Госпожа Бовари

Chapter 9

           Buteachmorning,assheawoke,shehopeditwouldcomethatday;shelistenedtoeverysound,sprangupwithastart,wonderedthatitdidnotcome;thenatsunset,alwaysmoresaddened,shelongedforthemorrow.

           Springcameround.Withthefirstwarmweather,whenthepeartreesbegantoblossom,shesufferedfromdyspnoea.

           FromthebeginningofJulyshecountedhowmanyweeksthereweretoOctober,thinkingthatperhapstheMarquisd’AndervillierswouldgiveanotherballatVaubyessard.ButallSeptemberpassedwithoutlettersorvisits.

           Aftertheennuiofthisdisappointmentherheartoncemoreremainedempty,andthenthesameseriesofdaysrecommenced.Sonowtheywouldthusfollowoneanother,alwaysthesame,immovable,andbringingnothing.Otherlives,howeverflat,hadatleastthechanceofsomeevent.Oneadventuresometimesbroughtwithitinfiniteconsequencesandthescenechanged.Butnothinghappenedtoher;Godhadwilleditso!Thefuturewasadarkcorridor,withitsdoorattheendshutfast.

           Shegaveupmusic.Whatwasthegoodofplaying?Whowouldhearher?Sinceshecouldnever,inavelvetgownwithshortsleeves,strikingwithherlightfingerstheivorykeysofanErardataconcert,feelthemurmurofecstasyenvelopherlikeabreeze,itwasnotworthwhileboringherselfwithpracticing.Herdrawingcardboardandherembroiderysheleftinthecupboard.Whatwasthegood?Whatwasthegood?Sewingirritatedher."Ihavereadeverything,"shesaidtoherself.Andshesattheremakingthetongsred-hot,orlookedattherainfalling.

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