Chapter 12

           Theybegantoloveoneanotheragain.Often,eveninthemiddleoftheday,Emmasuddenlywrotetohim,thenfromthewindowmadeasigntoJustin,who,takinghisapronoff,quicklyrantoLaHuchette.Rodolphewouldcome;shehadsentforhimtotellhimthatshewasbored,thatherhusbandwasodious,herlifefrightful.

           "ButwhatcanIdo?"hecriedonedayimpatiently.

           "Ah!ifyouwould—"

           Shewassittingonthefloorbetweenhisknees,herhairloose,herlooklost.

           "Why,what?"saidRodolphe.

           Shesighed.

           "Wewouldgoandliveelsewhere—somewhere!"

           "Youarereallymad!"hesaidlaughing."Howcouldthatbepossible?"

           Shereturnedtothesubject;hepretendednottounderstand,andturnedtheconversation.

           Whathedidnotunderstandwasallthisworryaboutsosimpleanaffairaslove.Shehadamotive,areason,and,asitwere,apendanttoheraffection.

           Hertenderness,infact,greweachdaywithherrepulsiontoherhusband.Themoreshegaveupherselftotheone,themoresheloathedtheother.NeverhadCharlesseemedtohersodisagreeable,tohavesuchstodgyfingers,suchvulgarways,tobesodullaswhentheyfoundthemselvestogetherafterhermeetingwithRodolphe.Then,whileplayingthespouseandvirtue,shewasburningatthethoughtofthatheadwhoseblackhairfellinacurloverthesunburntbrow,ofthatformatoncesostrongandelegant,ofthatman,inaword,whohadsuchexperienceinhisreasoning,suchpassioninhisdesires.