Part III: Chapter Five

by Gustave Flaubert

　　She went on Thursdays. She got up and dressed silently, in ordernot to awaken Charles, who would have made remarks about hergetting ready too early. Next she walked up and down, went to thewindows, and looked out at the Place. The early dawn wasbroadening between the pillars of the market, and the chemist'sshop, with the shutters still up, showed in the pale light of thedawn the large letters of his signboard.

　　When the clock pointed to a quarter past seven, she went off tothe "Lion d'Or," whose door Artemise opened yawning. The girlthen made up the coals covered by the cinders, and Emma remainedalone in the kitchen. Now and again she went out. Hivert wasleisurely harnessing his horses, listening, moreover, to MereLefrancois, who, passing her head and nightcap through a grating,was charging him with commissions and giving him explanationsthat would have confused anyone else. Emma kept beating the solesof her boots against the pavement of the yard.

　　At last, when he had eaten his soup, put on his cloak, lightedhis pipe, and grasped his whip, he calmly installed himself onhis seat.

　　The "Hirondelle" started at a slow trot, and for about a milestopped here and there to pick up passengers who waited for it,standing at the border of the road, in front of their yard gates.

　　Those who had secured seats the evening before kept it waiting;some even were still in bed in their houses. Hivert called,shouted, swore; then he got down from his seat and went andknocked loudly at the doors. The wind blew through the crackedwindows.

　　The four seats, however, filled up. The carriage rolled off; rowsof apple-trees followed one upon another, and the road betweenits two long ditches, full of yellow water, rose, constantlynarrowing towards the horizon.

　　Emma knew it from end to end; she knew that after a meadow therewas a sign-post, next an elm, a barn, or the hut of a lime-kilntender. Sometimes even, in the hope of getting some surprise, sheshut her eyes, but she never lost the clear perception of thedistance to be traversed.

　　At last the brick houses began to follow one another moreclosely, the earth resounded beneath the wheels, the "Hirondelle"glided between the gardens, where through an opening one sawstatues, a periwinkle plant, clipped yews, and a swing. Then on asudden the town appeared. Sloping down like an amphitheatre, anddrowned in the fog, it widened out beyond the bridges confusedly.Then the open country spread away with a monotonous movement tillit touched in the distance the vague line of the pale sky. Seenthus from above, the whole landscape looked immovable as apicture; the anchored ships were massed in one corner, the rivercurved round the foot of the green hills, and the isles, obliquein shape, lay on the water, like large, motionless, black fishes.The factory chimneys belched forth immense brown fumes that wereblown away at the top. One heard the rumbling of the foundries,together with the clear chimes of the churches that stood out inthe mist. The leafless trees on the boulevards made violetthickets in the midst of the houses, and the roofs, all shiningwith the rain, threw back unequal reflections, according to theheight of the quarters in which they were. Sometimes a gust ofwind drove the clouds towards the Saint Catherine hills, likeaerial waves that broke silently against a cliff.

　　A giddiness seemed to her to detach itself from this mass ofexistence, and her heart swelled as if the hundred and twentythousand souls that palpitated there had all at once sent into itthe vapour of the passions she fancied theirs. Her love grew inthe presence of this vastness, and expanded with tumult to thevague murmurings that rose towards her. She poured it out uponthe square, on the walks, on the streets, and the old Norman cityoutspread before her eyes as an enormous capital, as a Babyloninto which she was entering. She leant with both hands againstthe window, drinking in the breeze; the three horses galloped,the stones grated in the mud, the diligence rocked, and Hivert,from afar, hailed the carts on the road, while the bourgeois whohad spent the night at the Guillaume woods came quietly down thehill in their little family carriages.

　　They stopped at the barrier; Emma undid her overshoes, put onother gloves, rearranged her shawl, and some twenty paces farthershe got down from the "Hirondelle."

