Gradually Rodolphe's fears took possession of her. At first, love had

intoxicated her; and she had thought of nothing beyond. But now that he

was indispensable to her life, she feared to lose anything of this, or

even that it should be disturbed. When she came back from his house she

looked all about her, anxiously watching every form that passed in the

horizon, and every village window from which she could be seen. She

listened for steps, cries, the noise of the ploughs, and she stopped

short, white, and trembling more than the aspen leaves swaying overhead.

One morning as she was thus returning, she suddenly thought she saw the

long barrel of a carbine that seemed to be aimed at her. It stuck out

sideways from the end of a small tub half-buried in the grass on the

edge of a ditch. Emma, half-fainting with terror, nevertheless walked

on, and a man stepped out of the tub like a Jack-in-the-box. He had

gaiters buckled up to the knees, his cap pulled down over his eyes,

trembling lips, and a red nose. It was Captain Binet lying in ambush for

wild ducks.

"You ought to have called out long ago!" he exclaimed; "When one sees a

gun, one should always give warning."

The tax-collector was thus trying to hide the fright he had had, for

a prefectorial order having prohibited duckhunting except in boats,

Monsieur Binet, despite his respect for the laws, was infringing them,

and so he every moment expected to see the rural guard turn up. But

this anxiety whetted his pleasure, and, all alone in his tub, he

congratulated himself on his luck and on his cuteness. At sight of

Emma he seemed relieved from a great weight, and at once entered upon a

conversation.

"It isn't warm; it's nipping."

Emma answered nothing. He went on-"And you're out so early?"

"Yes," she said stammering; "I am just coming from the nurse where my

child is."

"Ah! very good! very good! For myself, I am here, just as you see me,

since break of day; but the weather is so muggy, that unless one had the

bird at the mouth of the gun--"

"Good evening, Monsieur Binet," she interrupted him, turning on her

heel.

"Your servant, madame," he replied drily; and he went back into his tub.

Emma regretted having left the tax-collector so abruptly. No doubt he

would form unfavourable conjectures. The story about the nurse was the

worst possible excuse, everyone at Yonville knowing that the little

Bovary had been at home with her parents for a year. Besides, no one

was living in this direction; this path led only to La Huchette. Binet,

then, would guess whence she came, and he would not keep silence; he

would talk, that was certain. She remained until evening racking her

brain with every conceivable lying project, and had constantly before

her eyes that imbecile with the game-bag.




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