itisimpossible。Ifyoushould——listentome。Thenyouhavenotunderstoodme；youhavenotguessed——“
　　“Yetyouspeakplainly，“saidEmma。
　　“Ah!youcanjest。Enough!enough!Oh，forpity’ssake，letmeseeyouonce——onlyonce!“
　　“Well——“Shestopped；then，asifthinkingbetterofit，“Oh，nothere!“
　　“Whereyouwill。“
　　“Willyou——“Sheseemedtoreflect；thenabruptly，“To-morrowateleveno’clockinthecathedral。“
　　“Ishallbethere，“hecried，seizingherhands，whichshedisengaged。
　　Andastheywerebothstandingup，hebehindher，andEmmawithherheadbent，hestoopedoverherandpressedlongkissesonherneck。
　　“Youaremad!Ah!youaremad!“shesaid，withsoundinglittlelaughs，whilethekissesmultiplied。
　　Thenbendinghisheadoverhershoulder，heseemedtobegtheconsentofhereyes。Theyfelluponhimfullofanicydignity。
　　Leonsteppedbacktogoout。Hestoppedonthethreshold；thenhewhisperedwithatremblingvoice，“Tomorrow!“
　　Sheansweredwithanod，anddisappearedlikeabirdintothenextroom。
　　IntheeveningEmmawrotetheclerkaninterminableletter，inwhichshecancelledtherendezvous；allwasover；theymustnot，forthesakeoftheirhappiness，meetagain。Butwhentheletterwasfinished，asshedidnotknowLeon’saddress，shewaspuzzled。
　　“I’llgiveittohimmyself，“shesaid；“hewillcome。“
　　Thenextmorning，attheopenwindow，andhummingonhisbalcony，Leonhimselfvarnishedhispumpswithseveralcoatings。Heputonwhitetrousers，finesocks，agreencoat，emptiedallthescenthehadintohishandkerchief，thenhavinghadhishaircurled，heuncurleditagain，inordertogiveitamorenaturalelegance。
　　“Itisstilltooearly，“hethought，lookingatthehairdresser’scuckoo-clock，thatpointedtothehourofnine。Hereadanoldfashionjournal，wentout，smokedacigar，walkedupthreestreets，thoughtitwastime，andwentslowlytowardstheporchofNotreDame。
　　Itwasabeautifulsummermorning。Silverplatesparkledinthejeweller’swindows，andthelightfallingobliquelyonthecathedralmademirrorsofthecornersofthegreystones；aflockofbirdsflutteredinthegreyskyroundthetrefoilbell-turrets；thesquare，resoundingwithcries，wasfragrantwiththeflowersthatbordereditspavement，roses，jasmines，pinks，narcissi，andtube-roses，unevenlyspacedoutbetweenmoistgrasses，catmint，andchickweedforthebirds；thefountainsgurgledinthecentre，andunderlargeumbrellas，amidstmelons，piledupinheaps，flower-women，bare-headed，weretwistingpaperroundbunchesofviolets。
　　Theyoungmantookone。Itwasthefirsttimethathehadboughtflowersforawoman，andhisbreast，ashesmeltthem，swelledwithpride，asifthishomagethathemeantforanotherhadrecoileduponhimself。
　　Buthewasafraidofbeingseen；heresolutelyenteredthechurch。Thebeadle，whowasjustthenstandingonthethresholdinthemiddleoftheleftdoorway，underthe“DancingMarianne，“
　　withfeathercap，andrapierdanglingagainsthiscalves，camein，moremajesticthanacardinal，andasshiningasasaintonaholypyx。
　　HecametowardsLeon，and，withthatsmileofwheedlingbenignityassumedbyecclesiasticswhentheyquestionchildren——
　　“Thegentleman，nodoubt，doesnotbelongtotheseparts？Thegentlemanwouldliketoseethecuriositiesofthechurch？“
　　“No!“saidtheother。
　　Andhefirstwentroundtheloweraisles。ThenhewentouttolookatthePlace。Emmawasnotcomingyet。Hewentupagaintothechoir。
　　Thenavewasreflectedinthefullfontswiththebeginningofthearchesandsomeportionsoftheglasswindows。Butthereflectionsofthepaintings，brokenbythemarblerim，werecontinuedfartheronupontheflag-stones，likeamany-colouredcarpet。Thebroaddaylightfromwithoutstreamedintothechurchinthreeenormousraysfromthethreeopenedportals。Fromtimetotimeattheupperendasacristanpassed，makingtheobliquegenuflexionofdevoutpersonsinahurry。Thecrystallustreshungmotionless。Inthechoirasilverlampwasburning，andfromthesidechapelsanddarkplacesofthechurchsometimesrosesoundslikesighs，withtheclangofaclosinggrating，itsechoreverberatingundertheloftyvault。
