Whydidhealwaysofferaglassofsomethingtoeveryonewhocame？Whatobstinacynottowearflannels!InthespringitcameaboutthatanotaryatIngouville，theholderofthewidowDubuc’sproperty，onefinedaywentoff，takingwithhimallthemoneyinhisoffice。Heloise，itistrue，stillpossessed，besidesashareinaboatvaluedatsixthousandfrancs，herhouseintheRueSt。Francois；andyet，withallthisfortunethathadbeensotrumpetedabroad，nothing，exceptingperhapsalittlefurnitureandafewclothes，hadappearedinthehousehold。Thematterhadtobegoneinto。ThehouseatDieppewasfoundtobeeatenupwithmortgagestoitsfoundations；whatshehadplacedwiththenotaryGodonlyknew，andhershareintheboatdidnotexceedonethousandcrowns。Shehadlied，thegoodlady!Inhisexasperation，MonsieurBovarytheelder，smashingachairontheflags，accusedhiswifeofhavingcausedmisfortunetothesonbyharnessinghimtosuchaharridan，whoseharnesswasn’tworthherhide。TheycametoTostes。Explanationsfollowed。Therewerescenes。Heloiseintears，throwingherarmsaboutherhusband，imploredhimtodefendherfromhisparents。
　　Charlestriedtospeakupforher。Theygrewangryandleftthehouse。
　　But“theblowhadstruckhome。“Aweekafter，asshewashangingupsomewashinginheryard，shewasseizedwithaspittingofblood，andthenextday，whileCharleshadhisbackturnedtoherdrawingthewindow-curtain，shesaid，“OGod!“gaveasighandfainted。Shewasdead!Whatasurprise!WhenallwasoveratthecemeteryCharleswenthome。Hefoundnoonedownstairs；hewentuptothefirstfloortotheirroom；sayherdressstillhangingatthefootofthealcove；then，leaningagainstthewriting-table，hestayeduntiltheevening，buriedinasorrowfulreverie。Shehadlovedhimafterall!
　　ChapterThreeOnemorningoldRouaultbroughtCharlesthemoneyforsettinghisleg——seventy-fivefrancsinforty-soupieces，andaturkey。Hehadheardofhisloss，andconsoledhimaswellashecould。
　　“Iknowwhatitis，“saidhe，clappinghimontheshoulder；“I’vebeenthroughit。WhenIlostmydeardeparted，Iwentintothefieldstobequitealone。Ifellatthefootofatree；Icried；
　　IcalledonGod；ItalkednonsensetoHim。IwantedtobelikethemolesthatIsawonthebranches，theirinsidesswarmingwithworms，dead，andanendofit。AndwhenIthoughtthattherewereothersatthatverymomentwiththeirnicelittlewivesholdingthemintheirembrace，Istruckgreatblowsontheearthwithmystick。Iwasprettywellmadwithnoteating；theveryideaofgoingtoacafedisgustedme——youwouldn’tbelieveit。Well，quitesoftly，onedayfollowinganother，aspringonawinter，andanautumnafterasummer，thisworeaway，piecebypiece，crumbbycrumb；itpassedaway，itisgone，Ishouldsayithassunk；forsomethingalwaysremainsatthebottomasonewouldsay——aweighthere，atone’sheart。Butsinceitisthelotofallofus，onemustnotgivewayaltogether，and，becauseothershavedied，wanttodietoo。Youmustpullyourselftogether，MonsieurBovary。Itwillpassaway。Cometoseeus；mydaughterthinksofyounowandagain，d’yeknow，andshesaysyouareforgettingher。Springwillsoonbehere。We’llhavesomerabbit-shootinginthewarrenstoamuseyouabit。“
　　Charlesfollowedhisadvice。HewentbacktotheBertaux。Hefoundallashehadleftit，thatistosay，asitwasfivemonthsago。Thepeartreeswerealreadyinblossom，andFarmerRouault，onhislegsagain，cameandwent，makingthefarmmorefulloflife。
　　Thinkingithisdutytoheapthegreatestattentionuponthedoctorbecauseofhissadposition，hebeggedhimnottotakehishatoff，spoketohiminanundertoneasifhehadbeenill，andevenpretendedtobeangrybecausenothingratherlighterhadbeenpreparedforhimthanfortheothers，suchasalittleclottedcreamorstewedpears。Hetoldstories。Charlesfoundhimselflaughing，buttheremembranceofhiswifesuddenlycomingbacktohimdepressedhim。Coffeewasbroughtin；hethoughtnomoreabouther。
