“How so？” replied theclerk. “It is done at Paris.”
And that， as an irresistible argument，decided her.
Still the cab did not come. Léon was afraid she might go back into the church. At last the cabappeared.
“At all events， go out by the north porch，” cried the beadle， who was left alone on the threshold， “so as to see the Resurrection， the Last Judgment， Paradise， KingDavid， and the Condemned in Hell-flames.”
“Where to， sir？”asked the coachman.
“Where you like，”said Léon， forcing Emma into the cab.
And the lumbering machine set out. It wentdown the Rue Grand-Pont， crossed the Place des Arts， the Quai Napoléon， the Pont Neuf， and stopped short before the statue of PierreCorneille.
“Go on.” cried avoice that came from within.
The cab went on again， and as soon as itreached the Carrefour Lafayette， set offdown-hill， and entered the station at agallop.
“No， straight on！”cried the same voice.
The cab came out by the gate， and soon havingreached the Cours， trotted quietly beneath the elm-trees. The coachman wipedhis brow， put his leather hat between his knees， and drove his carriage beyondthe side alley by the meadow to the margin of the waters.
It went along by the river， along thetowing-path paved with sharp pebbles， and for a long while in the direction ofOyssel， beyond the isles.
But suddenly it turned with a dash acrossQuatremares， Sotteville， La Grande-Chaussee， the Rue d'Elbeuf，and made its third halt in front of the Jardin des Plantes.
“Get on， will you？”cried the voice more furiously.
And at once resuming its course， it passed bySaint-Sever， by the Quai'des Curandiers， the Quai auxMeules， once more over the bridge， by the Place du Champ de Mars， and behindthe hospital gardens， where old men in black coats were walking in the sunalong the terrace all green with ivy. It went up the Boulevard Botivreuil，along the Boulevard Cauchoise， then the whole of Mont-Riboudet to the Devillehills.
It came back； and then， without any fixedplan or direction， wandered about at hazard. The cab was seen at Saint-Pol， atLescure， at Mont Gargan， at La Rougue-Marc and Place du Gaillardbois； in theRue Maladrerie， Rue Dinanderie， before Saint-Romain， Saint-Vivien，Saint-Maclou， Saint-Nicaise-in front of the Customs， at the “Vieille Tour，” the “TroisPipes，” and the Monumental Cemetery. From time to timethe coachman， on his box cast despairing eyes at the public-houses. He couldnot understand what furious desire for locomotion urged these individuals neverto wish to stop. He tried to now and then， and at once exclamations of angerburst forth behind him. Then he lashed his perspiring jades afresh， butindifferent to their jolting， running up .against things here and there， notcaring if he did， demoralised， and almost weeping with thirst， fatigue， anddepression.
And on the harbour， in the midst of the drayand casks， and in the streets， at the comers， the good folk opened largewonder-stricken eyes at this sight， so extraordinary in the provinces， a cabwith blinds drawn， and which appeared thus constantly shut more closely than atomb， and tossing about like a vessel.
Once in the middle of the day， in the opencountry， just as the sun beat most fiercely against the old plated lanterns， abared hand passed beneath the small blinds of yellow canvas， and threw out somescraps of paper that scattered in the wind， and farther off lighted like whitebutterflies on a field of red clover all in bloom.
At about six o'clockthe carriage stopped in a back street of the Beauvoisine Quarter， and a womangot out， who walked with her veil down， and without turning her head.
Chapter 2
On reaching the inn， Madame Bovary wassurprised not to see the diligence. Hivert， who had waited for her fifty-threeminutes， had at last started.
Yet nothing forced her to go； but she hadgiven her word that she would return that same evening. Moreover， Charlesexpected her， and in her heart she felt already that cowardly docility that isfor some women at once the chastisement and atonement of adultery.
She packed her box quickly， paid her bill，took a cab in the yard， hurrying on the driver， urging him on， every momentinquiring about the time and the miles traversed. He succeeded in catching upthe “Hirondelle” as it nearedthe first houses of Quincampoix.
