Госпожа Бовари

Chapter 3

           Itwasthedinner-houratthefarms,andtheyoungwomanandhercompanionheardnothingastheywalkedbutthefalloftheirstepsontheearthofthepath,thewordstheyspoke,andthesoundofEmma’sdressrustlingroundher.

           Thewallsofthegardenswithpiecesofbottleontheircopingwerehotastheglasswindowsofaconservatory.Wallflowershadsprungupbetweenthebricks,andwiththetipofheropensunshadeMadameBovary,asshepassed,madesomeoftheirfadedflowerscrumbleintoayellowdust,orasprayofoverhanginghoneysuckleandclematiscaughtinitsfringeanddangledforamomentoverthesilk.

           TheyweretalkingofatroupeofSpanishdancerswhowereexpectedshortlyattheRouentheatre.

           "Areyougoing?"sheasked.

           "IfIcan,"heanswered.

           Hadtheynothingelsetosaytooneanother?Yettheireyeswerefullofmoreseriousspeech,andwhiletheyforcedthemselvestofindtrivialphrases,theyfeltthesamelanguorstealingoverthemboth.Itwasthewhisperofthesoul,deep,continuous,dominatingthatoftheirvoices.Surprisedwithwonderatthisstrangesweetness,theydidnotthinkofspeakingofthesensationorofseekingitscause.Comingjoys,liketropicalshores,throwovertheimmensitybeforethemtheirinbornsoftness,anodorouswind,andwearelulledbythisintoxicationwithoutathoughtofthehorizonthatwedonotevenknow.

           Inoneplacethegroundhadbeentroddendownbythecattle;theyhadtosteponlargegreenstonesputhereandthereinthemud.

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