　　Hethoughtlessofherashegrewaccustomedtolivingalone。Thenewdelightofindependencesoonmadehislonelinessbearable。Hecouldnowchangehismeal-times，goinoroutwithoutexplanation，andwhenhewasverytiredstretchhimselfatfulllengthonhisbed。Sohenursedandcoddledhimselfandacceptedtheconsolationsthatwereofferedhim。Ontheotherhand，thedeathofhiswifehadnotservedhimillinhisbusiness，sinceforamonthpeoplehadbeensaying，“Thepooryoungman!whataloss!“Hisnamehadbeentalkedabout，hispracticehadincreased；andmoreover，hecouldgototheBertauxjustasheliked。Hehadanaimlesshope，andwasvaguelyhappy；hethoughthimselfbetterlookingashebrushedhiswhiskersbeforethelooking-glass。
　　Onedayhegotthereaboutthreeo’clock。Everybodywasinthefields。Hewentintothekitchen，butdidnotatoncecatchsightofEmma；theoutsideshutterswereclosed。Throughthechinksofthewoodthesunsentacrosstheflooringlongfineraysthatwerebrokenatthecornersofthefurnitureandtrembledalongtheceiling。Somefliesonthetablewerecrawlinguptheglassesthathadbeenused，andbuzzingastheydrownedthemselvesinthedregsofthecider。Thedaylightthatcameinbythechimneymadevelvetofthesootatthebackofthefireplace，andtouchedwithbluethecoldcinders。BetweenthewindowandthehearthEmmawassewing；sheworenofichu；hecouldseesmalldropsofperspirationonherbareshoulders。
　　Afterthefashionofcountryfolkssheaskedhimtohavesomethingtodrink。Hesaidno；sheinsisted，andatlastlaughinglyofferedtohaveaglassofliqueurwithhim。Soshewenttofetchabottleofcuracaofromthecupboard，reacheddowntwosmallglasses，filledonetothebrim，pouredscarcelyanythingintotheother，and，afterhavingclinkedglasses，carriedherstohermouth。Asitwasalmostemptyshebentbacktodrink，herheadthrownback，herlipspouting，herneckonthestrain。Shelaughedatgettingnoneofit，whilewiththetipofhertonguepassingbetweenhersmallteethshelickeddropbydropthebottomofherglass。
　　Shesatdownagainandtookupherwork，awhitecottonstockingshewasdarning。Sheworkedwithherheadbentdown；shedidnotspeak，nordidCharles。Theaircominginunderthedoorblewalittledustovertheflags；hewatcheditdriftalong，andheardnothingbutthethrobbinginhisheadandthefaintcluckingofahenthathadlaidaneggintheyard。Emmafromtimetotimecooledhercheekswiththepalmsofherhands，andcooledtheseagainontheknobsofthehugefire-dogs。
　　Shecomplainedofsufferingsincethebeginningoftheseasonfromgiddiness；sheaskedifsea-bathswoulddoheranygood；shebegantalkingofherconvent，Charlesofhisschool；wordscametothem。Theywentupintoherbedroom。Sheshowedhimheroldmusic-books，thelittleprizesshehadwon，andtheoak-leafcrowns，leftatthebottomofacupboard。Shespoketohim，too，ofhermother，ofthecountry，andevenshowedhimthebedinthegardenwhere，onthefirstFridayofeverymonth，shegatheredflowerstoputonhermother’stomb。Butthegardenertheyhadneverknewanythingaboutit；servantsaresostupid!Shewouldhavedearlyliked，ifonlyforthewinter，toliveintown，althoughthelengthofthefinedaysmadethecountryperhapsevenmorewearisomeinthesummer。And，accordingtowhatshewassaying，hervoicewasclear，sharp，or，onasuddenalllanguor，drawnoutinmodulationsthatendedalmostinmurmursasshespoketoherself，nowjoyous，openingbignaiveeyes，thenwithhereyelidshalfclosed，herlookfullofboredom，herthoughtswandering。
　　Goinghomeatnight，Charleswentoverherwordsonebyone，tryingtorecallthem，tofillouttheirsense，thathemightpieceoutthelifeshehadlivedbeforeheknewher。Butheneversawherinhisthoughtsotherthanhehadseenherthefirsttime，orashehadjustlefther。Thenheaskedhimselfwhatwouldbecomeofher——ifshewouldbemarried，andtowhom!Alas!
