“Butpardonme!“shesaid。“Itiswrongofme。Iwearyyouwithmyeternalcomplaints。“
　　“No，never，never!“
　　“Ifyouknew，“shewenton，raisingtotheceilingherbeautifuleyes，inwhichatearwastrembling，“allthatIhaddreamed!“
　　“AndI!Oh，Itoohavesuffered!OftenIwentout；Iwentaway。I
　　draggedmyselfalongthequays，seekingdistractionamidthedinofthecrowdwithoutbeingabletobanishtheheavinessthatweigheduponme。Inanengraver’sshopontheboulevardthereisanItalianprintofoneoftheMuses。Sheisdrapedinatunic，andsheislookingatthemoon，withforget-me-notsinherflowinghair。Somethingdrovemetherecontinually；Istayedtherehourstogether。“Theninatremblingvoice，“Sheresembledyoualittle。“
　　MadameBovaryturnedawayherheadthathemightnotseetheirrepressiblesmileshefeltrisingtoherlips。
　　“Often，“hewenton，“IwroteyoulettersthatItoreup。“
　　Shedidnotanswer。Hecontinued——
　　“Isometimesfanciedthatsomechancewouldbringyou。IthoughtIrecognisedyouatstreet-corners，andIranafterallthecarriagesthroughwhosewindowsIsawashawlfluttering，aveillikeyours。“
　　Sheseemedresolvedtolethimgoonspeakingwithoutinterruption。Crossingherarmsandbendingdownherface，shelookedattherosettesonherslippers，andatintervalsmadelittlemovementsinsidethesatinofthemwithhertoes。
　　Atlastshesighed。
　　“Butthemostwretchedthing，isitnot——istodragout，asIdo，auselessexistence。Ifourpainswereonlyofsomeusetosomeone，weshouldfindconsolationinthethoughtofthesacrifice。“
　　Hestartedoffinpraiseofvirtue，duty，andsilentimmolation，havinghimselfanincrediblelongingforself-sacrificethathecouldnotsatisfy。
　　“Ishouldmuchlike，“shesaid，“tobeanurseatahospital。“
　　“Alas!menhavenoneoftheseholymissions，andIseenowhereanycalling——unlessperhapsthatofadoctor。“
　　Withaslightshrugofhershoulders，Emmainterruptedhimtospeakofherillness，whichhadalmostkilledher。Whatapity!
　　Sheshouldnotbesufferingnow!Leonatonceenviedthecalmofthetomb，andoneeveninghehadevenmadehiswill，askingtobeburiedinthatbeautifulrugwithvelvetstripeshehadreceivedfromher。Forthiswashowtheywouldhavewishedtobe，eachsettingupanidealtowhichtheywerenowadaptingtheirpastlife。Besides，speechisarolling-millthatalwaysthinsoutthesentiment。
　　Butatthisinventionoftherugsheasked，“Butwhy？“
　　“Why？“Hehesitated。“BecauseIlovedyouso!“Andcongratulatinghimselfathavingsurmountedthedifficulty，Leonwatchedherfaceoutofthecornerofhiseyes。
　　Itwasliketheskywhenagustofwinddrivesthecloudsacross。
　　Themassofsadthoughtsthatdarkenedthemseemedtobeliftedfromherblueeyes；herwholefaceshone。Hewaited。Atlastshereplied——
　　“Ialwayssuspectedit。“
　　Thentheywentoverallthetriflingeventsofthatfar-offexistence，whosejoysandsorrowstheyhadjustsummedupinoneword。Theyrecalledthearbourwithclematis，thedressesshehadworn，thefurnitureofherroom，thewholeofherhouse。
　　“Andourpoorcactuses，wherearethey？“
　　“Thecoldkilledthemthiswinter。“
　　“Ah!howIhavethoughtofthem，doyouknow？Ioftensawthemagainasofyore，whenonthesummermorningsthesunbeatdownuponyourblinds，andIsawyourtwobarearmspassingoutamongsttheflowers。“
　　“Poorfriend!“shesaid，holdingoutherhandtohim。
　　Leonswiftlypressedhislipstoit。Then，whenhehadtakenadeepbreath——
　　“AtthattimeyouweretomeIknownotwhatincomprehensibleforcethattookcaptivemylife。Once，forinstance，Iwenttoseeyou；butyou，nodoubt，donotrememberit。“
　　“Ido，“shesaid；“goon。“
