Part III: Chapter Six

by Gustave Flaubert

　　During the journeys he made to see her, Leon had often dined atthe chemist's, and he felt obliged from politeness to invite himin turn.

　　"With pleasure!" Monsieur Homais replied; "besides, I mustinvigorate my mind, for I am getting rusty here. We'll go to thetheatre, to the restaurant; we'll make a night of it."

　　"Oh, my dear!" tenderly murmured Madame Homais, alarmed at thevague perils he was preparing to brave.

　　"Well, what? Do you think I'm not sufficiently ruining my healthliving here amid the continual emanations of the pharmacy? Butthere! that is the way with women! They are jealous of science,and then are opposed to our taking the most legitimatedistractions. No matter! Count upon me. One of these days I shallturn up at Rouen, and we'll go the pace together."

　　The druggist would formerly have taken good care not to use suchan expression, but he was cultivating a gay Parisian style, whichhe thought in the best taste; and, like his neighbour, MadameBovary, he questioned the clerk curiously about the customs ofthe capital; he even talked slang to dazzle the bourgeois, sayingbender, crummy, dandy, macaroni, the cheese, cut my stick and"I'll hook it," for "I am going."

　　So one Thursday Emma was surprised to meet Monsieur Homais in thekitchen of the "Lion d'Or," wearing a traveller's costume, thatis to say, wrapped in an old cloak which no one knew he had,while he carried a valise in one hand and the foot-warmer of hisestablishment in the other. He had confided his intentions to noone, for fear of causing the public anxiety by his absence.

　　The idea of seeing again the place where his youth had been spentno doubt excited him, for during the whole journey he neverceased talking, and as soon as he had arrived, he jumped quicklyout of the diligence to go in search of Leon. In vain the clerktried to get rid of him. Monsieur Homais dragged him off to thelarge Cafe de la Normandie, which he entered majestically, notraising his hat, thinking it very provincial to uncover in anypublic place.

　　Emma waited for Leon three quarters of an hour. At last she ranto his office; and, lost in all sorts of conjectures, accusinghim of indifference, and reproaching herself for her weakness,she spent the afternoon, her face pressed against thewindow-panes.

　　At two o'clock they were still at a table opposite each other.The large room was emptying; the stove-pipe, in the shape of apalm-tree, spread its gilt leaves over the white ceiling, andnear them, outside the window, in the bright sunshine, a littlefountain gurgled in a white basin, where; in the midst ofwatercress and asparagus, three torpid lobsters stretched acrossto some quails that lay heaped up in a pile on their sides.

　　Homais was enjoying himself. Although he was even moreintoxicated with the luxury than the rich fare, the Pommard wineall the same rather excited his faculties; and when the omeletteau rhum* appeared, he began propounding immoral theories aboutwomen. What seduced him above all else was chic. He admired anelegant toilette in a well-furnished apartment, and as to bodilyqualities, he didn't dislike a young girl.

　　* In rum.

　　Leon watched the clock in despair. The druggist went on drinking,eating, and talking.

　　"You must be very lonely," he said suddenly, "here at Rouen. Tobe sure your lady-love doesn't live far away."

　　And the other blushed--

　　"Come now, be frank. Can you deny that at Yonville--"

　　The young man stammered something.

　　"At Madame Bovary's, you're not making love to--"

　　"To whom?"

　　"The servant!"

　　He was not joking; but vanity getting the better of all prudence,Leon, in spite of himself protested. Besides, he only liked darkwomen.

　　"I approve of that," said the chemist; "they have more passion."

　　And whispering into his friend's ear, he pointed out the symptomsby which one could find out if a woman had passion. He evenlaunched into an ethnographic digression: the German wasvapourish, the French woman licentious, the Italian passionate.

　　"And negresses?" asked the clerk.

　　"They are an artistic taste!" said Homais. "Waiter! two cups ofcoffee!"

　　"Are we going?" at last asked Leon impatiently.

　　"Ja!"

　　But before leaving he wanted to see the proprietor of theestablishment and made him a few compliments. Then the young man,to be alone, alleged he had some business engagement.

　　"Ah! I will escort you," said Homais.

　　And all the while he was walking through the streets with him hetalked of his wife, his children; of their future, and of hisbusiness; told him in what a decayed condition it had formerlybeen, and to what a degree of perfection he had raised it.