　　OldRouaultwasrich，andshe!——sobeautiful!ButEmma’sfacealwaysrosebeforehiseyes，andamonotone，likethehummingofatop，soundedinhisears，“Ifyoushouldmarryafterall!Ifyoushouldmarry!“Atnighthecouldnotsleep；histhroatwasparched；hewasathirst。Hegotuptodrinkfromthewater-bottleandopenedthewindow。Thenightwascoveredwithstars，awarmwindblowinginthedistance；thedogswerebarking。HeturnedhisheadtowardstheBertaux。
　　Thinkingthat，afterall，heshouldlosenothing，Charlespromisedhimselftoaskherinmarriageassoonasoccasionoffered，buteachtimesuchoccasiondidofferthefearofnotfindingtherightwordssealedhislips。
　　OldRouaultwouldnothavebeensorrytoberidofhisdaughter，whowasofnousetohiminthehouse。Inhisheartheexcusedher，thinkinghertoocleverforfarming，acallingunderthebanofHeaven，sinceoneneversawamillionaireinit。Farfromhavingmadeafortunebyit，thegoodmanwaslosingeveryyear；
　　forifhewasgoodinbargaining，inwhichheenjoyedthedodgesofthetrade，ontheotherhand，agricultureproperlysocalled，andtheinternalmanagementofthefarm，suitedhimlessthanmostpeople。Hedidnotwillinglytakehishandsoutofhispockets，anddidnotspareexpenseinallthatconcernedhimself，likingtoeatwell，tohavegoodfires，andtosleepwell。Helikedoldcider，underdonelegsofmutton，glorias*wellbeatenup。Hetookhismealsinthekitchenalone，oppositethefire，onalittletablebroughttohimallreadylaidasonthestage。
　　*Amixtureofcoffeeandspirits。
　　When，therefore，heperceivedthatCharles’scheeksgrewredifnearhisdaughter，whichmeantthathewouldproposeforheroneofthesedays，hechewedthecudofthematterbeforehand。Hecertainlythoughthimalittlemeagre，andnotquitetheson-in-lawhewouldhaveliked，buthewassaidtobewellbrought-up，economical，verylearned，andnodoubtwouldnotmaketoomanydifficultiesaboutthedowry。Now，asoldRouaultwouldsoonbeforcedtoselltwenty-twoacresof“hisproperty，“
　　asheowedagooddealtothemason，totheharness-maker，andastheshaftofthecider-presswantedrenewing，“Ifheasksforher，“hesaidtohimself，“I’llgivehertohim。“
　　AtMichaelmasCharleswenttospendthreedaysattheBertaux。
　　Thelasthadpassedliketheothersinprocrastinatingfromhourtohour。OldRouaultwasseeinghimoff；theywerewalkingalongtheroadfullofruts；theywereabouttopart。Thiswasthetime。Charlesgavehimselfasfarastothecornerofthehedge，andatlast，whenpastit——
　　“MonsieurRouault，“hemurmured，“Ishouldliketosaysomethingtoyou。“
　　Theystopped。Charleswassilent。
　　“Well，tellmeyourstory。Don’tIknowallaboutit？“saidoldRouault，laughingsoftly。
　　“MonsieurRouault——MonsieurRouault，“stammeredCharles。
　　“Iasknothingbetter“，thefarmerwenton。“Although，nodoubt，thelittleoneisofmymind，stillwemustaskheropinion。Soyougetoff——I’llgobackhome。Ifitis“yes“，youneedn’treturnbecauseofallthepeopleabout，andbesidesitwouldupsethertoomuch。Butsothatyoumayn’tbeeatingyourheart，I’llopenwidetheoutershutterofthewindowagainstthewall；
　　youcanseeitfromthebackbyleaningoverthehedge。“
　　Andhewentoff。