“Truly，“hesaidwithagroan，“itadornedthetombofRichardCoeurdeLion，KingofEnglandandDukeofNormandy。ItwastheCalvinists，sir，whoreducedittothiscondition。Theyhadburieditforspiteintheearth，undertheepiscopalseatofMonsignor。See!thisisthedoorbywhichMonsignorpassestohishouse。Letuspassonquicklytoseethegargoylewindows。“
　　ButLeonhastilytooksomesilverfromhispocketandseizedEmma’sarm。Thebeadlestooddumfounded，notabletounderstandthisuntimelymunificencewhentherewerestillsomanythingsforthestrangertosee。Socallinghimback，hecried——
　　“Sir!sir!Thesteeple!thesteeple!“
　　“No，thankyou!“saidLeon。
　　“Youarewrong，sir!Itisfourhundredandfortyfeethigh，ninelessthanthegreatpyramidofEgypt。Itisallcast；it——“
　　Leonwasfleeing，foritseemedtohimthathislove，thatfornearlytwohoursnowhadbecomepetrifiedinthechurchlikethestones，wouldvanishlikeavapourthroughthatsortoftruncatedfunnel，ofoblongcage，ofopenchimneythatrisessogrotesquelyfromthecathedralliketheextravagantattemptofsomefantasticbrazier。
　　“Butwherearewegoing？“shesaid。
　　Makingnoanswer，hewalkedonwitharapidstep；andMadameBovarywasalready，dippingherfingerintheholywaterwhenbehindthemtheyheardapantingbreathinterruptedbytheregularsoundofacane。Leonturnedback。
　　“Sir!“
　　“Whatisit？“
　　Andherecognisedthebeadle，holdingunderhisarmsandbalancingagainsthisstomachsometwentylargesewnvolumes。
　　Theywereworks“whichtreatedofthecathedral。“
　　“Idiot!“growledLeon，rushingoutofthechurch。
　　Aladwasplayingabouttheclose。
　　“Goandgetmeacab!“
　　ThechildboundedofflikeaballbytheRueQuatre-Vents；thentheywerealoneafewminutes，facetoface，andalittleembarrassed。
　　“Ah!Leon!Really——Idon’tknow——ifIought，“shewhispered。Thenwithamoreseriousair，“Doyouknow，itisveryimproper——“
　　“Howso？“repliedtheclerk。“ItisdoneatParis。“
　　Andthat，asanirresistibleargument，decidedher。
　　Stillthecabdidnotcome。Leonwasafraidshemightgobackintothechurch。Atlastthecabappeared。
　　“Atallevents，gooutbythenorthporch，“criedthebeadle，whowasleftaloneonthethreshold，“soastoseetheResurrection，theLastJudgment，Paradise，KingDavid，andtheCondemnedinHell-flames。“
　　“Whereto，sir？“askedthecoachman。
　　“Whereyoulike，“saidLeon，forcingEmmaintothecab。
　　Andthelumberingmachinesetout。ItwentdowntheRueGrand-Pont，crossedthePlacedesArts，theQuaiNapoleon，thePontNeuf，andstoppedshortbeforethestatueofPierreCorneille。
　　“Goon，“criedavoicethatcamefromwithin。
　　Thecabwentonagain，andassoonasitreachedtheCarrefourLafayette，setoffdown-hill，andenteredthestationatagallop。
　　“No，straighton!“criedthesamevoice。
　　Thecabcameoutbythegate，andsoonhavingreachedtheCours，trottedquietlybeneaththeelm-trees。Thecoachmanwipedhisbrow，puthisleatherhatbetweenhisknees，anddrovehiscarriagebeyondthesidealleybythemeadowtothemarginofthewaters。
　　Itwentalongbytheriver，alongthetowing-pathpavedwithsharppebbles，andforalongwhileinthedirectionofOyssel，beyondtheisles。
　　ButsuddenlyitturnedwithadashacrossQuatremares，Sotteville，LaGrande-Chaussee，theRued’Elbeuf，andmadeitsthirdhaltinfrontoftheJardindesPlantes。
　　“Geton，willyou？“criedthevoicemorefuriously。
　　Andatonceresumingitscourse，itpassedbySaint-Sever，bytheQuai’desCurandiers，theQuaiauxMeules，oncemoreoverthebridge，bythePlaceduChampdeMars，andbehindthehospitalgardens，whereoldmeninblackcoatswerewalkinginthesunalongtheterraceallgreenwithivy。ItwentuptheBoulevardBouvreuil，alongtheBoulevardCauchoise，thenthewholeofMont-RiboudettotheDevillehills。
　　Itcameback；andthen，withoutanyfixedplanordirection，wanderedaboutathazard。ThecabwasseenatSaint-Pol，atLescure，atMontGargan，atLaRougue-MarcandPlaceduGaillardbois；intheRueMaladrerie，RueDinanderie，beforeSaint-Romain，Saint-Vivien，Saint-Maclou，Saint-Nicaise——infrontoftheCustoms，atthe“VieilleTour，“the“TroisPipes，“andtheMonumentalCemetery。Fromtimetotimethecoachman，onhisboxcastdespairingeyesatthepublic-houses。Hecouldnotunderstandwhatfuriousdesireforlocomotionurgedtheseindividualsnevertowishtostop。Hetriedtonowandthen，andatonceexclamationsofangerburstforthbehindhim。Thenhelashedhisperspiringjadesafresh，butindifferenttotheirjolting，runningupagainstthingshereandthere，notcaringifhedid，demoralised，andalmostweepingwiththirst，fatigue，anddepression。