Hardly was she seated in her comer than sheclosed her eyes， and opened them at the foot of the hill， when from afar sherecognised Félicité， who was onthe lookout in front of the farrier's shop. Hivertpulled in his horses and， the servant， climbing up to the window， saidmysteriously：
“Madame， you must go at once to MonsieurHomais. It's for something important.”
The village was silent as usual. At the comerof the streets were small pink heaps that smoked in the air， for this was thetime for jam-making， and everyone at Yonville prepared his supply on the sameday. But in front of the chemist's shop one mightadmire a far larger heap， and that surpassed the others with the superioritythat a laboratory must have over ordinary stores， a general need overindividual fancy.
She went in. The large arm-chair was upset，and even the Fanal de Rouen lay on the ground， outspread between two pestles.She pushed open the lobby door， and in the middle of the kitchen， amid brownjars full of picked currants， of powdered sugar and lump sugar， of the scaleson the table， and of the pans on the fire， she saw all the Homais， small andlarge， with aprons reaching to their chins， and with forks in their hands.Justin was standing up with bowed head， and the chemist was screaming-
“Who told you to go and fetch it in theCapharnaiim？”
“What is it？ What is the matter？”
“What is it？” repliedthe druggist. “We are making preserves； they aresimmering； but they were about to boil over， because there is too much juice，and I ordered another pan. Then he， from indolence， from laziness， went andtook， hanging on its nail in my laboratory， the key of the Capharnaiim.”
It was thus the druggist called a small roomunder the leads， full of the utensils and the goods of his trade. He oftenspent long hours there alone， labelling， decanting， and doing up again； and helooked upon it not as a simple store， but as a veritable sanctuary， whencethere afterwards issued， elaborated by his hands， all sorts of pills， boluses，infusions， lotions， and potions， that would bear far and wide his celebrity. Noone in the world set foot there， and he respected it so， that he swept ithimself. Finally， if the pharmacy， open to all comers， was the spot where hedisplayed his pride， the Capharnaiim was the refuge where， egoisticallyconcentrating himself， Homais delighted in the exercise of his predilections，so that Justin's thoughtlessness seemed to him amonstrous piece of irreverence， and， redder than the currants， he repeated-
“Yes， form the capharnaum！ The key that locksup the acids and caustic alkalies！ To go and get a spare pan！ a pan with a lid！and that I shall perhaps never use！ Everything is of importance in the delicateoperations of our art！ But， devil take it！ one must make distinctions， and notemploy for almost domestic purposes that which is meant for pharmaceutical！ Itis as if one were to carve a fowl with a scalpel； as if a magistrate-”
“Now be calm，” saidMadame Homais.
And Athalie， pulling at his coat， cried “Papa！ papa！”
“No， let me alone，”went on the druggist “let me alone， hang it！ My word！One might as well set up for a grocer. That's it！ goit！ Respect nothing！ break， smash， let loose the leeches， bum the mallow-paste，pickle the gherkins in the window 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 comer， on theleft， on the third shelf？. Speak， answer， articulate something.”
“I-don't-know，” stammered the young fellow.
“Ah！ you don't know！Well， then， I do know！ You saw a bottle of blue glass， sealed with yellow wax，that contains a white powder， on which I have even written 'Dangerous！' And do you know what is in it？Arsenic！ And you go and touch it！ You take a pan that was next to it！”
“Next to it！” criedMadame Homais， clasping her hands. “Arsenic！ You mighthave poisoned us all.”
And the children began howling as if theyalready had frightful pains in their entrails.
“Or poison a patient！” continued the druggist. “Do you want to seeme in the prisoner's dock with criminals， in a court ofjustice？ To see me dragged to the scaffold？ Don't youknow what care I take in managing things， although I am so thoroughly used toit？ Often I am horrified myself when I think of my responsibility； for theGovernment persecutes us， and the absurd legislation that rules us is averitable Damocles' sword over our heads.”