　　The town was then awakening. Shop-boys in caps were cleaning upthe shop-fronts, and women with baskets against their hips, atintervals uttered sonorous cries at the corners of streets. Shewalked with downcast eyes, close to the walls, and smiling withpleasure under her lowered black veil.

　　For fear of being seen, she did not usually take the most directroad. She plunged into dark alleys, and, all perspiring, reachedthe bottom of the Rue Nationale, near the fountain that standsthere. It, is the quarter for theatres, public-houses, andwhores. Often a cart would pass near her, bearing some shakingscenery. Waiters in aprons were sprinkling sand on the flagstonesbetween green shrubs. It all smelt of absinthe, cigars, andoysters.

　　She turned down a street; she recognised him by his curling hairthat escaped from beneath his hat.

　　Leon walked along the pavement. She followed him to the hotel. Hewent up, opened the door, entered--What an embrace!

　　Then, after the kisses, the words gushed forth. They told eachother the sorrows of the week, the presentiments, the anxiety forthe letters; but now everything was forgotten; they gazed intoeach other's faces with voluptuous laughs, and tender names.

　　The bed was large, of mahogany, in the shape of a boat. Thecurtains were in red levantine, that hung from the ceiling andbulged out too much towards the bell-shaped bedside; and nothingin the world was so lovely as her brown head and white skinstanding out against this purple colour, when, with a movement ofshame, she crossed her bare arms, hiding her face in her hands.

　　The warm room, with its discreet carpet, its gay ornaments, andits calm light, seemed made for the intimacies of passion. Thecurtain-rods, ending in arrows, their brass pegs, and the greatballs of the fire-dogs shone suddenly when the sun came in. Onthe chimney between the candelabra there were two of those pinkshells in which one hears the murmur of the sea if one holds themto the ear.

　　How they loved that dear room, so full of gaiety, despite itsrather faded splendour! They always found the furniture in thesame place, and sometimes hairpins, that she had forgotten theThursday before, under the pedestal of the clock. They lunched bythe fireside on a little round table, inlaid with rosewood. Emmacarved, put bits on his plate with all sorts of coquettish ways,and she laughed with a sonorous and libertine laugh when thefroth of the champagne ran over from the glass to the rings onher fingers. They were so completely lost in the possession ofeach other that they thought themselves in their own house, andthat they would live there till death, like two spouses eternallyyoung. They said "our room," "our carpet," she even said "myslippers," a gift of Leon's, a whim she had had. They were pinksatin, bordered with swansdown. When she sat on his knees, herleg, then too short, hung in the air, and the dainty shoe, thathad no back to it, was held only by the toes to her bare foot.

　　He for the first time enjoyed the inexpressible delicacy offeminine refinements. He had never met this grace of language,this reserve of clothing, these poses of the weary dove. Headmired the exaltation of her soul and the lace on her petticoat.Besides, was she not "a lady" and a married woman--a realmistress, in fine?

　　By the diversity of her humour, in turn mystical or mirthful,talkative, taciturn, passionate, careless, she awakened in him athousand desires, called up instincts or memories. She was themistress of all the novels, the heroine of all the dramas, thevague "she" of all the volumes of verse. He found again on hershoulder the amber colouring of the "Odalisque Bathing"; she hadthe long waist of feudal chatelaines, and she resembled the "PaleWoman of Barcelona." But above all she was the Angel!

　　Often looking at her, it seemed to him that his soul, escapingtowards her, spread like a wave about the outline of her head,and descended drawn down into the whiteness of her breast. Heknelt on the ground before her, and with both elbows on her kneeslooked at her with a smile, his face upturned.

　　She bent over him, and murmured, as if choking with intoxication--

　　"Oh, do not move! do not speak! look at me! Something so sweetcomes from your eyes that helps me so much!"

　　She called him "child." "Child, do you love me?"

　　And she did not listen for his answer in the haste of her lipsthat fastened to his mouth.