　　Arrived in front of the Hotel de Boulogne, Leon left himabruptly, ran up the stairs, and found his mistress in greatexcitement. At mention of the chemist she flew into a passion.He, however, piled up good reasons; it wasn't his fault; didn'tshe know Homais--did she believe that he would prefer hiscompany? But she turned away; he drew her back, and, sinking onhis knees, clasped her waist with his arms in a languorous pose,full of concupiscence and supplication.

　　She was standing; up, her large flashing eyes looked at himseriously, almost terribly. Then tears obscured them, her redeyelids were lowered, she gave him her hands, and Leon waspressing them to his lips when a servant appeared to tell thegentleman that he was wanted.

　　"You will come back?" she said.

　　"Yes."

　　"But when?"

　　"Immediately."

　　"It's a trick," said the chemist, when he saw Leon. "I wanted tointerrupt this visit, that seemed to me to annoy you. Let's goand have a glass of garus at Bridoux'."

　　Leon vowed that he must get back to his office. Then the druggistjoked him about quill-drivers and the law.

　　"Leave Cujas and Barthole alone a bit. Who the devil preventsyou? Be a man! Let's go to Bridoux'. You'll see his dog. It'svery interesting."

　　And as the clerk still insisted--

　　"I'll go with you. I'll read a paper while I wait for you, orturn over the leaves of a 'Code.'"

　　Leon, bewildered by Emma's anger, Monsieur Homais' chatter, and,perhaps, by the heaviness of the luncheon, was undecided, and, asit were, fascinated by the chemist, who kept repeating--

　　"Let's go to Bridoux'. It's just by here, in the Rue Malpalu."

　　Then, through cowardice, through stupidity, through thatindefinable feeling that drags us into the most distasteful acts,he allowed himself to be led off to Bridoux', whom they found inhis small yard, superintending three workmen, who panted as theyturned the large wheel of a machine for making seltzer-water.Homais gave them some good advice. He embraced Bridoux; they tooksome garus. Twenty times Leon tried to escape, but the otherseized him by the arm saying--

　　"Presently! I'm coming! We'll go to the 'Fanal de Rouen' to seethe fellows there. I'll introduce you to Thornassin."

　　At last he managed to get rid of him, and rushed straight to thehotel. Emma was no longer there. She had just gone in a fit ofanger. She detested him now. This failing to keep theirrendezvous seemed to her an insult, and she tried to rake upother reasons to separate herself from him. He was incapable ofheroism, weak, banal, more spiritless than a woman, avaricioustoo, and cowardly.

　　Then, growing calmer, she at length discovered that she had, nodoubt, calumniated him. But the disparaging of those we lovealways alienates us from them to some extent. We must not touchour idols; the gilt sticks to our fingers.

　　They gradually came to talking more frequently of matters outsidetheir love, and in the letters that Emma wrote him she spoke offlowers, verses, the moon and the stars, naive resources of awaning passion striving to keep itself alive by all externalaids. She was constantly promising herself a profound felicity onher next journey. Then she confessed to herself that she feltnothing extraordinary. This disappointment quickly gave way to anew hope, and Emma returned to him more inflamed, more eager thanever. She undressed brutally, tearing off the thin laces of hercorset that nestled around her hips like a gliding snake. Shewent on tiptoe, barefooted, to see once more that the door wasclosed, then, pale, serious, and, without speaking, with onemovement, she threw herself upon his breast with a long shudder.

　　Yet there was upon that brow covered with cold drops, on thosequivering lips, in those wild eyes, in the strain of those arms,something vague and dreary that seemed to Leon to glide betweenthem subtly as if to separate them.

　　He did not dare to question her; but, seeing her so skilled, shemust have passed, he thought, through every experience ofsuffering and of pleasure. What had once charmed now frightenedhim a little. Besides, he rebelled against his absorption, dailymore marked, by her personality. He begrudged Emma this constantvictory. He even strove not to love her; then, when he heard thecreaking of her boots, he turned coward, like drunkards at thesight of strong drinks.

　　She did not fail, in truth, to lavish all sorts of attentionsupon him, from the delicacies of food to the coquettries of dressand languishing looks. She brought roses to her breast fromYonville, which she threw into his face; was anxious about hishealth, gave him advice as to his conduct; and, in order the moresurely to keep her hold on him, hoping perhaps that heaven wouldtake her part, she tied a medal of the Virgin round his neck. Sheinquired like a virtuous mother about his companions. She said tohim--

　　"Don't see them; don't go out; think only of ourselves; love me!"

　　She would have liked to be able to watch over his life; and theidea occurred to her of having him followed in the streets. Nearthe hotel there was always a kind of loafer who accostedtravellers, and who would not refuse. But her pride revolted atthis.