Emma no longer dreamed of asking what theywanted her for， and the druggist went on in breathless phrases-
That is you reconpense me for the reallypaternal care that I lavish on you！ For without me where would you be？ Whatwould you be doing？ Who provides you with food， education， clothes， and all themeans of figuring one day with honour in the ranks of society？ But you mustpull hard at the oar if you're to do that， and get， as，people say， callosities upon your hands. Fabricando fit faber， age quod agis.”
He was so exasperated he quoted Latin. Hewould have quoted Chinese or Greenlandish had he known those two languages， forhe was in one of those crises in which the whole soul shows indistinctly whatit contains， like the ocean， which， in the storm， opens itself from theseaweeds on its shores down to the sands of its abysses.
And he went on：
“I am beginning to repent terribly of havingtaken you up！ I should certainly have done better to have left you to rot inyour poverty and the dirt in which you were born. Oh， you'll never be fit for anything but to herd animals with horns！ Youhave no aptitude for science！ You hardly know how to stick on a label！ Andthere you are， dwelling with me snug as a parson， living in clover， taking yourease！”
But Emma， turning to Madame Homais， “I was told to come here-”
“Oh， dear me！”interrupted the good woman， with a sad air， “how am Ito tell you？ It is a misfortune！”
She could not finish， the druggist wasthundering-”Empty it！ Clean it！ Take it back！ Be quick！”
And seizing Justin by the collar of hisblouse， he shook a book out of his pocket. The lad stooped， but Homais was thequicker， and， having picked up the volume， contemplated it with staring eyesand open mouth.
“Conjugal-Love！” hesaid， slowly separating the two words. “Ah！ very good！very good！ very pretty！ And illustrations！ Oh， this is too much！”
Madame Homais came forward.
“No， do not touch it！”
The children wanted to look at the pictures.
“Leave the room，” hesaid imperiously； and they went out.
First he walked up and down with the openvolume in his hand， rolling his eyes， choking， tumid， apoplectic. Then he came straightto his pupil， and， planting himself in front of him with crossed arms-”
Have you every vice， then， little wretch？Take care！ you are on a downward path. Did not you reflect that this infamousbook might fall in the hands of my children， kindle a spark in their minds，tarnish the purity of Athalie， corrupt Napoléon. He isalready formed like a man. Are you quite sure， anyhow， that they have not readit？ Can you certify to me-”
“But really， sir，”said Emma， “you wished to tell me-”
“Ah， yes！ madame. Your father-in-law is dead.”
In fact， Monsieur Bovary senior had expiredthe evening before suddenly from an attack of apoplexy as he got up from table，and by way of greater precaution， on account of Emma'ssensibility， Charles had begged Homais to break the horrible news to hergradually. Homais had thought over his speech； he had rounded， polished it，made it rhythmical； it was a masterpiece of prudence and transitions， of subtleturns and delicacy； but anger had got the better of rhetoric.
Emma， giving up all chance of hearing anydetails， left the pharmacy； for Monsieur Homais had taken up the thread of isvituperations. However， he was growing calmer， and was now grumbling in apaternal tone whilst he fanned himself with his skull-cap.
“It is not that I entirely disapprove of thework. Its author was a doctor！ There are certain scientific points in it thatit is not ill a man should know， and I would even venture to say that a manmust know. But later-later！ At any rate， not till you are man yourself and yourtemperament is formed.”
When Emma knocked at the door. Charles， whowas waiting for her， came forward with open arms and said to her with tears inhis voice：
“Ah！ my dear！”
And he bent over her gently to kiss her. Butat the contact of his lips the memory of the other seized her， and she passedher hand over her face shuddering.
But she made answer， “Yes， I know， I know！”
He showed her the letter in which his mothertold the event without any sentimental hypocrisy. She only regretted herhusband had not received the consolations of religion， as he had died atDaudeville， in the street， at the door of a cafe after a patriotic dinner withsome ex-officers.
