And， in fact， on the following Friday， asCharles was putting on one of his boots in the dark cabinet where his clotheswere kept， he felt a piece of paper between the leather and his sock. He tookit out and read：
Received， for three months' lessons and several pieces of music， the sum of sixty-three francs.-Frlicie Lempereur，professor of music.
“How the devil did it get into my boots？”
“It must，” shereplied， “have fallen from the old box of bills that ison the edge of the shelf.”
From that moment her existence was but onelong tissue of lies， in which she envelopexi her love as in veils to hide it.It was a want， a mania， a pleasure carried to such an extent that if she saidshe had the day before walked on the right side of a road， one might know shehad taken the left.
One morning， when she had gone， as usual，rather lightly clothed， it suddenly began to snow， and as Charles was watchingthe weather from the window， he caught sight of Monsieur Bournisien in thechaise of Monsieur Tuvache， who was driving him to Rouen. Then he went down togive the priest a thick shawl that he was to hand over to Emma as soon as hereached the “Croix-Rouge.” Whenhe got to the inn， Monsieur Bournisien asked for the wife of the Yonvilledoctor. The landlady replied that she very rarely came to her establishment. Sothat evening， when he recognised Madame Bovary in the “Hirondelle，” the curé told her his dilemma， without，however， appearing to attach much importance to it， for he began praising apreacher who was doing wonders at the Cathedral， and whom all the ladies wererushing to hear.
Still， if he did not ask for any explanation，others， later bn， might prove less discreet. So she thought well to get downeach time at the “Croix-Rouge，”so that the good folk of her village who saw her on the stairs should suspectnothing.
One day， however， Monsieur Lheureux met hercoming out of the Hotel de Boulogne on Lrén's arm； and she was frightened， thinking he would gossip. He was notsuch a fool. But three days after he came to her room， shut the door， and said，“I must have some money.”
She declared she could not give him any.Lheureux burst into lamentations and reminded her of all the kindnesses he hadshown her.
In fact， of the two bills signed by Charles，Emma up to the present had paid only one. As to the second， the shopkeeper， ather request， had consented to replace it by another， which again had beenrenewed for a long date. Then he drew from his pocket a list of goods not paidfor； to wit， the curtains， the carpet， the material for the armchairs， severaldresses， and divers articles of dress， the bills for which amounted to abouttwo thousand francs.
She bowed her head. He went on-
“But if you haven'tany ready money， you have an estate.” And he remindedher of a miserable little hovel situated at Barneville， near Aumale， thatbrought in almost nothing. It had formerly been part of a small farm sold byMonsieur Bovary senior； for Lheureux knew everything， even to the number ofacres and the names of the neighbours.
“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 apurchaser. He held out the hope of finding one； but she asked him how sheshould manage to sell it.
“Haven't you yourpower of attorney？” he replied.
The phrase came to her like a breath of freshair. “Leave me the bill，” saidEmma.
“Oh， it isn't worthwhile，” answered Lheureux.
He came back the following week and boastedof having， after much trouble， at last discovered a certain Langlois， who， fora long time， had had an eye on the property， but without mentioning his price.
“Never mind the price！” she cried.
But they would， on the contrary， have towait， to sound the fellow. The thing was worth a journey， and， as she could notundertake it， he offered to go to the place to have an interview with Langlois.On his return he announced that the purchaser proposed 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 shewas about to pay her account the shopkeeper said-
“It really grieves me， on my word！ to see youdepriving yourself all at once of such a big sum as that.”
Then she looked at the bank-notes， anddreaming of the unlimited number of rendezvous represented by those twothousand francs， she stammered：
“What！ what！”
“Oh！” he went on，laughing good-naturedly， “one puts anything one likeson receipts. Don't you think I know what householdaffairs are？” And he looked at her fixedly， while inhis hand he held two long papers that he slid between his nails. At last，opening his pocket-book， he spread out on the table four bills to order， eachfor a thousand francs.
“Sign these，” hesaid， “and keep it all！”
She cried out， scandalised.
