He did not hurry. Every day for a month Hivert carried boxes, valises,

parcels for him from Yonville to Rouen and from Rouen to Yonville;

and when Leon had packed up his wardrobe, had his three arm-chairs

restuffed, bought a stock of neckties, in a word, had made more

preparations than for a voyage around the world, he put it off from week

to week, until he received a second letter from his mother urging him to

leave, since he wanted to pass his examination before the vacation.

When the moment for the farewells had come, Madame Homais wept, Justin

sobbed; Homais, as a man of nerve, concealed his emotion; he wished to

carry his friend's overcoat himself as far as the gate of the notary,

who was taking Leon to Rouen in his carriage.

The latter had just time to bid farewell to Monsieur Bovary.

When he reached the head of the stairs, he stopped, he was so out of

breath. As he came in, Madame Bovary arose hurriedly.

"It is I again!" said Leon.

"I was sure of it!"

She bit her lips, and a rush of blood flowing under her skin made her

red from the roots of her hair to the top of her collar. She remained

standing, leaning with her shoulder against the wainscot.

"The doctor is not here?" he went on.

"He is out." She repeated, "He is out."

Then there was silence. They looked at one another and their thoughts,

confounded in the same agony, clung close together like two throbbing

breasts.

"I should like to kiss Berthe," said Leon.

Emma went down a few steps and called Felicite.

He threw one long look around him that took in the walls, the

decorations, the fireplace, as if to penetrate everything, carry away

everything. But she returned, and the servant brought Berthe, who was

swinging a windmill roof downwards at the end of a string. Leon kissed

her several times on the neck.

"Good-bye, poor child! good-bye, dear little one! good-bye!" And he gave

her back to her mother.

"Take her away," she said.

They remained alone--Madame Bovary, her back turned, her face pressed

against a window-pane; Leon held his cap in his hand, knocking it softly

against his thigh.

"It is going to rain," said Emma.

"I have a cloak," he answered.

"Ah!"

She turned around, her chin lowered, her forehead bent forward.

The light fell on it as on a piece of marble, to the curve of the

eyebrows, without one's being able to guess what Emma was seeing on the

horizon or what she was thinking within herself.




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