Part III: Chapter Three

by Gustave Flaubert

　　They were three full, exquisite days--a true honeymoon. They wereat the Hotel-de-Boulogne, on the harbour; and they lived there,with drawn blinds and closed doors, with flowers on the floor,and iced syrups were brought them early in the morning.

　　Towards evening they took a covered boat and went to dine on oneof the islands. It was the time when one hears by the side of thedockyard the caulking-mallets sounding against the hull ofvessels. The smoke of the tar rose up between the trees; therewere large fatty drops on the water, undulating in the purplecolour of the sun, like floating plaques of Florentine bronze.

　　They rowed down in the midst of moored boats, whose long obliquecables grazed lightly against the bottom of the boat. The din ofthe town gradually grew distant; the rolling of carriages, thetumult of voices, the yelping of dogs on the decks of vessels.She took off her bonnet, and they landed on their island.

　　They sat down in the low-ceilinged room of a tavern, at whosedoor hung black nets. They ate fried smelts, cream and cherries.They lay down upon the grass; they kissed behind the poplars; andthey would fain, like two Robinsons, have lived for ever in thislittle place, which seemed to them in their beatitude the mostmagnificent on earth. It was not the first time that they hadseen trees, a blue sky, meadows; that they had heard the waterflowing and the wind blowing in the leaves; but, no doubt, theyhad never admired all this, as if Nature had not existed before,or had only begun to be beautiful since the gratification oftheir desires.

　　At night they returned. The boat glided along the shores of theislands. They sat at the bottom, both hidden by the shade, insilence. The square oars rang in the iron thwarts, and, in thestillness, seemed to mark time, like the beating of a metronome,while at the stern the rudder that trailed behind never ceasedits gentle splash against the water.

　　Once the moon rose; they did not fail to make fine phrases,finding the orb melancholy and full of poetry. She even began tosing--

　　"One night, do you remember, we were sailing," etc.

　　Her musical but weak voice died away along the waves, and thewinds carried off the trills that Leon heard pass like theflapping of wings about him.

　　She was opposite him, leaning against the partition of theshallop, through one of whose raised blinds the moon streamed in.Her black dress, whose drapery spread out like a fan, made herseem more slender, taller. Her head was raised, her handsclasped, her eyes turned towards heaven. At times the shadow ofthe willows hid her completely; then she reappeared suddenly,like a vision in the moonlight.

　　Leon, on the floor by her side, found under his hand a ribbon ofscarlet silk. The boatman looked at it, and at last said--

　　"Perhaps it belongs to the party I took out the other day. A lotof jolly folk, gentlemen and ladies, with cakes, champagne,cornets--everything in style! There was one especially, a tallhandsome man with small moustaches, who was that funny! And theyall kept saying, 'Now tell us something, Adolphe--Dolpe,' Ithink."

　　She shivered.

　　"You are in pain?" asked Leon, coming closer to her.

　　"Oh, it's nothing! No doubt, it is only the night air."

　　"And who doesn't want for women, either," softly added thesailor, thinking he was paying the stranger a compliment.

　　Then, spitting on his hands, he took the oars again.

　　Yet they had to part. The adieux were sad. He was to send hisletters to Mere Rollet, and she gave him such preciseinstructions about a double envelope that he admired greatly heramorous astuteness.

　　"So you can assure me it is all right?" she said with her lastkiss.

　　"Yes, certainly."

　　"But why," he thought afterwards as he came back through thestreets alone, "is she so very anxious to get this power ofattorney?"