One morning old Rouault brought Charles the money for setting his

leg--seventy-five francs in forty-sou pieces, and a turkey. He had heard

of his loss, and consoled him as well as he could.

"I know what it is," said he, clapping him on the shoulder; "I've been

through it. When I lost my dear departed, I went into the fields to be

quite alone. I fell at the foot of a tree; I cried; I called on God; I

talked nonsense to Him. I wanted to be like the moles that I saw on the

branches, their insides swarming with worms, dead, and an end of it.

And when I thought that there were others at that very moment with their

nice little wives holding them in their embrace, I struck great blows on

the earth with my stick. I was pretty well mad with not eating; the very

idea of going to a cafe disgusted me--you wouldn't believe it. Well,

quite softly, one day following another, a spring on a winter, and an

autumn after a summer, this wore away, piece by piece, crumb by crumb;

it passed away, it is gone, I should say it has sunk; for something

always remains at the bottom as one would say--a weight here, at one's

heart. But since it is the lot of all of us, one must not give way

altogether, and, because others have died, want to die too. You must

pull yourself together, Monsieur Bovary. It will pass away. Come to see

us; my daughter thinks of you now and again, d'ye know, and she says

you are forgetting her. Spring will soon be here. We'll have some

rabbit-shooting in the warrens to amuse you a bit."

Charles followed his advice. He went back to the Bertaux. He found all

as he had left it, that is to say, as it was five months ago. The pear

trees were already in blossom, and Farmer Rouault, on his legs again,

came and went, making the farm more full of life.

Thinking it his duty to heap the greatest attention upon the doctor

because of his sad position, he begged him not to take his hat off,

spoke to him in an undertone as if he had been ill, and even pretended

to be angry because nothing rather lighter had been prepared for him

than for the others, such as a little clotted cream or stewed pears. He

told stories. Charles found himself laughing, but the remembrance of his

wife suddenly coming back to him depressed him. Coffee was brought in;

he thought no more about her.




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