　　On the clock there was a bronze cupid, who smirked as he bent hisarm beneath a golden garland. They had laughed at it many a time,but when they had to part everything seemed serious to them.

　　Motionless in front of each other, they kept repeating, "TillThursday, till Thursday."

　　Suddenly she seized his head between her hands, kissed himhurriedly on the forehead, crying, "Adieu!" and rushed down thestairs.

　　She went to a hairdresser's in the Rue de la Comedie to have herhair arranged. Night fell; the gas was lighted in the shop. Sheheard the bell at the theatre calling the mummers to theperformance, and she saw, passing opposite, men with white facesand women in faded gowns going in at the stage-door.

　　It was hot in the room, small, and too low where the stove washissing in the midst of wigs and pomades. The smell of the tongs,together with the greasy hands that handled her head, soonstunned her, and she dozed a little in her wrapper. Often, as hedid her hair, the man offered her tickets for a masked ball.

　　Then she went away. She went up the streets; reached theCroix-Rouge, put on her overshoes, that she had hidden in themorning under the seat, and sank into her place among theimpatient passengers. Some got out at the foot of the hill. Sheremained alone in the carriage. At every turning all the lightsof the town were seen more and more completely, making a greatluminous vapour about the dim houses. Emma knelt on the cushionsand her eyes wandered over the dazzling light. She sobbed; calledon Leon, sent him tender words and kisses lost in the wind.

　　On the hillside a poor devil wandered about with his stick in themidst of the diligences. A mass of rags covered his shoulders,and an old staved-in beaver, turned out like a basin, hid hisface; but when he took it off he discovered in the place ofeyelids empty and bloody orbits. The flesh hung in red shreds,and there flowed from it liquids that congealed into green scaledown to the nose, whose black nostrils sniffed convulsively. Tospeak to you he threw back his head with an idiotic laugh; thenhis bluish eyeballs, rolling constantly, at the temples beatagainst the edge of the open wound. He sang a little song as hefollowed the carriages--

　　"Maids an the warmth of a summer dayDream of love, and of love always"

　　And all the rest was about birds and sunshine and green leaves.

　　Sometimes he appeared suddenly behind Emma, bareheaded, and shedrew back with a cry. Hivert made fun of him. He would advise himto get a booth at the Saint Romain fair, or else ask him,laughing, how his young woman was.

　　Often they had started when, with a sudden movement, his hatentered the diligence through the small window, while he clungwith his other arm to the footboard, between the wheels splashingmud. His voice, feeble at first and quavering, grew sharp; itresounded in the night like the indistinct moan of a vaguedistress; and through the ringing of the bells, the murmur of thetrees, and the rumbling of the empty vehicle, it had a far-offsound that disturbed Emma. It went to the bottom of her soul,like a whirlwind in an abyss, and carried her away into thedistances of a boundless melancholy. But Hivert, noticing aweight behind, gave the blind man sharp cuts with his whip. Thethong lashed his wounds, and he fell back into the mud with ayell. Then the, passengers in the "Hirondelle" ended by fallingasleep, some with open mouths, others with lowered chins, leaningagainst their neighbour's shoulder, or with their arm passedthrough the strap, oscillating regularly with the jolting of thecarriage; and the reflection of the lantern swinging without, onthe crupper of the wheeler; penetrating into the interior throughthe chocolate calico curtains, threw sanguineous shadows over allthese motionless people. Emma, drunk with grief, shivered in herclothes, feeling her feet grow colder and colder, and death inher soul.

　　Charles at home was waiting for her; the "Hirondelle" was alwayslate on Thursdays. Madame arrived at last, and scarcely kissedthe child. The dinner was not ready. No matter! She excused theservant. This girl now seemed allowed to do just as she liked.

　　Often her husband, noting her pallor, asked if she were unwell.

　　"No," said Emma.

　　"But," he replied, "you seem so strange this evening."

　　"Oh, it's nothing! nothing!"

