He threw himself on his knees by her bed.

"Tell me! what have you eaten? Answer, for heaven's sake!"

And he looked at her with a tenderness in his eyes such as she had never

seen.

"Well, there--there!" she said in a faint voice. He flew to the

writing-table, tore open the seal, and read aloud: "Accuse no one." He

stopped, passed his hands across his eyes, and read it over again.

"What! help--help!"

He could only keep repeating the word: "Poisoned! poisoned!" Felicite

ran to Homais, who proclaimed it in the market-place; Madame Lefrancois

heard it at the "Lion d'Or"; some got up to go and tell their

neighbours, and all night the village was on the alert.

Distraught, faltering, reeling, Charles wandered about the room. He

knocked against the furniture, tore his hair, and the chemist had never

believed that there could be so terrible a sight.

He went home to write to Monsieur Canivet and to Doctor Lariviere. He

lost his head, and made more than fifteen rough copies. Hippolyte went

to Neufchatel, and Justin so spurred Bovary's horse that he left it

foundered and three parts dead by the hill at Bois-Guillaume.

Charles tried to look up his medical dictionary, but could not read it;

the lines were dancing.

"Be calm," said the druggist; "we have only to administer a powerful

antidote. What is the poison?"

Charles showed him the letter. It was arsenic.

"Very well," said Homais, "we must make an analysis."

For he knew that in cases of poisoning an analysis must be made; and the

other, who did not understand, answered-"Oh, do anything! save her!"

Then going back to her, he sank upon the carpet, and lay there with his

head leaning against the edge of her bed, sobbing.

"Don't cry," she said to him. "Soon I shall not trouble you any more."

"Why was it? Who drove you to it?"

She replied. "It had to be, my dear!"

"Weren't you happy? Is it my fault? I did all I could!"

"Yes, that is true--you are good--you."

And she passed her hand slowly over his hair. The sweetness of this

sensation deepened his sadness; he felt his whole being dissolving

in despair at the thought that he must lose her, just when she was

confessing more love for him than ever. And he could think of nothing;

he did not know, he did not dare; the urgent need for some immediate

resolution gave the finishing stroke to the turmoil of his mind.




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