“But if I give you the surplus，” replied Monsieur Lheureux impudently， “isthat not helping you？”
And taking a pen he wrote at the bottom ofthe account， “Received of Madame Bovary four thousandfrancs.”
“Now who can trouble you， since in six monthsyou'll draw the arrears for your cottage， and I don't make the last bill due till after you'vebeen paid？”
Emma grew rather confused in hercalculations， and her ears tingled as if gold pieces， bursting from their bags，rang all round her on the floor. At last Lheureux explained that he had a verygood friend， Vincart， a broker at Rouen， who would discount these four bills.Then he himself would hand over to madame the remainder after the actual debtwas paid.
But instead of two thousand francs he broughtonly eighteen hundred， for the friend Vincart (which was only fair) haddeducted two hundred francs for commission and discount. Then he carelesslyasked for a receipt.
“You understand-in business-sometimes. Andwith the date， if you please， with the date.”
A horizon of realisable whims opened outbefore Emma. She was prudent enough to lay by a thousand crowns， with which thefirst three bills were paid when they fell due； but the fourth， by chance， cameto the house on a Thursday， and Charles， quite upset， patiently awaited hiswife's return for an explanation.
If she had not told him about this bill， itwas only to spare him such domestic worries； she sat on his knees， caressedhim， cooed to him， gave him a long enumeration of all the indispensable thingsthat had been got on credit.
“Really， you must confess， considering thequantity， it isn't too dear.”
Charles， at his wit'send， soon had recourse to the eternal Lheureux， who swore he would arrangematters if the doctor would sign him two bills， one of which was for sevenhundred francs， payable in three months. In order to arrange for this he wrotehis mother a pathetic letter. Instead of sending a reply she came herself； andwhen Emma wanted to know whether he had got anything out of her， “Yes，” he replied； “butshe wants to see the account.” The next morning atdaybreak Emma ran to Lheureux to beg him to make out another account for notmore than a thousand francs， for to show the one for four thousand it would benecessary to say that she had paid two-thirds， and confess， consequently， thesale of the estate-a negotiation admirably carried out by the shopkeeper， andwhich， in fact， was only actually known later on.
Despite the low price of each article， MadameBovary senior， of course， thought the expenditure extravagant.
“Couldn't you dowithout a carpet？ Why have recovered the arm-chairs？ In my time there was asingle arm-chair in a house， for elderly persons-at any rate it was so at mymother's， who was a good woman， I can tell you.Everybody can't be rich！ No fortune can hold outagainst waste！ I should be ashamed to coddle myself as you do！ And yet I amold. I need looking after. And there！ there！ fitting up gowns！ fallals！ What！silk for lining at two francs， when you can get jaconet for ten sous， or even foreight， that would do well enough！”
Emma， lying on a lounge， replied as quietlyas possible-“Ah！ Madame， enough！ enough！”
The other went on lecturing her， predictingthey would end in the workhouse. But it was Bovary'sfault. Luckily he had promised to destroy that power of attorney.
“What？”
“Ah！ he swore he would，” went on the good woman.
Emma opened the window， called Charles， andthe poor fellow was obliged to confess the promise torn from him by his mother.
Emma disappeared， then came back quickly， andmajestically handed her a thick piece of paper.
“Thank you，” said theold woman. And she threw the power of attorney into the fire.
Emma began to laugh， a strident， piercing，continuous laugh； she had an attack of hysterics.
“Oh， my God！” criedCharles. “Ah！ you really are wrong！ You come here andmake scenes with her！”
His mother， shrugging her shoulders， declaredit was “all put on.”
But Charles， rebelling for the first time，took his wife's part， so that Madame Bovary， senior，said she would leave. She went the very next day， and on the threshold， as hewas trying to detain her， she replied-
“No， no！ You love her better than me， and youare right. It is natural. For the rest， so much the worse！ You will see. Goodday-for I am not likely to come soon again， as you say， to make scenes.”