　　There were even days when she had no sooner come in than she wentup to her room; and Justin, happening to be there, moved aboutnoiselessly, quicker at helping her than the best of maids. Heput the matches ready, the candlestick, a book, arranged hernightgown, turned back the bedclothes.

　　"Come!" said she, "that will do. Now you can go."

　　For he stood there, his hands hanging down and his eyes wideopen, as if enmeshed in the innumerable threads of a suddenreverie.

　　The following day was frightful, and those that came after stillmore unbearable, because of her impatience to once again seizeher happiness; an ardent lust, inflamed by the images of pastexperience, and that burst forth freely on the seventh daybeneath Leon's caresses. His ardours were hidden beneathoutbursts of wonder and gratitude. Emma tasted this love in adiscreet, absorbed fashion, maintained it by all the artifices ofher tenderness, and trembled a little lest it should be lostlater on.

　　She often said to him, with her sweet, melancholy voice--

　　"Ah! you too, you will leave me! You will marry! You will be likeall the others."

　　He asked, "What others?"

　　"Why, like all men," she replied. Then added, repulsing him witha languid movement--

　　"You are all evil!"

　　One day, as they were talking philosophically of earthlydisillusions, to experiment on his jealousy, or yielding,perhaps, to an over-strong need to pour out her heart, she toldhim that formerly, before him, she had loved someone.

　　"Not like you," she went on quickly, protesting by the head ofher child that "nothing had passed between them."

　　The young man believed her, but none the less questioned her tofind out what he was.

　　"He was a ship's captain, my dear."

　　Was this not preventing any inquiry, and, at the same time,assuming a higher ground through this pretended fascinationexercised over a man who must have been of warlike nature andaccustomed to receive homage?

　　The clerk then felt the lowliness of his position; he longed forepaulettes, crosses, titles. All that would please her--hegathered that from her spendthrift habits.

　　Emma nevertheless concealed many of these extravagant fancies,such as her wish to have a blue tilbury to drive into Rouen,drawn by an English horse and driven by a groom in top-boots. Itwas Justin who had inspired her with this whim, by begging her totake him into her service as valet-de-chambre*, and if theprivation of it did not lessen the pleasure of her arrival ateach rendezvous, it certainly augmented the bitterness of thereturn.

　　* Manservant.

　　Often, when they talked together of Paris, she ended bymurmuring, "Ah! how happy we should be there!"

　　"Are we not happy?" gently answered the young man passing hishands over her hair.

　　"Yes, that is true," she said. "I am mad. Kiss me!"

　　To her husband she was more charming than ever. She made himpistachio-creams, and played him waltzes after dinner. So hethought himself the most fortunate of men and Emma was withoutuneasiness, when, one evening suddenly he said--

　　"It is Mademoiselle Lempereur, isn't it, who gives you lessons?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Well, I saw her just now," Charles went on, "at MadameLiegeard's. I spoke to her about you, and she doesn't know you."

　　This was like a thunderclap. However, she replied quitenaturally--

　　"Ah! no doubt she forgot my name."

　　"But perhaps," said the doctor, "there are several DemoisellesLempereur at Rouen who are music-mistresses."

　　"Possibly!" Then quickly--"But I have my receipts here. See!"

　　And she went to the writing-table, ransacked all the drawers,rummaged the papers, and at last lost her head so completely thatCharles earnestly begged her not to take so much trouble aboutthose wretched receipts.

　　"Oh, I will find them," she said.

　　And, in fact, on the following Friday, as Charles was putting onone of his boots in the dark cabinet where his clothes were kept,he felt a piece of paper between the leather and his sock. Hetook it out and read--

　　"Received, for three months' lessons and several pieces of music,the sum of sixty-three francs.--Felicie Lempereur, professor ofmusic."

　　"How the devil did it get into my boots?"

　　"It must," she replied, "have fallen from the old box of billsthat is on the edge of the shelf."

