Госпожа Бовари

Chapter 11

           Rodolphe,whohadonlysenthiscard,firststammeredsomeapologies,thengrewbolder,andevenpushedhisassurance(itwasinthemonthofAugustandveryhot)tothelengthofinvitinghimtohaveabottleofbeeratthepublic-house.

           Leaningonthetableoppositehim,hechewedhiscigarashetalked,andCharleswaslostinreverieatthisfacethatshehadloved.Heseemedtoseeagainsomethingofherinit.Itwasamarveltohim.Hewouldhavelikedtohavebeenthisman.

           Theotherwentontalkingagriculture,cattle,pasturage,fillingoutwithbanalphrasesallthegapswhereanallusionmightslipin.Charleswasnotlisteningtohim;Rodolphenoticedit,andhefollowedthesuccessionofmemoriesthatcrossedhisface.Thisgraduallygrewredder;thenostrilsthrobbedfast,thelipsquivered.TherewasatlastamomentwhenCharles,fullofasombrefury,fixedhiseyesonRodolphe,who,insomethingoffear,stoppedtalking.Butsoonthesamelookofwearylassitudecamebacktohisface.

           "Idon’tblameyou,"hesaid.

           Rodolphewasdumb.AndCharles,hisheadinhishands,wentoninabrokenvoice,andwiththeresignedaccentofinfinitesorrow

           "No,Idon’tblameyounow."

           Heevenaddedafinephrase,theonlyoneheevermade

           "Itisthefaultoffatality!"

           Rodolphe,whohadmanagedthefatality,thoughttheremarkveryoffhandfromamaninhisposition,comiceven,andalittlemean.

           ThenextdayCharleswenttositdownontheseatinthearbour

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