Her neck stood out from a white turned-down collar. Her hair, whose

two black folds seemed each of a single piece, so smooth were they, was

parted in the middle by a delicate line that curved slightly with the

curve of the head; and, just showing the tip of the ear, it was joined

behind in a thick chignon, with a wavy movement at the temples that the

country doctor saw now for the first time in his life. The upper part of

her cheek was rose-coloured. She had, like a man, thrust in between two

buttons of her bodice a tortoise-shell eyeglass.

When Charles, after bidding farewell to old Rouault, returned to the

room before leaving, he found her standing, her forehead against the

window, looking into the garden, where the bean props had been knocked

down by the wind. She turned round. "Are you looking for anything?" she

asked.

"My whip, if you please," he answered.

He began rummaging on the bed, behind the doors, under the chairs. It

had fallen to the floor, between the sacks and the wall. Mademoiselle

Emma saw it, and bent over the flour sacks.

Charles out of politeness made a dash also, and as he stretched out his

arm, at the same moment felt his breast brush against the back of the

young girl bending beneath him. She drew herself up, scarlet, and looked

at him over her shoulder as she handed him his whip.

Instead of returning to the Bertaux in three days as he had promised,

he went back the very next day, then regularly twice a week, without

counting the visits he paid now and then as if by accident.

Everything, moreover, went well; the patient progressed favourably; and

when, at the end of forty-six days, old Rouault was seen trying to walk

alone in his "den," Monsieur Bovary began to be looked upon as a man

of great capacity. Old Rouault said that he could not have been cured

better by the first doctor of Yvetot, or even of Rouen.

As to Charles, he did not stop to ask himself why it was a pleasure

to him to go to the Bertaux. Had he done so, he would, no doubt, have

attributed his zeal to the importance of the case, or perhaps to the

money he hoped to make by it. Was it for this, however, that his visits

to the farm formed a delightful exception to the meagre occupations of

his life? On these days he rose early, set off at a gallop, urging on

his horse, then got down to wipe his boots in the grass and put on black

gloves before entering. He liked going into the courtyard, and noticing

the gate turn against his shoulder, the cock crow on the wall, the lads

run to meet him. He liked the granary and the stables; he liked old

Rouault, who pressed his hand and called him his saviour; he like the

small wooden shoes of Mademoiselle Emma on the scoured flags of the

kitchen--her high heels made her a little taller; and when she walked in

front of him, the wooden soles springing up quickly struck with a sharp

sound against the leather of her boots.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024