Emma gave him back the letter； then atdinner， for appearance's sake， she affected a certainrepugnance. But as he urged her to try， she resolutely began eating， whileCharles opposite her sat motionless in a dejected attitude.
Now and then he raised his head and gave hera long look full of distress. Once he sighed， “I shouldhave liked to see him again！”
She was silent. At last， understanding thatshe must say something， “How old was your father？” she asked.
“Fifty-eight.”
“Ah！”
And that was all.
A quarter of an hour after he added， “My poor mother！ what will become of her now？”
She made a gesture that signified she did notknow. Seeing her so taciturn， Charles imagined her much affected， and forcedhimself to say nothing， not to reawaken this sorrow which nioved 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 spectacledrove little by little all pity from her heart. He seemed to her paltry， weak，a cipher-in a word， a poor thing in every way. How to get rid of him？ What aninterminable evening！ Something stupefying like the fumes of opium seized her.
They heard in the passage the sharp noise ofa wooden leg on the boards. It was Hippolyte bringing back Emma's luggage. In order to put it down he described painfully a quarterof a circle with his stump.
“He doesn't evenremember any more about it，” she thought， looking atthe poor devil， whose coarse red hair was wet with perspiration.
Bovarv was searching at the bottom of hispurse for a centime and without appearing to understand all there was ofhumiliation for him in the mere presence of this man， who stood there like apersonified reproach to his incurable incapacity.
“Hallo！ you've apretty bouquet，” he said， noticing Léon's violets on the chimney.
“Yes，” she repliedindifferently； “it's a bouquetI bought just now from a beggar.”
Charles picked up the flowers， and fresheninghis eyes， red with tears， against them， smelt them 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 pretext of giving orders， disappeared.The following day they had a talk over the mourning. They went and sat downwith their workboxes by 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 thoughthe cared little about. Madame Bovary senior was thinking of her husband. Theworst days of the past seemed enviable to her. All was forgotten beneath theinstinctive regret of such a long habit， and from time to time whilst shesewed， a big tear rolled along her nose and hung suspended there a moment. Emmawas thinking that it was scarcely forty-eight hours since they had beentogether， far from the world， all in a frenzy of joy， and not having eyesenough to gaze upon each other. She tried to recall the slightest details ofthat past day. But the presence of her husband and mother-in-law worried her.She would have liked to hear nothing， to see nothing， so as not to disturb themeditation on her love， that， do what she would， became lost in externalsensations.
She was unpicking the lining of a dress， andthe strips were scattered around her. Madame Bovary senior was plying herscissor without looking up， and Charles， in his list slippers and his old brownsurtout that he used as a dressing-gown， sat with both hands in his pockets，and did not speak either； near them Berthe， in a little white pinafore， wasraking sand in the walks with her spade.
Suddenly she saw Monsieur Lheureux， thelinendraper， come in through the gate.
He came to offer his services “under the sad circumstances.” Emma answeredthat she thought she could do without. The shopkeeper was not to be beaten.
“I beg your pardon，” hesaid， “but I should like to have a private talk withyou.” Then in a low voice， “It's about that affair-you know.”
Charles crimsoned to his ears. “Oh， yes！ certainly.” And in his confusion，turning to his wife， “Couldn'tyou， 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 didnot want her to know the story of the bill， fearing her reproaches.
As soon as they were alone， Monsieur Lheureuxin sufficiently clear terms began to congratulate Emma on the inheritance， thento talk of indifferent matters， of the espaliers， of the harvest， and of hisown health， which was always so-so， always having ups and downs. In fact， hehad to work devilish hard， although he didn't makeenough， in spite of all people said， to find butter for his bread.
Emma let him talk on. She had bored herselfso prodigiously the last two days.
“And so you're quitewell again？” he went on： “Mafoi！I saw your husband in a sad state. He's a good fellow，though we did have a little misunderstanding.”
She asked what misunderstanding， for Charleshad said nothing of the dispute about the goods supplied to her.
“Why， you know well enough，” cried Lheureux. “It was about your littlefancies-the travelling minks.”