　　>From that moment her existence was but one long tissue of lies,in which she enveloped her love as in veils to hide it. It was awant, a mania, a pleasure carried to such an extent that if shesaid she had the day before walked on the right side of a road,one might know she had taken the left.

　　One morning, when she had gone, as usual, rather lightly clothed,it suddenly began to snow, and as Charles was watching theweather from the window, he caught sight of Monsieur Bournisienin the chaise of Monsieur Tuvache, who was driving him to Rouen.Then he went down to give the priesta thick shawl that he was tohand over to Emma as soon as he reached the "Croix-Rouge." Whenhe got to the inn, Monsieur Bournisien asked for the wife of theYonville doctor. The landlady replied that she very rarely cameto her establishment. So that evening, when he recognised MadameBovary in the "Hirondelle," the cure told her his dilemma,without, however, appearing to attach much importance to it, forhe began praising a preacher who was doing wonders at theCathedral, and whom all the ladies were rushing to hear.

　　Still, if he did not ask for any explanation, others, later on,might prove less discreet. So she thought well to get down eachtime at the "Croix-Rouge," so that the good folk of her villagewho saw her on the stairs should suspect nothing.

　　One day, however, Monsieur Lheureux met her coming out of theHotel de Boulogne on Leon's arm; and she was frightened, thinkinghe would gossip. He was not such a fool. But three days after hecame to her room, shut the door, and said, "I must have somemoney."

　　She declared she could not give him any. Lheureux burst intolamentations and reminded her of all the kindnesses he had shownher.

　　In fact, of the two bills signed by Charles, Emma up to thepresent had paid only one. As to the second, the shopkeeper, ather request, had consented to replace it by another, which againhad been renewed for a long date. Then he drew from his pocket alist of goods not paid for; to wit, the curtains, the carpet, thematerial for the armchairs, several dresses, and divers articlesof dress, the bills for which amounted to about two thousandfrancs.

　　She bowed her head. He went on--

　　"But if you haven't any ready money, you have an estate." And hereminded her of a miserable little hovel situated at Barneville,near Aumale, that brought in almost nothing. It had formerly beenpart of a small farm sold by Monsieur Bovary senior; for Lheureuxknew everything, even to the number of acres and the names of theneighbours.

　　"If I were in your place," he said, "I should clear myself of mydebts, and have money left over."

　　She pointed out the difficulty of getting a purchaser. He heldout the hope of finding one; but she asked him how she shouldmanage to sell it.

　　"Haven't you your power of attorney?" he replied.

　　The phrase came to her like a breath of fresh air. "Leave me thebill," said Emma.

　　"Oh, it isn't worth while," answered Lheureux.

　　He came back the following week and boasted of having, after muchtrouble, at last discovered a certain Langlois, who, for a longtime, had had an eye on the property, but without mentioning hisprice.

　　"Never mind the price!" she cried.

　　But they would, on the contrary, have to wait, to sound thefellow. The thing was worth a journey, and, as she could notundertake it, he offered to go to the place to have an interviewwith Langlois. On his return he announced that the purchaserproposed 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 she was about to pay heraccount the shopkeeper said--

　　"It really grieves me, on my word! to see you depriving yourselfall at once of such a big sum as that."

　　Then she looked at the bank-notes, and dreaming of the unlimitednumber of rendezvous represented by those two thousand francs,she stammered--

　　"What! what!"

　　"Oh!" he went on, laughing good-naturedly, "one puts anything onelikes on receipts. Don't you think I know what household affairsare?" And he looked at her fixedly, while in his hand he held twolong papers that he slid between his nails. At last, opening hispocket-book, he spread 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 Monsieur Lheureuximpudently, "is that not helping you?"

　　And taking a pen he wrote at the bottom of the account, "Receivedof Madame Bovary four thousand francs."

　　"Now who can trouble you, since in six months you'll draw thearrears for your cottage, and I don't make the last bill due tillafter you've been paid?"

