even, half-rising, he delicately pointed out to madamethe tenderest morsel, or turning to the servant, gave her someadvice on the manipulation of stews and the hygiene of seasoning.

　　He talked aroma, osmazome, juices, and gelatine in a bewilderingmanner. Moreover, Homais, with his head fuller of recipes thanhis shop of jars, excelled in making all kinds of preserves,vinegars, and sweet liqueurs; he knew also all the latestinventions in economic stoves, together with the art ofpreserving cheese and of curing sick wines.

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

　　Then Monsieur Homais gave him a sly look, especially if Felicitewas there, for he half noticed that his apprentice was fond ofthe doctor's house.

　　"The young dog," he said, "is beginning to have ideas, and thedevil take me if I don't believe he's in love with your servant!"

　　But a more serious fault with which he reproached Justin was hisconstantly listening to conversation. On Sunday, for example, onecould not get him out of the drawing-room, whither Madame Homaishad called him to fetch the children, who were falling asleep inthe arm-chairs, and dragging down with their backs calicochair-covers that were too large.

　　Not many people came to these soirees at the chemist's, hisscandal-mongering and political opinions having successfullyalienated various respectable persons from him. The clerk neverfailed to be there. As soon as he heard the bell he ran to meetMadame Bovary, took her shawl, and put away under theshop-counter the thick list shoes that she wore over her bootswhen there was snow.

　　First they played some hands at trente-et-un; next MonsieurHomais played ecarte with Emma; Leon behind her gave her advice.

　　Standing up with his hands on the back of her chair he saw theteeth of her comb that bit into her chignon. With every movementthat she made to throw her cards the right side of her dress wasdrawn up. From her turned-up hair a dark colour fell over herback, and growing gradually paler, lost itself little by littlein the shade. Then her dress fell on both sides of her chair,puffing out full of folds, and reached the ground. When Leonoccasionally felt the sole of his boot resting on it, he drewback as if he had trodden upon some one.

　　When the game of cards was over, the druggist and the Doctorplayed dominoes, and Emma, changing her place, leant her elbow onthe table, turning over the leaves of L'Illustration." She hadbrought her ladies' journal with her. Leon sat down near her;they looked at the engravings together, and waited for oneanother at the bottom of the pages. She often begged him to readher the verses; Leon declaimed them in a languid voice, to whichhe carefully gave a dying fall in the love passages. But thenoise of the dominoes annoyed him. Monsieur Homais was strong atthe game; he could beat Charles and give him a double-six. Thenthe three hundred finished, they both stretched themselves out infront of the fire, and were soon asleep. The fire was dying outin the cinders; the teapot was empty, Leon was still reading.

　　Emma listened to him, mechanically turning around the lampshade,on the gauze of which were painted clowns in carriages, andtight-rope dances with their balancing-poles. Leon stopped,pointing with a gesture to his sleeping audience; then theytalked in low tones, and their conversation seemed the more sweetto them because it was unheard.

　　Thus a kind of bond was established between them, a constantcommerce of books and of romances. Monsieur Bovary, little givento jealousy, did not trouble himself about it.

　　On his birthday he received a beautiful phrenological head, allmarked with figures to the thorax and painted blue. This was anattention of the clerk's. He showed him many others, even todoing errands for him at Rouen; and the book of a novelist havingmade the mania for cactuses fashionable, Leon bought some forMadame Bovary, bringing them back on his knees in the"Hirondelle," pricking his fingers on their hard hairs.

　　She had a board with a balustrade fixed against her window tohold the pots. The clerk, too, had his small hanging garden; theysaw each other tending their flowers at their windows.

　　Of the windows of the village there was one yet more oftenoccupied; for on Sundays from morning to night, and every morningwhen the weather was bright, one could see at the dormer-windowof the garret the profile of Monsieur Binet bending over hislathe, whose monotonous humming could be heard at the Lion d'Or.

　　One evening on coming home Leon found in his room a rug in velvetand wool with leaves on a pale ground. He called Madame Homais,Monsieur Homais, Justin, the children, the cook; he spoke of itto his chief; every one wanted to see this rug. Why did thedoctor's wife give the clerk presents? It looked queer. Theydecided that she must be his lover.

　　He made this seem likely, so ceaselessly did he talk of hercharms and of her wit; so much so, that Binet once roughlyanswered him--

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

　　He tortured himself to find out how he could make his declarationto her, and always halting between the fear of displeasing herand the shame of being such a coward, he wept with discouragementand desire. Then he took energetic resolutions, wrote lettersthat he tore up, put it off to times that he again deferred.

　　Often he set out with the determination to dare all; but thisresolution soon deserted him in Emma's presence, and whenCharles, dropping in, invited him to jump into his chaise to gowith him to see some patient in the neighbourhood, he at onceaccepted, bowed to madame, and went out. Her husband, was he notsomething belonging to her? As to Emma, she did not ask herselfwhether she loved. Love, she thought, must come suddenly, withgreat outbursts and lightnings --a hurricane of the skies, whichfalls upon life, revolutionises it, roots up the will like aleaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss. She did not knowthat on the terrace of houses it makes lakes when the pipes arechoked, and she would thus have remained in her security when shesuddenly discovered a rent in the wall of it.