ShehurriedofftotellMadameCaron，andthetwoladieswentuptotheattic，and，hiddenbysomelinenspreadacrossprops，stationedthemselvescomfortablyforoverlookingthewholeofBinet’sroom。
　　Hewasaloneinhisgarret，busyimitatinginwoodoneofthoseindescribablebitsofivory，composedofcrescents，ofsphereshollowedoutonewithintheother，thewholeasstraightasanobelisk，andofnousewhatever；andhewasbeginningonthelastpiece——hewasnearinghisgoal。Inthetwilightoftheworkshopthewhitedustwasflyingfromhistoolslikeashowerofsparksunderthehoofsofagallopinghorse；thetwowheelswereturning，droning；Binetsmiled，hischinlowered，hisnostrilsdistended，and，inaword，seemedlostinoneofthosecompletehappinessesthat，nodoubt，belongonlytocommonplaceoccupations，whichamusethemindwithfaciledifficulties，andsatisfybyarealisationofthatbeyondwhichsuchmindshavenotadream。
　　“Ah!theresheis!“exclaimedMadameTuvache。
　　Butitwasimpossiblebecauseofthelathetohearwhatshewassaying。
　　Atlasttheseladiesthoughttheymadeouttheword“francs，“andMadameTuvachewhisperedinalowvoice——
　　“Sheisbegginghimtogivehertimeforpayinghertaxes。“
　　“Apparently!“repliedtheother。
　　Theysawherwalkingupanddown，examiningthenapkin-rings，thecandlesticks，thebanisterrailsagainstthewalls，whileBinetstrokedhisbeardwithsatisfaction。
　　“Doyouthinkshewantstoordersomethingofhim？“saidMadameTuvache。
　　“Why，hedoesn’tsellanything，“objectedherneighbour。
　　Thetax-collectorseemedtobelisteningwithwide-openeyes，asifhedidnotunderstand。Shewentoninatender，suppliantmanner。Shecamenearertohim，herbreastheaving；theynolongerspoke。
　　“Isshemakinghimadvances？“saidMadameTuvache。Binetwasscarlettohisveryears。Shetookholdofhishands。
　　“Oh，it’stoomuch!“
　　Andnodoubtshewassuggestingsomethingabominabletohim；forthetax-collector——yethewasbrave，hadfoughtatBautzenandatLutzen，hadbeenthroughtheFrenchcampaign，andhadevenbeenrecommendedforthecross——suddenly，asatthesightofaserpent，recoiledasfarashecouldfromher，crying——
　　“Madame!whatdoyoumean？“
　　“Womenlikethatoughttobewhipped，“saidMadameTuvache。
　　“Butwhereisshe？“continuedMadameCaron，forshehaddisappearedwhilsttheyspoke；thencatchingsightofhergoinguptheGrandeRue，andturningtotherightasifmakingforthecemetery，theywerelostinconjectures。
　　“NurseRollet，“shesaidonreachingthenurse’s，“Iamchoking；
　　unlaceme!“Shefellonthebedsobbing。NurseRolletcoveredherwithapetticoatandremainedstandingbyherside。Then，asshedidnotanswer，thegoodwomanwithdrew，tookherwheelandbeganspinningflax。
　　“Oh，leaveoff!“shemurmured，fancyingsheheardBinet’slathe。
　　“What’sbotheringher？“saidthenursetoherself。“Whyhasshecomehere？“
　　Shehadrushedthither；impelledbyakindofhorrorthatdroveherfromherhome。
　　Lyingonherback，motionless，andwithstaringeyes，shesawthingsbutvaguely，althoughshetriedtowithidioticpersistence。Shelookedatthescalesonthewalls，twobrandssmokingendtoend，andalongspidercrawlingoverherheadinarentinthebeam。Atlastshebegantocollectherthoughts。Sheremembered——oneday——Leon——Oh!howlongagothatwas——thesunwasshiningontheriver，andtheclematiswereperfumingtheair。
　　Then，carriedawayasbyarushingtorrent，shesoonbegantorecallthedaybefore。
　　“Whattimeisit？“sheasked。
　　MereRolletwentout，raisedthefingersofherrighthandtothatsideoftheskythatwasbrightest，andcamebackslowly，saying——
　　“Nearlythree。“
　　“Ahlthanks，thanks!“
　　Forhewouldcome；hewouldhavefoundsomemoney。Buthewould，perhaps，godownyonder，notguessingshewashere，andshetoldthenursetoruntoherhousetofetchhim。
　　“Bequick!“
　　“But，mydearlady，I’mgoing，I’mgoing!“