　　Andontheharbour，inthemidstofthedraysandcasks，andinthestreets，atthecorners，thegoodfolkopenedlargewonder-strickeneyesatthissight，soextraordinaryintheprovinces，acabwithblindsdrawn，andwhichappearedthusconstantlyshutmorecloselythanatomb，andtossingaboutlikeavessel。
　　Onceinthemiddleoftheday，intheopencountry，justasthesunbeatmostfiercelyagainsttheoldplatedlanterns，abaredhandpassedbeneaththesmallblindsofyellowcanvas，andthrewoutsomescrapsofpaperthatscatteredinthewind，andfartherofflightedlikewhitebutterfliesonafieldofredcloverallinbloom。
　　Ataboutsixo’clockthecarriagestoppedinabackstreetoftheBeauvoisineQuarter，andawomangotout，whowalkedwithherveildown，andwithoutturningherhead。
　　ChapterTwoOnreachingtheinn，MadameBovarywassurprisednottoseethediligence。Hivert，whohadwaitedforherfifty-threeminutes，hadatlaststarted。
　　Yetnothingforcedhertogo；butshehadgivenherwordthatshewouldreturnthatsameevening。Moreover，Charlesexpectedher，andinherheartshefeltalreadythatcowardlydocilitythatisforsomewomenatoncethechastisementandatonementofadultery。
　　Shepackedherboxquickly，paidherbill，tookacabintheyard，hurryingonthedriver，urginghimon，everymomentinquiringaboutthetimeandthemilestraversed。Hesucceededincatchingupthe“Hirondelle“asitnearedthefirsthousesofQuincampoix。
　　Hardlywassheseatedinhercornerthansheclosedhereyes，andopenedthematthefootofthehill，whenfromafarsherecognisedFelicite，whowasonthelookoutinfrontofthefarrier’sshop。Hivertpulledinhishorsesand，theservant，climbinguptothewindow，saidmysteriously——
　　“Madame，youmustgoatoncetoMonsieurHomais。It’sforsomethingimportant。“
　　Thevillagewassilentasusual。Atthecornerofthestreetsweresmallpinkheapsthatsmokedintheair，forthiswasthetimeforjam-making，andeveryoneatYonvillepreparedhissupplyonthesameday。Butinfrontofthechemist’sshoponemightadmireafarlargerheap，andthatsurpassedtheotherswiththesuperioritythatalaboratorymusthaveoverordinarystores，ageneralneedoverindividualfancy。
　　Shewentin。Thelargearm-chairwasupset，andeventhe“FanaldeRouen“layontheground，outspreadbetweentwopestles。Shepushedopenthelobbydoor，andinthemiddleofthekitchen，amidbrownjarsfullofpickedcurrants，ofpowderedsugarandlumpsugar，ofthescalesonthetable，andofthepansonthefire，shesawalltheHomais，smallandlarge，withapronsreachingtotheirchins，andwithforksintheirhands。Justinwasstandingupwithbowedhead，andthechemistwasscreaming——
　　“WhotoldyoutogoandfetchitintheCapharnaum。“
　　“Whatisit？Whatisthematter？“
　　“Whatisit？“repliedthedruggist。“Wearemakingpreserves；
　　theyaresimmering；buttheywereabouttoboilover，becausethereistoomuchjuice，andIorderedanotherpan。Thenhe，fromindolence，fromlaziness，wentandtook，hangingonitsnailinmylaboratory，thekeyoftheCapharnaum。“
　　Itwasthusthedruggistcalledasmallroomundertheleads，fulloftheutensilsandthegoodsofhistrade。Heoftenspentlonghourstherealone，labelling，decanting，anddoingupagain；
　　andhelookeduponitnotasasimplestore，butasaveritablesanctuary，whencethereafterwardsissued，elaboratedbyhishands，allsortsofpills，boluses，infusions，lotions，andpotions，thatwouldbearfarandwidehiscelebrity。Nooneintheworldsetfootthere，andherespecteditso，thathesweptithimself。Finally，ifthepharmacy，opentoallcomers，wasthespotwherehedisplayedhispride，theCapharnaumwastherefugewhere，egoisticallyconcentratinghimself，Homaisdelightedintheexerciseofhispredilections，sothatJustin’sthoughtlessnessseemedtohimamonstrouspieceofirreverence，and，redderthanthecurrants，herepeated——
　　“Yes，fromtheCapharnaum!Thekeythatlocksuptheacidsandcausticalkalies!Togoandgetasparepan!apanwithalid!