He thought less of her as he grew accustomed to living alone. The new

delight of independence soon made his loneliness bearable. He could now

change his meal-times, go in or out without explanation, and when he was

very tired stretch himself at full length on his bed. So he nursed and

coddled himself and accepted the consolations that were offered him.

On the other hand, the death of his wife had not served him ill in his

business, since for a month people had been saying, "The poor young

man! what a loss!" His name had been talked about, his practice had

increased; and moreover, he could go to the Bertaux just as he liked.

He had an aimless hope, and was vaguely happy; he thought himself better

looking as he brushed his whiskers before the looking-glass.

One day he got there about three o'clock. Everybody was in the fields.

He went into the kitchen, but did not at once catch sight of Emma; the

outside shutters were closed. Through the chinks of the wood the sun

sent across the flooring long fine rays that were broken at the corners

of the furniture and trembled along the ceiling. Some flies on the table

were crawling up the glasses that had been used, and buzzing as they

drowned themselves in the dregs of the cider. The daylight that came in

by the chimney made velvet of the soot at the back of the fireplace, and

touched with blue the cold cinders. Between the window and the hearth

Emma was sewing; she wore no fichu; he could see small drops of

perspiration on her bare shoulders.

After the fashion of country folks she asked him to have something to

drink. He said no; she insisted, and at last laughingly offered to have

a glass of liqueur with him. So she went to fetch a bottle of curacao

from the cupboard, reached down two small glasses, filled one to the

brim, poured scarcely anything into the other, and, after having clinked

glasses, carried hers to her mouth. As it was almost empty she bent

back to drink, her head thrown back, her lips pouting, her neck on the

strain. She laughed at getting none of it, while with the tip of her

tongue passing between her small teeth she licked drop by drop the

bottom of her glass.

She sat down again and took up her work, a white cotton stocking she was

darning. She worked with her head bent down; she did not speak, nor did

Charles. The air coming in under the door blew a little dust over the

flags; he watched it drift along, and heard nothing but the throbbing

in his head and the faint clucking of a hen that had laid an egg in the

yard. Emma from time to time cooled her cheeks with the palms of her

hands, and cooled these again on the knobs of the huge fire-dogs.




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