Charles nevertheless was very crestfallenbefore Emma， who did not hide the resentment she still felt at his want ofconfidence， and it needed many prayers before she would consent to have anotherpower of attorney. He even accompanied her to Monsieur Guillaumin to have asecond one， just like the other， drawn up.
“I understand，” saidthe notary； “a man of science can't be worried with the practical details of life.”
And Charles felt relieved by this comfortablereflection， which gave his weakness the flattering appearance of higherpre-occupation.
And what an outburst the next Thursday at thehotel in their room with Lrén！ She laughed， cried，sang， sent for sherbets， wanted to smoke cigarettes， seemed to him wild andextravagant， but adorable， superb.
He did not know what recreation of her wholebeing drove her more and more to plunge into the pleasures of life. She wasbecoming irritable， greedy， voluptuous； and she walked about the streets withhim carrying her head high， without fear， so she said， of compromising herself.At times， however， Emma shuddered at the sudden thought of meeting Rodolphe，for it seemed to her that， although they were separated forever， she was notcompletely free from her subjugation to him.
One night she did not return to Yonville atall. Charles lost his head with anxiety， and little Berthe would not go to bedwithout her mamma， and sobbed enough to break her heart. Justin had gone outsearching the road at random. Monsieur Homais even had left his pharmacy.
At last， at eleven o'clock，able to bear it no longer， Charles harnessed his chaise， jumped in， whipped uphis horse， and reached the “Croix-R0uge” about two o'clock in the morning. No onethere！ He thought that the clerk had perhaps seen her； but where did he live？Happily， Charles remembered his employer's address， andrushed off there.
Day was breaking， and he could distinguishthe escutcheons over the door， and knocked. Someone， without opening the door，shouted out the required information， adding a few insults to those who disturbpeople in the middle of the night.
The house inhabited by the clerk had neitherbell， knocker， nor porter. Charles knocked loudly at the shutters with hishands. A policeman happened to pass by. Then he was frightened， and went away.
“I am mad，” he said； “no doubt they kept her to dinner at Monsieur Lormeaux'.” But the Lormeaux no longer lived atRouen.
“She probably stayed to look after MadameDubreuil. Why， Madame Dubreuil has been dead these ten months！ Where can shebe？”
An idea occurred to him. At a caré he asked for a Directory， and hurriedly looked for the name ofMademoiselle Lempereur， who lived at No. 74 Rue de la Renelle-des-Maroquiniers.
As he was turning into the street， Emmaherself appeared at the other end of it. He threw himself upon her rather thanembraced her， crying： “What kept you yesterday？”
“I was not well.”
“What was it？ Where？ How？”
She passed her hand over her forehead andanswered， “At Mademoiselle Lempereur's.”
“I was sure of it！ I was going there.”
“Oh， it isn't worthwhile，” said Emma. “She wentout just now； but for the future don't worry. I do notfeel free， you see， if I know that the least delay upsets you like this.”
This was a sort of permission that she gaveherself， so as to get perfect freedom in her escapades. And she profited by itfreely， fully. When she was seized with the desire to see Léon， she set out upon any pretext； and as he was not expecting her onthat day， she went to fetch him at his office.
It was a great delight at first， but soon heno longer concealed the truth， which was， that his master complained very muchabout these interruptions.
“Pshaw！ come along，”she said.
And he slipped out.
She wanted him to dress all in black， andgrow a pointed beard， to look like the portraits of Louis XIII. She wanted tosee his lodgings； thought them poor. He blushed at them， but she did not noticethis， then advised him to buy some curtains like hers， and as he objected tothe expense-
“Ah！ ah！ you care for your money，” she said laughing.
Each time Léon had totell her everything that he had done since their last meeting. She asked himfor some verses-some verses “for herself，” a “love poem” inhonour of her. But he never succeeded in getting a rhyme for the second verse；and at last ended by copying a sonnet in a Keepsake. This was less from vanitythan from the one desire of pleasing her. He did not question her ideas； heaccepted all her tastes； he was rather becoming her mistress than she his. Shehad tender words and kisses that thrilled his soul. Where could she have learntthis corruption almost incorporeal in the strength of its profanity anddissimulation？
Chapter 6
During the journeys he made to see her， Léon had often dined at the chemist's， and hefelt obliged from politeness to invite him in turn.