　　Emma grew rather confused in her calculations, and her earstingled as if gold pieces, bursting from their bags, rang allround her on the floor. At last Lheureux explained that he had avery good friend, Vincart, a broker at Rouen, who would discountthese four bills. Then he himself would hand over to madame theremainder after the actual debt was paid.

　　But instead of two thousand francs he brought only eighteenhundred, for the friend Vincart (which was only fair) haddeducted two hundred francs for commission and discount. Then hecarelessly asked for a receipt.

　　"You understand--in business--sometimes. And with the date, ifyou please, with the date."

　　A horizon of realisable whims opened out before Emma. She wasprudent enough to lay by a thousand crowns, with which the firstthree bills were paid when they fell due; but the fourth, bychance, came to the house on a Thursday, and Charles, quiteupset, patiently awaited his wife's return for an explanation.

　　If she had not told him about this bill, it was only to spare himsuch domestic worries; she sat on his knees, caressed him, cooedto him, gave him a long enumeration of all the indispensablethings that had been got on credit.

　　"Really, you must confess, considering the quantity, it isn't toodear."

　　Charles, at his wit's end, soon had recourse to the eternalLheureux, who swore he would arrange matters if the doctor wouldsign him two bills, one of which was for seven hundred francs,payable in three months. In order to arrange for this he wrotehis mother a pathetic letter. Instead of sending a reply she cameherself; and when Emma wanted to know whether he had got anythingout of her, "Yes," he replied; "but she wants to see theaccount." The next morning at daybreak Emma ran to Lheureux tobeg him to make out another account for not more than a thousandfrancs, for to show the one for four thousand it would benecessary to say that she had paid two-thirds, and confess,consequently, the sale of the estate--a negotiation admirablycarried out by the shopkeeper, and which, in fact, was onlyactually known later on.

　　Despite the low price of each article, Madame Bovary senior, ofcourse, thought the expenditure extravagant.

　　"Couldn't you do without a carpet? Why have recovered thearm-chairs? In my time there was a single arm-chair in a house,for elderly persons--at any rate it was so at my mother's, whowas a good woman, I can tell you. Everybody can't be rich! Nofortune can hold out against waste! I should be ashamed to coddlemyself as you do! And yet I am old. I need looking after. Andthere! there! fitting up gowns! fallals! What! silk for lining attwo francs, when you can get jaconet for ten sous, or even foreight, that would do well enough!"

　　Emma, lying on a lounge, replied as quietly as possible--"Ah!Madame, enough! enough!"

　　The other went on lecturing her, predicting they would end in theworkhouse. But it was Bovary's fault. Luckily he had promised todestroy that power of attorney.

　　"What?"

　　"Ah! he swore he would," went on the good woman.

　　Emma opened the window, called Charles, and the poor fellow wasobliged to confess the promise torn from him by his mother.

　　Emma disappeared, then came back quickly, and majestically handedher a thick piece of paper.

　　"Thank you," said the old woman. And she threw the power ofattorney into the fire.

　　Emma began to laugh, a strident, piercing, continuous laugh; shehad an attack of hysterics.

　　"Oh, my God!" cried Charles. "Ah! you really are wrong! You comehere and make scenes with her!"

　　His mother, shrugging her shoulders, declared it was "all puton."

　　But Charles, rebelling for the first time, took his wife's part,so that Madame Bovary, senior, said she would leave. She went thevery next day, and on the threshold, as he was trying to detainher, she replied--

　　"No, no! You love her better than me, and you are right. It isnatural. For the rest, so much the worse! You will see. Goodday--for I am not likely to come soon again, as you say, to makescenes."

　　Charles nevertheless was very crestfallen before Emma, who didnot hide the resentment she still felt at his want of confidence,and it needed many prayers before she would consent to haveanother power of attorney. He even accompanied her to MonsieurGuillaumin to have a second one, just like the other, drawn up.

　　"I understand," said the notary; "a man of science can't beworried with the practical details of life."