　　“Youweredownstairsintheante-room，readytogoout，standingonthelaststair；youwerewearingabonnetwithsmallblueflowers；andwithoutanyinvitationfromyou，inspiteofmyself，Iwentwithyou。Everymoment，however，Igrewmoreandmoreconsciousofmyfolly，andIwentonwalkingbyyou，notdaringtofollowyoucompletely，andunwillingtoleaveyou。Whenyouwentintoashop，Iwaitedinthestreet，andIwatchedyouthroughthewindowtakingoffyourglovesandcountingthechangeonthecounter。ThenyourangatMadameTuvache’s；youwereletin，andIstoodlikeanidiotinfrontofthegreatheavydoorthathadclosedafteryou。“
　　MadameBovary，asshelistenedtohim，wonderedthatshewassoold。Allthesethingsreappearingbeforeherseemedtowidenoutherlife；itwaslikesomesentimentalimmensitytowhichshereturned；andfromtimetotimeshesaidinalowvoice，hereyeshalfclosed——
　　“Yes，itistrue——true——true!“
　　TheyheardeightstrikeonthedifferentclocksoftheBeauvoisinequarter，whichisfullofschools，churches，andlargeemptyhotels。Theynolongerspoke，buttheyfeltastheylookeduponeachotherabuzzingintheirheads，asifsomethingsonoroushadescapedfromthefixedeyesofeachofthem。Theywerehandinhandnow，andthepast，thefuture，reminiscencesanddreams，allwereconfoundedinthesweetnessofthisecstasy。
　　Nightwasdarkeningoverthewalls，onwhichstillshone，halfhiddenintheshade，thecoarsecoloursoffourbillsrepresentingfourscenesfromthe“TourdeNesle，“withamottoinSpanishandFrenchatthebottom。Throughthesash-windowapatchofdarkskywasseenbetweenthepointedroofs。
　　Sherosetolighttwowax-candlesonthedrawers，thenshesatdownagain。
　　“Well!“saidLeon。
　　“Well!“shereplied。
　　Hewasthinkinghowtoresumetheinterruptedconversation，whenshesaidtohim——
　　“Howisitthatnooneuntilnowhaseverexpressedsuchsentimentstome？“
　　Theclerksaidthatidealnaturesweredifficulttounderstand。
　　Hefromthefirstmomenthadlovedher，andhedespairedwhenhethoughtofthehappinessthatwouldhavebeentheirs，ifthankstofortune，meetingherearlier，theyhadbeenindissolublyboundtooneanother。
　　“Ihavesometimesthoughtofit，“shewenton。
　　“Whatadream!“murmuredLeon。Andfingeringgentlythebluebindingofherlongwhitesash，headded，“Andwhopreventsusfrombeginningnow？“
　　“No，myfriend，“shereplied；“Iamtooold；youaretooyoung。
　　Forgetme!Otherswillloveyou；youwilllovethem。“
　　“Notasyou!“hecried。
　　“Whatachildyouare!Come，letusbesensible。Iwishit。“
　　Sheshowedhimtheimpossibilityoftheirlove，andthattheymustremain，asformerly，onthesimpletermsofafraternalfriendship。
　　Wasshespeakingthusseriously？NodoubtEmmadidnotherselfknow，quiteabsorbedasshewasbythecharmoftheseduction，andthenecessityofdefendingherselffromit；andcontemplatingtheyoungmanwithamovedlook，shegentlyrepulsedthetimidcaressesthathistremblinghandsattempted。
　　“Ah!forgiveme!“hecried，drawingback。
　　Emmawasseizedwithavaguefearatthisshyness，moredangeroustoherthantheboldnessofRodolphewhenheadvancedtoheropen-armed。Nomanhadeverseemedtohersobeautiful。Anexquisitecandouremanatedfromhisbeing。Heloweredhislongfineeyelashes，thatcurledupwards。Hischeek，withthesoftskinreddened，shethought，withdesireofherperson，andEmmafeltaninvinciblelongingtopressherlipstoit。Then，leaningtowardstheclockasiftoseethetime——
　　“Ah!howlateitis!“shesaid；“howwedochatter!“
　　Heunderstoodthehintandtookuphishat。
　　“Ithasevenmademeforgetthetheatre。AndpoorBovaryhasleftmehereespeciallyforthat。MonsieurLormeaux，oftheRueGrand-Pont，wastotakemeandhiswife。“
　　Andtheopportunitywaslost，asshewastoleavethenextday。
　　“Really!“saidLeon。
　　“Yes。“
　　“ButImustseeyouagain，“hewenton。“Iwantedtotellyou——“
　　“What？“
　　“Something——important——serious。Oh，no!Besides，youwillnotgo；