“With pleasure！”Monsieur Homais replied； “besides， I must invigorate mymind， 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 the vague perils he was preparingto brave.
“Well， what？ Do you think I'm not sufficiently ruining my health living here amid the continualemanations of the pharmacy？ But there！ that is the way with women！ They arejealous of science， and then are opposed to our taking the most legitimatedistractions. No matter！ Count upon me. One of these days I shall mm up atRouen， and we'll go the pace together.”
The druggist would formerly have taken goodcare not to use such an expression， but he was cultivating a gay Parisianstyle， which he thought in the best taste； and， like his neighbour， MadameBovary， he questioned the clerk curiously about the customs of the capital； heeven talked slang to dazzle the bourgeois， saying bender， crummy， dandy，macaroni， the cheese， cut my stick and “I'll hook it，” for “Iam going.”
So one Thursday Emma was surprised to meetMonsieur Homais in the kitchen of the “Lion d'Or，” wearing a traveller's costume， that is to say， wrapped in an old cloak which no one knewhe had， while he carried a valise in one hand and the foot-warmer of hisestablishment in the other. He had confided his intentions to no one， 'for fear of causing the public anxiety by his absence.
The idea of seeing again the place where hisyouth had been spent no doubt excited him， for during the whole journey henever ceased talking， and as soon as he had arrived， he jumped quickly out ofthe diligence to go in search of Lton. In vain the clerk tried to get rid ofhim. Monsieur Homais dragged him off to the large Caféde la Normandie， which he entered majestically， not raising his hat， thinkingit very provincial to uncover in any public place.
Emma waited for Léonthree quarters of an hour. At last she ran to his office； and， lost in allsorts of conjectures， accusing him of indifference， and reproaching herself forher weakness， she spent the aiternoon， her face pressed against the window-panes.
At two o'clock theywere still at a table opposite each other. The large room was emptying； thestove-pipe， in the shape of a palm-tree， spread its gilt leaves over the whiteceiling， and near them， outside the window， in the bright sunshine， a littlefountain gurgled in a white basin， where； in the midst of watercress andasparagus， three torpid lobsters stretched across to some quails that layheaped up in a pile on their sides.
Homais was enjoying himself. Although he waseven more intoxicated with the luxury than the rich fare， the Pommard wine allthe same rather excited his faculties； and when the omelette au rhum appeared，he began propounding immoral theories about women. What seduced him above allelse was chic. He admired an elegant toilette in a well-furnished apartment，and as to bodily qualities， he didn't dislike a younggirl.
Léon watched theclock in despair. The druggist went on drinking， eating， and talking.
“You must be very lonely，” he said suddenly， “here at Rouen. To besure your lady-love doesn't live far away.”
And the other blushed-
“Come now， be frank. Can you deny that atYonville-”
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 thebetter of all prudence， Léon， in spite of himselfprotested. Besides， he only liked dark women.
“I approve of that，”said the chemist； “they have more passion.”
And whispering into his friend's ear， he pointed out the symptoms by which one could find out if awoman had passion. He even launched into an ethnographic digression： the Germanwas vapourish， the French woman licentious， the Italian passionate.
“And negresses？”asked the clerk.
“They are an artistic taste！” said Homais. “Waiter！ two cups of coffee！”
“Are we going？” atlast asked Léon impatiently.
“Ja！”
But before leaving he wanted to see theproprietor of the establishment and made him a few compliments. Then the youngman， to be alone， alleged he had some business engagement.
“Ah！ I will escort you，” said Homais.
And all the while he was walking through thestreets with him he talked of his wife， his children； of their future， and ofhis business； told him in what a decayed condition it had formerly been， and towhat a degree of perfection he had raised it.
