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Chapter 7

           Youdonotdoubtthat,Ihope?"

           Heheldouthishand,tookhers,covereditwithagreedykiss,thenhelditonhisknee;andheplayeddelicatelywithherfingerswhilsthemurmuredathousandblandishments.Hisinsipidvoicemurmuredlikearunningbrook;alightshoneinhiseyesthroughtheglimmeringofhisspectacles,andhishandwasadvancingupEmma’ssleevetopressherarm.Shefeltagainsthercheekhispantingbreath.Thismanoppressedherhorribly.

           Shesprangupandsaidtohim

           "Sir,Iamwaiting."

           "Forwhat?"saidthenotary,whosuddenlybecameverypale.

           "Thismoney."

           "But—"Then,yieldingtotheoutburstoftoopowerfuladesire,"Well,yes!"

           Hedraggedhimselftowardsheronhisknees,regardlessofhisdressing-gown.

           "Forpity’ssake,stay.Iloveyou!"

           Heseizedherbyherwaist.MadameBovary’sfaceflushedpurple.Sherecoiledwithaterriblelook,crying

           "Youaretakingashamelessadvantageofmydistress,sir!Iamtobepitiednottobesold."

           Andshewentout.

           Thenotaryremainedquitestupefied,hiseyesfixedonhisfineembroideredslippers.Theywerealovegift,andthesightofthematlastconsoledhim.Besides,hereflectedthatsuchanadventuremighthavecarriedhimtoofar.

           "Whatawretch!whatascoundrel!whataninfamy!"shesaidtoherself,asshefledwithnervousstepsbeneaththeaspensofthepath.

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