　　And Charles felt relieved by this comfortable reflection, whichgave his weakness the flattering appearance of higherpre-occupation.

　　And what an outburst the next Thursday at the hotel in their roomwith Leon! She laughed, cried, sang, sent for sherbets, wanted tosmoke cigarettes, seemed to him wild and extravagant, butadorable, superb.

　　He did not know what recreation of her whole being drove her moreand more to plunge into the pleasures of life. She was becomingirritable, greedy, voluptuous; and she walked about the streetswith him carrying her head high, without fear, so she said, ofcompromising herself. At times, however, Emma shuddered at thesudden thought of meeting Rodolphe, for it seemed to her that,although they were separated forever, she was not completely freefrom her subjugation to him.

　　One night she did not return to Yonville at all. Charles lost hishead with anxiety, and little Berthe would not go to bed withouther mamma, and sobbed enough to break her heart. Justin had goneout searching the road at random. Monsieur Homais even had lefthis pharmacy.

　　At last, at eleven o'clock, able to bear it no longer, Charlesharnessed his chaise, jumped in, whipped up his horse, andreached the "Croix-Rouge" about two o'clock in the morning. Noone there! He thought that the clerk had perhaps seen her; butwhere did he live? Happily, Charles remembered his employer'saddress, and rushed off there.

　　Day was breaking, and he could distinguish the escutcheons overthe door, and knocked. Someone, without opening the door, shoutedout the required information, adding a few insults to those whodisturb people in the middle of the night.

　　The house inhabited by the clerk had neither bell, knocker, norporter. Charles knocked loudly at the shutters with his hands. Apoliceman happened to pass by. Then he was frightened, and wentaway.

　　"I am mad," he said; "no doubt they kept her to dinner atMonsieur Lormeaux'." But the Lormeaux no longer lived at Rouen.

　　"She probably stayed to look after Madame Dubreuil. Why, MadameDubreuil has been dead these ten months! Where can she be?"

　　An idea occurred to him. At a cafe he asked for a Directory, andhurriedly looked for the name of Mademoiselle Lempereur, wholived at No. 74 Rue de la Renelle-des-Maroquiniers.

　　As he was turning into the street, Emma herself appeared at theother end of it. He threw himself upon her rather than embracedher, crying--

　　"What kept you yesterday?"

　　"I was not well."

　　"What was it? Where? How?"

　　She passed her hand over her forehead and answered, "AtMademoiselle Lempereur's."

　　"I was sure of it! I was going there."

　　"Oh, it isn't worth while," said Emma. "She went out just now;but for the future don't worry. I do not feel free, you see, if Iknow that the least delay upsets you like this."

　　This was a sort of permission that she gave herself, so as to getperfect freedom in her escapades. And she profited by it freely,fully. When she was seized with the desire to see Leon, she setout upon any pretext; and as he was not expecting her on thatday, she went to fetch him at his office.

　　It was a great delight at first, but soon he no longer concealedthe truth, which was, that his master complained very much aboutthese interruptions.

　　"Pshaw! come along," she said.

　　And he slipped out.

　　She wanted him to dress all in black, and grow a pointed beard,to look like the portraits of Louis XIII. She wanted to see hislodgings; thought them poor. He blushed at them, but she did notnotice this, then advised him to buy some curtains like hers, andas he objected to the expense--

　　"Ah! ah! you care for your money," she said laughing.

　　Each time Leon had to tell her everything that he had done sincetheir last meeting. She asked him for some verses--some verses"for herself," a "love poem" in honour of her. But he neversucceeded in getting a rhyme for the second verse; and at lastended by copying a sonnet in a "Keepsake." This was less fromvanity than from the one desire of pleasing her. He did notquestion her ideas; he accepted all her tastes; he was ratherbecoming her mistress than she his. She had tender words andkisses that thrilled his soul. Where could she have learnt thiscorruption almost incorporeal in the strength of its profanityand dissimulation?