He had drawn his hat over his eyes， and， withhis hands behind his back， smiling and whistling， he looked straight at her inan unbearable manner. Did he suspect anything？
She was lost in all kinds of apprehensions.At last， however， he went on：
“We made it up， all the same， and I've come again 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 just now， when he would have a lot of worry. “And he would do better to give it over to someone else-to you， forexample. With a power of attorney it could be easily managed， and then we (youand I) would have our little business transactions together.”
She did not understand. He was silent. Then，passing to his trade， Lheureux declared that madame must require something. Hewould send her a black barége， twelve yards， justenough to make a gown.
“The one you've on isgood enough for the house， but you want another for calls. I saw that the verymoment that I came in. I've the eye of an American！”
He did not send the stuff； he brought it.Then he came again to measure it； he came again on other pretexts， alwaystrying to make himself agreeable， useful， “enfeoffmghimself，” as Homais would have said， and alwaysdropping some hint to Emma about the power of attorney. He never mentioned thebill； she did not think of it. Charles， at the beginning of her convalescence，had certainly said something about it to her， but so many emotions had passedthrough her head that she no longer remembered it. Besides， she took care notto talk of any money questions. Madame Bovary seemed surprised at this， andattributed 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 makeinquiries， to look into mortgages， and see if there were any occasion for asale by auction or a liquidation. She quoted technical terms casually，pronounced the grand words of order， the future， foresight， and constantlyexaggerated the difficulties of settling his father'saffairs so much， that at last one day she showed him the rough draft of a powerof attorney to manage and administer his business， arrange all loans， sign andendorse all bills， pay all sums， etc. She had profited by Lheureux's lessons.
Charles naively asked her where this papercame from.
“Monsieur Guillaumin”；and with the utmost coolness she added， “I don't trust him overmuch. Notaries have such a bad reputation. Perhapswe ought to consult-we only know-no one.”
“Unless Léon-” replied Charles， who was reflecting.
But it was difficult to explain matters byletter. Then she offered to make the journey， but he thanked her. She insisted.It was quite a contest of mutual consideration. At last she cried with affectedwaywardness-
“No， I will go！”
“How good you are！”he said， kissing her forehead.
The next morning she set out in the “Hirondelle” to go to Rouen to consult MonsieurLéon， and she stayed there three days.
Chapter 3
They were three full， exquisite days-a treehoneymoon.
They were at the Hotel-de-Boulogne， on theharbour； and they lived there， with drawn blinds and closed doors， with flowerson the floor， and iced syrups were brought them early in the morning.
Towards evening they took a covered boat andwent to dine on one of the islands. It was the time when one hears by the sideof the dockyard the caulking-mallets sounding against the hull of vessels. Thesmoke of the tar rose up between the trees； there were large fatty drops on thewater， undulating in the purple colour of the sun， like floating plaques ofFlorentine bronze.
They rowed down in the midst of moored boats，whose long oblique cables grazed lightly against the bottom of the boat. Thedin of the town gradually grew distant； the rolling of carriages， the tumult ofvoices， 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 atavern， at whose door hung black nets. They ate fried smelts， cream andcherries. They lay down upon the grass； they kissed behind the poplars； andthey would fain， like two Robinsons， have lived for ever in this little place，which seemed to them in their beatitude the most magnificent on earth. It wasnot the first time that they had seen trees， a blue sky， meadows； that they hadheard the water flowing and the wind blowing in the leaves； but， no doubt， theyhad never admired all this， as if Nature had not existed before， or had onlybegun to be beautiful since the gratification of their desires.
At night they returned. The boat glided alongthe shores of the islands. They sat at the bottom， both hidden by the shade， insilence. The square oars rang in the iron thwarts， and， in the stillness，seemed to mark time， like the beating of a metronome， while at the stem theredder that trailed behind never ceased its gentle splash against the water.
Once the moon rose； they did not fail to makefine phrases， finding the orb melancholy and full of poetry. She even began tosing：
“One night， do you remember， we were sailing，” etc.