　　"Bah! so much the worse. Let him deceive me! What does it matterto me? As If I cared for him!"

　　One day, when they had parted early and she was returning alonealong the boulevard, she saw the walls of her convent; then shesat down on a form in the shade of the elm-trees. How calm thattime had been! How she longed for the ineffable sentiments oflove that she had tried to figure to herself out of books! Thefirst month of her marriage, her rides in the wood, the viscountthat waltzed, and Lagardy singing, all repassed before her eyes.And Leon suddenly 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 had been. Whence camethis insufficiency in life--this instantaneous turning to decayof everything on which she leant? But if there were somewhere abeing strong and beautiful, a valiant nature, full at once ofexaltation and refinement, a poet's heart in an angel's form, alyre with sounding chords ringing out elegiac epithalamia toheaven, why, perchance, should she not find him? Ah! howimpossible! Besides, nothing was worth the trouble of seeking it;everything was a lie. Every smile hid a yawn of boredom, everyjoy a curse, all pleasure satiety, and the sweetest kisses leftupon your lips only the unattainable desire for a greaterdelight.

　　A metallic clang droned through the air, and four strokes wereheard from the convent-clock. Four o'clock! And it seemed to herthat she had been there on that form an eternity. But an infinityof passions may be contained in a minute, like a crowd in a smallspace.

　　Emma lived all absorbed in hers, and troubled no more about moneymatters than an archduchess.

　　Once, however, a wretched-looking man, rubicund and bald, came toher house, saying he had been sent by Monsieur Vincart of Rouen.He took out the pins that held together the side-pockets of hislong green overcoat, stuck them into his sleeve, and politelyhanded her a paper.

　　It was a bill for seven hundred francs, signed by her, and whichLheureux, in spite of all his professions, had paid away toVincart. She sent her servant for him. He could not come. Thenthe stranger, who had remained standing, casting right and leftcurious glances, that his thick, fair eyebrows hid, asked with anaive air--

　　"What answer am I to take Monsieur Vincart?"

　　"Oh," said Emma, "tell him that I haven't it. I will send nextweek; he must wait; yes, till next week."

　　And the fellow went without another word.

　　But the next day at twelve o'clock she received a summons, andthe sight of the stamped paper, on which appeared several timesin large letters, "Maitre Hareng, bailiff at Buchy," sofrightened her that she rushed in hot haste to the 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 his work, helped by ayoung girl of about thirteen, somewhat hunch-backed, who was atonce his clerk and his servant.

　　Then, his clogs clattering on the shop-boards, he went up infront of Madame Bovary to the first door, and introduced her intoa narrow closet, where, in a large bureau in sapon-wood, lay someledgers, protected by a horizontal padlocked iron bar. Againstthe wall, under some remnants of calico, one glimpsed a safe, butof such dimensions that it must contain something besides billsand money. Monsieur Lheureux, in fact, went in for pawnbroking,and it was there that he had put Madame Bovary's gold chain,together with the earrings of poor old Tellier, who, at lastforced to sell out, had bought a meagre store of grocery atQuincampoix, where he was dying of catarrh amongst his candles,that were less yellow than his 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 the promise he had givennot to pay away her bills. He acknowledged it.

　　"But I was pressed myself; the knife was at my own throat."

　　"And what will happen now?" she went on.

　　"Oh, it's very simple; a judgment and then a distraint--that'sabout it!"

　　Emma kept down a desire to strike him, and asked gently if therewas no way of quieting Monsieur Vincart.

　　"I dare say! Quiet Vincart! You don't know him; he's moreferocious than an Arab!"

　　Still Monsieur Lheureux must interfere.

　　"Well, listen. It seems to me so far I've been very good to you."And opening one of his ledgers, "See," he said. Then running upthe page with his finger, "Let's see! let's see! August 3d, twohundred francs; June 17th, a hundred and fifty; March 23d,forty-six. In April--"

　　He stopped, as if afraid of making some mistake.

　　"Not to speak of the bills signed by Monsieur Bovary, one forseven hundred francs, and another for three hundred. As to yourlittle installments, with the interest, why, there's no end to'em; one gets quite muddled over 'em. I'll have nothing more todo with it."

　　She wept; she even called him "her good Monsieur Lheureux." Buthe always fell back upon "that rascal Vincart." Besides, hehadn't a brass farthing; no one was paying him now-a-days; theywere eating his coat off his back; a poor shopkeeper like himcouldn't advance money.

