Then gradually her ideas took definite shape, and, sitting on the grass

that she dug up with little prods of her sunshade, Emma repeated to

herself, "Good heavens! Why did I marry?"

She asked herself if by some other chance combination it would have not

been possible to meet another man; and she tried to imagine what would

have been these unrealised events, this different life, this unknown

husband. All, surely, could not be like this one. He might have been

handsome, witty, distinguished, attractive, such as, no doubt, her old

companions of the convent had married. What were they doing now? In

town, with the noise of the streets, the buzz of the theatres and the

lights of the ballroom, they were living lives where the heart expands,

the senses bourgeon out. But she--her life was cold as a garret whose

dormer window looks on the north, and ennui, the silent spider, was

weaving its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.

She recalled the prize days, when she mounted the platform to receive

her little crowns, with her hair in long plaits. In her white frock and

open prunella shoes she had a pretty way, and when she went back to her

seat, the gentlemen bent over her to congratulate her; the courtyard was

full of carriages; farewells were called to her through their windows;

the music master with his violin case bowed in passing by. How far all

of this! How far away! She called Djali, took her between her knees, and

smoothed the long delicate head, saying, "Come, kiss mistress; you have

no troubles."

Then noting the melancholy face of the graceful animal, who yawned

slowly, she softened, and comparing her to herself, spoke to her aloud

as to somebody in trouble whom one is consoling.

Occasionally there came gusts of winds, breezes from the sea rolling in

one sweep over the whole plateau of the Caux country, which brought

even to these fields a salt freshness. The rushes, close to the ground,

whistled; the branches trembled in a swift rustling, while their

summits, ceaselessly swaying, kept up a deep murmur. Emma drew her shawl

round her shoulders and rose.

In the avenue a green light dimmed by the leaves lit up the short moss

that crackled softly beneath her feet. The sun was setting; the sky

showed red between the branches, and the trunks of the trees, uniform,

and planted in a straight line, seemed a brown colonnade standing out

against a background of gold. A fear took hold of her; she called Djali,

and hurriedly returned to Tostes by the high road, threw herself into an

armchair, and for the rest of the evening did not speak.




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