At seven o'clock little Berthe, who had not seen him all the afternoon,

went to fetch him to dinner.

His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes closed, his mouth

open, and in his hand was a long tress of black hair.

"Come along, papa," she said.

And thinking he wanted to play; she pushed him gently. He fell to the

ground. He was dead.

Thirty-six hours after, at the druggist's request, Monsieur Canivet came

thither. He made a post-mortem and found nothing.

When everything had been sold, twelve francs seventy-five centimes

remained, that served to pay for Mademoiselle Bovary's going to

her grandmother. The good woman died the same year; old Rouault was

paralysed, and it was an aunt who took charge of her. She is poor, and

sends her to a cotton-factory to earn a living.

Since Bovary's death three doctors have followed one another at Yonville

without any success, so severely did Homais attack them. He has an

enormous practice; the authorities treat him with consideration, and

public opinion protects him.

He has just received the cross of the Legion of Honour.



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