　　Emma was silent, and Monsieur Lheureux, who was biting thefeathers of a quill, no doubt became uneasy at her silence, forhe went on--

　　"Unless one of these days I have something coming in, I might--"

　　"Besides," said she, "as soon as the balance of Barneville--"

　　"What!"

　　And on hearing that Langlois had not yet paid he seemed muchsurprised. Then in a honied voice--

　　"And we agree, you say?"

　　"Oh! to anything you like."

　　On this he closed his eyes to reflect, wrote down a few figures,and declaring it would be very difficult for him, that the affairwas shady, and that he was being bled, he wrote out four billsfor two hundred and fifty francs each, to fall due month bymonth.

　　"Provided that Vincart will listen to me! However, it's settled.I don't play the fool; I'm straight enough."

　　Next he carelessly showed her several new goods, not one ofwhich, however, was in his opinion worthy of madame.

　　"When I think that there's a dress at threepence-halfpenny ayard, and warranted fast colours! And yet they actually swallowit! Of course you understand one doesn't tell them what it reallyis!" He hoped by this confession of dishonesty to others to quiteconvince her of his probity to her.

　　Then he called her back to show her three yards of guipure thathe had lately picked up "at a sale."

　　"Isn't it lovely?" said Lheureux. "It is very much used now forthe backs of arm-chairs. It's quite the rage."

　　And, more ready than a juggler, he wrapped up the guipure in someblue paper and put it in Emma's hands.

　　"But at least let me know--"

　　"Yes, another time," he replied, turning on his heel.

　　That same evening she urged Bovary to write to his mother, to askher to send as quickly as possible the whole of the balance duefrom the father's estate. The mother-in-law replied that she hadnothing more, the winding up was over, and there was due to thembesides Barneville an income of six hundred francs, that shewould pay them punctually.

　　Then Madame Bovary sent in accounts to two or three patients, andshe made large use of this method, which was very successful. Shewas always careful to add a postscript: "Do not mention this tomy husband; you know how proud he is. Excuse me. Yoursobediently." There were some complaints; she intercepted them.

　　To get money she began selling her old gloves, her old hats, theold odds and ends, and she bargained rapaciously, her peasantblood standing her in good stead. Then on her journey to town shepicked up nick-nacks secondhand, that, in default of anyone else,Monsieur Lheureux would certainly take off her hands. She boughtostrich feathers, Chinese porcelain, and trunks; she borrowedfrom Felicite, from Madame Lefrancois, from the landlady at theCroix-Rouge, from everybody, no matter where.

　　With the money she at last received from Barneville she paid twobills; the other fifteen hundred francs fell due. She renewed thebills, and thus it was continually.

　　Sometimes, it is true, she tried to make a calculation, but shediscovered things so exorbitant that she could not believe thempossible. Then she recommenced, soon got confused, gave it allup, and thought no more about it.

　　The house was very dreary now. Tradesmen were seen leaving itwith angry faces. Handkerchiefs were lying about on the stoves,and little Berthe, to the great scandal of Madame Homais, worestockings with holes in them. If Charles timidly ventured aremark, she answered roughly that it wasn't her fault.

　　What was the meaning of all these fits of temper? She explainedeverything through her old nervous illness, and reproachinghimself with having taken her infirmities for faults, accusedhimself of egotism, and longed to go and take her in his arms.

　　"Ah, no!" he said to himself; "I should worry her."

　　And he did not stir.

　　After dinner he walked about alone in the garden; he took littleBerthe on his knees, and unfolding his medical journal, tried toteach her to read. But the child, who never had any lessons, soonlooked up with large, sad eyes and began to cry. Then hecomforted her; went to fetch water in her can to make rivers onthe sand path, or broke off branches from the privet hedges toplant trees in the beds. This did not spoil the garden much, allchoked now with long weeds. They owed Lestiboudois for so manydays. Then the child grew cold and asked for her mother.

　　"Call the servant," said Charles. "You know, dearie, that mammadoes not like to be disturbed."

　　Autumn was setting in, and the leaves were already falling, asthey did two years ago when she was ill. Where would it all end?And he walked up and down, his hands behind his back.

　　Madame was in her room, which no one entered. She stayed thereall day long, torpid, half dressed, and from time to time burningTurkish pastilles which she had bought at Rouen in an Algerian'sshop. In order not to have at night this sleeping man stretchedat her side, by dint of manoeuvring, she at last succeeded inbanishing him to the second floor, while she read till morningextravagant books, full of pictures of orgies and thrillingsituations. Often, seized with fear, she cried out, and Charleshurried to her.

