The cure on his arrival inquired how Monsieur Bovary was, and, on

the reply of the druggist, went on--"The blow, you see, is still too

recent."

Then Homais congratulated him on not being exposed, like other people,

to the loss of a beloved companion; whence there followed a discussion

on the celibacy of priests.

"For," said the chemist, "it is unnatural that a man should do without

women! There have been crimes--"

"But, good heaven!" cried the ecclesiastic, "how do you expect an

individual who is married to keep the secrets of the confessional, for

example?"

Homais fell foul of the confessional. Bournisien defended it; he

enlarged on the acts of restitution that it brought about. He cited

various anecdotes about thieves who had suddenly become honest. Military

men on approaching the tribunal of penitence had felt the scales fall

from their eyes. At Fribourg there was a minister-His companion was asleep. Then he felt somewhat stifled by the

over-heavy atmosphere of the room; he opened the window; this awoke the

chemist.

"Come, take a pinch of snuff," he said to him. "Take it; it'll relieve

you."

A continual barking was heard in the distance. "Do you hear that dog

howling?" said the chemist.

"They smell the dead," replied the priest. "It's like bees; they leave

their hives on the decease of any person."

Homais made no remark upon these prejudices, for he had again dropped

asleep. Monsieur Bournisien, stronger than he, went on moving his lips

gently for some time, then insensibly his chin sank down, he let fall

his big black boot, and began to snore.

They sat opposite one another, with protruding stomachs, puffed-up

faces, and frowning looks, after so much disagreement uniting at last in

the same human weakness, and they moved no more than the corpse by their

side, that seemed to be sleeping.

Charles coming in did not wake them. It was the last time; he came to

bid her farewell.

The aromatic herbs were still smoking, and spirals of bluish vapour

blended at the window-sash with the fog that was coming in. There were

few stars, and the night was warm. The wax of the candles fell in great

drops upon the sheets of the bed. Charles watched them burn, tiring his

eyes against the glare of their yellow flame.

The watering on the satin gown shimmered white as moonlight. Emma was

lost beneath it; and it seemed to him that, spreading beyond her own

self, she blended confusedly with everything around her--the silence,

the night, the passing wind, the damp odours rising from the ground.




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