　　Shewonderednowthatshehadnotthoughtofhimfromthefirst。
　　Yesterdayhehadgivenhisword；hewouldnotbreakit。AndshealreadysawherselfatLheureux’sspreadingoutherthreebank-notesonhisbureau。ThenshewouldhavetoinventsomestorytoexplainmatterstoBovary。Whatshoulditbe？
　　Thenurse，however，wasalongwhilegone。But，astherewasnoclockinthecot，Emmafearedshewasperhapsexaggeratingthelengthoftime。Shebeganwalkingroundthegarden，stepbystep；
　　shewentintothepathbythehedge，andreturnedquickly，hopingthatthewomanwouldhavecomebackbyanotherroad。Atlast，wearyofwaiting，assailedbyfearsthatshethrustfromher，nolongerconsciouswhethershehadbeenhereacenturyoramoment，shesatdowninacorner，closedhereyes，andstoppedherears。
　　Thegategrated；shesprangup。BeforeshehadspokenMereRolletsaidtoher——
　　“Thereisnooneatyourhouse!“
　　“What？“
　　“Oh，noone!Andthedoctoriscrying。Heiscallingforyou；
　　they’relookingforyou。“
　　Emmaanswerednothing。Shegaspedassheturnedhereyesabouther，whilethepeasantwoman，frightenedatherface，drewbackinstinctively，thinkinghermad。Suddenlyshestruckherbrowandutteredacry；forthethoughtofRodolphe，likeaflashoflightninginadarknight，hadpassedintohersoul。Hewassogood，sodelicate，sogenerous!Andbesides，shouldhehesitatetodoherthisservice，shewouldknowwellenoughhowtoconstrainhimtoitbyre-waking，inasinglemoment，theirlostlove。SoshesetouttowardsLaHuchette，notseeingthatshewashasteningtoofferherselftothatwhichbutawhileagohadsoangeredher，notintheleastconsciousofherprostitution。
　　ChapterEightSheaskedherselfasshewalkedalong，“WhatamIgoingtosay？
　　HowshallIbegin？“Andasshewentonsherecognisedthethickets，thetrees，thesea-rushesonthehill，thechateauyonder。Allthesensationsofherfirsttendernesscamebacktoher，andherpoorachingheartopenedoutamorously。Awarmwindblewinherface；themeltingsnowfelldropbydropfromthebudstothegrass。
　　Sheentered，assheusedto，throughthesmallpark-gate。Shereachedtheavenueborderedbyadoublerowofdenselime-trees。
　　Theywereswayingtheirlongwhisperingbranchestoandfro。Thedogsintheirkennelsallbarked，andthenoiseoftheirvoicesresounded，butbroughtoutnoone。
　　Shewentupthelargestraightstaircasewithwoodenbalustersthatledtothecorridorpavedwithdustyflags，intowhichseveraldoorsinarowopened，asinamonasteryoraninn。Hiswasatthetop，rightattheend，ontheleft。Whensheplacedherfingersonthelockherstrengthsuddenlydesertedher。Shewasafraid，almostwishedhewouldnotbethere，thoughthiswasheronlyhope，herlastchanceofsalvation。Shecollectedherthoughtsforonemoment，and，strengtheningherselfbythefeelingofpresentnecessity，wentin。
　　Hewasinfrontofthefire，bothhisfeetonthemantelpiece，smokingapipe。
　　“What!itisyou!“hesaid，gettinguphurriedly。
　　“Yes，itisI，Rodolphe。Ishouldliketoaskyouradvice。“
　　And，despiteallherefforts，itwasimpossibleforhertoopenherlips。
　　“Youhavenotchanged；youarecharmingasever!“
　　“Oh，“sherepliedbitterly，“theyarepoorcharmssinceyoudisdainedthem。“
　　Thenhebeganalongexplanationofhisconduct，excusinghimselfinvagueterms，indefaultofbeingabletoinventbetter。
　　Sheyieldedtohiswords，stillmoretohisvoiceandthesightofhim，sothat，shepretendedtobelieve，orperhapsbelieved；
　　inthepretexthegavefortheirrupture；thiswasasecretonwhichdependedthehonour，theverylifeofathirdperson。
　　“Nomatter!“shesaid，lookingathimsadly。“Ihavesufferedmuch。“
　　Herepliedphilosophically——
　　“Suchislife!“
　　“Haslife，“Emmawenton，“beengoodtoyouatleast，sinceourseparation？“
　　“Oh，neithergoodnorbad。“
　　“Perhapsitwouldhavebeenbetternevertohaveparted。“
　　“Yes，perhaps。“