　　"Oh, go away!" she would say.

　　Or at other times, consumed more ardently than ever by that innerflame to which adultery added fuel, panting, tremulous, alldesire, she threw open her window, breathed in the cold air,shook loose in the wind her masses of hair, too heavy, and,gazing upon the stars, longed for some princely love. She thoughtof him, of Leon. She would then have given anything for a singleone of those meetings that surfeited her.

　　These were her gala days. She wanted them to be sumptuous, andwhen he alone could not pay the expenses, she made up the deficitliberally, which happened pretty well every time. He tried tomake her understand that they would be quite as comfortablesomewhere else, in a smaller hotel, but she always found someobjection.

　　One day she drew six small silver-gilt spoons from her bag (theywere old Roualt's wedding present), begging him to pawn them atonce for her, and Leon obeyed, though the proceeding annoyed him.He was afraid of compromising himself.

　　Then, on, reflection, he began to think his mistress's ways weregrowing odd, and that they were perhaps not wrong in wishing toseparate him from her.

　　In fact someone had sent his mother a long anonymous letter towarn her that he was "ruining himself with a married woman," andthe good lady at once conjuring up the eternal bugbear offamilies the vague pernicious creature, the siren, the monster,who dwells fantastically in depths of love, wrote to LawyerDubocage, his employer, who behaved perfectly in the affair. Hekept him for three quarters of an hour trying to open his eyes,to warn him of the abyss into which he was falling. Such anintrigue would damage him later on, when he set up for himself.He implored him to break with her, and, if he would not make thissacrifice in his own interest, to do it at least for his,Dubocage's sake.

　　At last Leon swore he would not see Emma again, and he reproachedhimself with not having kept his word, considering all the worryand lectures this woman might still draw down upon him, withoutreckoning the jokes made by his companions as they sat round thestove in the morning. Besides, he was soon to be head clerk; itwas time to settle down. So he gave up his flute, exaltedsentiments, and poetry; for every bourgeois in the flush of hisyouth, were it but for a day, a moment, has believed himselfcapable of immense passions, of lofty enterprises. The mostmediocre libertine has dreamed of sultanas; every notary bearswithin him the debris of a poet.

　　He was bored now when Emma suddenly began to sob on his breast,and his heart, like the people who can only stand a certainamount of music, dozed to the sound of a love whose delicacies heno longer noted.

　　They knew one another too well for any of those surprises ofpossession that increase its joys a hundred-fold. She was as sickof him as he was weary of her. Emma found again in adultery allthe platitudes of marriage.

　　But how to get rid of him? Then, though she might feel humiliatedat the baseness of such enjoyment, she clung to it from habit orfrom corruption, and each day she hungered after them the more,exhausting all felicity in wishing for too much of it. Sheaccused Leon of her baffled hopes, as if he had betrayed her; andshe even longed for some catastrophe that would bring about theirseparation, since she had not the courage to make up her mind toit herself.

　　She none the less went on writing him love letters, in virtue ofthe notion that a woman must write to her lover.

　　But whilst she wrote it was another man she saw, a phantomfashioned out of her most ardent memories, of her finest reading,her strongest lusts, and at last he became so real, so tangible,that she palpitated wondering, without, however, the power toimagine him clearly, so lost was he, like a god, beneath theabundance of his attributes. He dwelt in that azure land wheresilk ladders hang from balconies under the breath of flowers, inthe light of the moon. She felt him near her; he was coming, andwould carry her right away in a kiss.

　　Then she fell back exhausted, for these transports of vague lovewearied her more than great debauchery.

　　She now felt constant ache all over her. Often she even receivedsummonses, stamped paper that she barely looked at. She wouldhave liked not to be alive, or to be always asleep.

　　On Mid-Lent she did not return to Yonville, but in the eveningwent to a masked ball. She wore velvet breeches, red stockings, aclub wig, and three-cornered hat cocked on one side. She dancedall night to the wild tones of the trombones; people gatheredround her, and in the morning she found herself on the steps ofthe theatre together with five or six masks, debardeuses* andsailors, Leon's comrades, who were talking about having supper.

　　* People dressed as longshoremen.

　　The neighbouring cafes were full. They caught sight of one on theharbour, a very indifferent restaurant, whose proprietor showedthem to a little room on the fourth floor.