Arrived in front of the Hotel de Boulogne， Léon left him abruptly， ran up the stairs， and found his mistress ingreat excitement. At mention of the chemist she flew into a passion. He，however， piled up good reasons； it wasn't his fault；didn't she know Homais-did she believe that he wouldprefer his company？ But she turned away； he drew her back， and， sinking on hisknees， clasped her waist with his arms in a languorous pose， full ofconcupiscence and supplication.
She was standing up， her large flashing eyeslooked at him seriously， almost terribly. Then tears obscured them， her redeyelids were lowered， she gave him her hands， and Léonwas pressing them to his lips when a servant appeared to tell the gentlemanthat he was wanted.
“You will come back？”she said.
“Yes.”
“But when？”
“Immediately.”
“It's a trick，” said the chemist， when he saw Léon. “I wanted to interrupt this visit， that seemed to me to annoy you.Let's go and have a glass ofgarus at Bridoux'.”
Léon vowed that hemust get back to his office. Then the druggist joked him about quill-driversand the law.
“Leave Cujas and Barthole alone a bit. Whothe devil prevents you？ Be a man！ Let's go to Bridoux'. You'll see his dog. It's very interesting.”
And as the clerk still insisted-
“I'll go with you. I'll read a paper while I wait for you， or turn over the leaves of aCode.”
Lrén， bewildered byEmma'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 that indefinable feeling that drags us into the most distasteful acts，he allowed himself to be led off to Bridoux'， whom theyfound in his small yard， superintending three workmen， who panted as theyturned the large wheel of a machine for making seltzer-water. Homais gave themsome good advice. He embraced Bridoux； they took some garus. Twenty times Lrén tried to escape， but the other seized him by the arm saying：
“Presently！ I'mcoming！ We'll go to the Fanal de Rouen to see thefellows there. I'll introduce you to Thornassin.”
At last he managed to get rid of him， andrushed straight to the hotel. Emma was no longer there. She had just gone in afit of anger. She detested him now. This failing to keep their rendezvousseemed to her an insult， and she tried to rake up other reasons to separateherself from him. He was incapable of heroism， weak， banal， more spiritlessthan a woman， avaricious too， and cowardly.
Then， growing calmer， she at lengthdiscovered that she had， no doubt， calumniated him. But the disparaging ofthose we love always alienates us from them to some extent. We must not touchour idols； the gilt sticks to our fingers.
They gradually came to talking morefrequently of matters outside their love， and in the letters that Emma wrotehim she spoke of flowers， verses， the moon and the stars， naive resources of awaning passion striving to keep itself alive by all external aids. She wasconstantly promising herself a profound felicity on her next journey. Then sheconfessed to herself that she felt nothing extraordinary. This disappointmentquickly gave way to a new hope， and Emma returned to him more inflamed， moreeager than ever. She undressed brutally， tearing off the thin laces of hercorset that nestled around her hips like a gliding snake. She went on tiptoe，barefooted， to see once more that the door was closed， then， pale， serious，and， without speaking， with one movement， she threw herself upon his breastwith a long shudder.
Yet there was” uponthat brow covered with cold drops， on those quivering lips， in those wild eyes，in the strain of those arms， something vague and dreary that seemed to Léon to glide between them subtly as if to separate them.
He did not dare to question her； but， seeingher so skilled， she must have passed， he thought， through every experience ofsuffering and of pleasure. What had once charmed now frightened him a little.Besides， he rebelled against his absorption， daily more marked， by herpersonality. He begrudged Emma this constant victory. He even strove not tolove her； then， when he heard the creaking of her boots， he turned coward， likedrunkards at the sight of strong drinks.
She did not fail， in truth， to lavish allsorts of attentions upon him， from the delicacies of food to the coquetries ofdress and languishing looks. She brought roses to her breast from Yonville，which she threw into his face； was anxious about his health， gave him advice asto his conduct； and， in order the more surely to keep her hold on him， hopingperhaps that heaven would take her part， she tied a medal of the Virgin roundhis neck. She inquired like a virtuous mother about his companions. She said tohim-