　　The men were whispering in a corner, no doubt consorting aboutexpenses. There were a clerk, two medical students, and ashopman--what company for her! As to the women, Emma soonperceived from the tone of their voices that they must almostbelong to the lowest class. Then she was frightened, pushed backher chair, and cast down her eyes.

　　The others began to eat; she ate nothing. Her head was on fire,her eyes smarted, and her skin was ice-cold. In her head sheseemed to feel the floor of the ball-room rebounding againbeneath the rhythmical pulsation of the thousands of dancingfeet. And now the smell of the punch, the smoke of the cigars,made her giddy. She fainted, and they carried her to the window.

　　Day was breaking, and a great stain of purple colour broadenedout in the pale horizon over the St. Catherine hills. The lividriver was shivering in the wind; there was no one on the bridges;the street lamps were going out.

　　She revived, and began thinking of Berthe asleep yonder in theservant's room. Then a cart filled with long strips of ironpassed by, and made a deafening metallic vibration against thewalls of the houses.

　　She slipped away suddenly, threw off her costume, told Leon shemust get back, and at last was alone at the Hotel de Boulogne.Everything, even herself, was now unbearable to her. She wishedthat, taking wing like a bird, she could fly somewhere, far awayto regions of purity, and there grow young again.

　　She went out, crossed the Boulevard, the Place Cauchoise, and theFaubourg, as far as an open street that overlooked some gardens.She walked rapidly; the fresh air calming her; and, little bylittle, the faces of the crowd, the masks, the quadrilles, thelights, the supper, those women, all disappeared like mistsfading away. Then, reaching the "Croix-Rouge," she threw herselfon the bed in her little room on the second floor, where therewere pictures of the "Tour de Nesle." At four o'clock Hivertawoke her.

　　When she got home, Felicite showed her behind the clock a greypaper. She read--

　　"In virtue of the seizure in execution of a judgment."

　　What judgment? As a matter of fact, the evening before anotherpaper had been brought that she had not yet seen, and she wasstunned by these words--

　　"By order of the king, law, and justice, to Madame 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, "She will beconstrained thereto by every form of law, and notably by a writof distraint on her furniture and effects."

　　What was to be done? In twenty-four hours--tomorrow. Lheureux,she thought, wanted to frighten her again; for she saw throughall his devices, the object of his kindnesses. What reassured herwas the very magnitude of the sum.

　　However, by dint of buying and not paying, of borrowing, signingbills, and renewing these bills that grew at each new falling-in,she had ended by preparing a capital for Monsieur Lheureux whichhe was impatiently awaiting for his speculations.

　　She presented herself at his place with an offhand air.

　　"You know what has happened to me? No doubt 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 to all eternity beingyour purveyor and banker, for the love of God? Now be just. Imust get back what I've laid out. Now be just."

　　She cried out against the debt.

　　"Ah! so much the worse. The court has admitted it. There's ajudgment. It's been notified to you. 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 had known nothing aboutit; it was a surprise.

　　"Whose fault is that?" said Lheureux, bowing ironically. "WhileI'm slaving like a nigger, you go gallivanting about."

　　"Ah! no lecturing."

　　"It never does any harm," he replied.

　　She turned coward; she implored him; she even pressed her prettywhite and slender hand against the shopkeeper's knee.

　　"There, that'll do! Anyone'd think you wanted to 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 something."

　　And Lheureux drew from his strong box the receipt for eighteenhundred francs that she had given him when Vincart had discountedthe bills.

　　"Do you think," he added, "that he'll not understand your littletheft, the poor dear man?"

　　She collapsed, more overcome than if felled by the blow of apole-axe. He was walking up and down from the window to thebureau, repeating all the while--

　　"Ah! I'll show him! I'll show him!" Then he approached her, andin a soft voice said--

　　"It isn't pleasant, I know; but, after all, no bones are broken,and, since that is the only way that is left for you paying backmy 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 a fashion, that sheshuddered 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 gotanything."

　　And he called through the peep-hole that looked down into theshop--

　　"Annette, don't forget the three coupons of No. 14."

　　The servant appeared. Emma understood, and asked how much moneywould be wanted to put a stop to the proceedings.

　　"It is too late."

　　"But if I brought you several thousand francs--a quarter of thesum--a third--perhaps the whole?"

　　"No; it's no use!"

　　And he pushed her gently towards the staircase.

　　"I implore you, Monsieur Lheureux, just a few days more!" She wassobbing.

　　"There! tears now!"

　　"You are driving me to despair!"

　　"What do I care?" said he, shutting the door.