　　Leonwithsolemnstepswalkedalongbythewalls。Lifehadneverseemedsogoodtohim。Shewouldcomedirectly，charming，agitated，lookingbackattheglancesthatfollowedher，andwithherflounceddress，hergoldeyeglass，herthinshoes，withallsortsofeleganttriflesthathehadneverenjoyed，andwiththeineffableseductionofyieldingvirtue。Thechurchlikeahugeboudoirspreadaroundher；thearchesbentdowntogatherintheshadetheconfessionofherlove；thewindowsshoneresplendenttoillumineherface，andthecenserswouldburnthatshemightappearlikeanangelamidthefumesofthesweet-smellingodours。
　　Butshedidnotcome。Hesatdownonachair，andhiseyesfelluponabluestainedwindowrepresentingboatmencarryingbaskets。
　　Helookedatitlong，attentively，andhecountedthescalesofthefishesandthebutton-holesofthedoublets，whilehisthoughtswanderedofftowardsEmma。
　　Thebeadle，standingaloof，wasinwardlyangryatthisindividualwhotookthelibertyofadmiringthecathedralbyhimself。Heseemedtohimtobeconductinghimselfinamonstrousfashion，toberobbinghiminasort，andalmostcommittingsacrilege。
　　Butarustleofsilkontheflags，thetipofabonnet，alinedcloak——itwasshe!Leonroseandrantomeether。
　　Emmawaspale。Shewalkedfast。
　　“Read!“shesaid，holdingoutapapertohim。“Oh，no!“
　　AndsheabruptlywithdrewherhandtoenterthechapeloftheVirgin，where，kneelingonachair，shebegantopray。
　　Theyoungmanwasirritatedatthisbigotfancy；thenheneverthelessexperiencedacertaincharminseeingher，inthemiddleofarendezvous，thuslostinherdevotions，likeanAndalusianmarchioness；thenhegrewbored，forsheseemednevercomingtoanend。
　　Emmaprayed，orratherstrovetopray，hopingthatsomesuddenresolutionmightdescendtoherfromheaven；andtodrawdowndivineaidshefilledfullhereyeswiththesplendoursofthetabernacle。Shebreathedintheperfumesofthefull-blownflowersinthelargevases，andlistenedtothestillnessofthechurch，thatonlyheightenedthetumultofherheart。
　　Sherose，andtheywereabouttoleave，whenthebeadlecameforward，hurriedlysaying——
　　“Madame，nodoubt，doesnotbelongtotheseparts？Madamewouldliketoseethecuriositiesofthechurch？“
　　“Oh，no!“criedtheclerk。
　　“Whynot？“saidshe。ForsheclungwithherexpiringvirtuetotheVirgin，thesculptures，thetombs——anything。
　　Then，inordertoproceed“byrule，“thebeadleconductedthemrighttotheentrancenearthesquare，where，pointingoutwithhiscanealargecircleofblock-stoneswithoutinscriptionorcarving——
　　“This，“hesaidmajestically，“isthecircumferenceofthebeautifulbellofAmbroise。Itweighedfortythousandpounds。
　　TherewasnotitsequalinallEurope。Theworkmanwhocastitdiedofthejoy——“
　　“Letusgoon，“saidLeon。
　　Theoldfellowstartedoffagain；then，havinggotbacktothechapeloftheVirgin，hestretchedforthhisarmwithanall-embracinggestureofdemonstration，and，prouderthanacountrysquireshowingyouhisespaliers，wenton——
　　“ThissimplestonecoversPierredeBreze，lordofVarenneandofBrissac，grandmarshalofPoitou，andgovernorofNormandy，whodiedatthebattleofMontlheryonthe16thofJuly，1465。“
　　Leonbithislips，fuming。
　　“Andontheright，thisgentlemanallencasediniron，ontheprancinghorse，ishisgrandson，LouisdeBreze，lordofBrevalandofMontchauvet，CountdeMaulevrier，BarondeMauny，chamberlaintotheking，KnightoftheOrder，andalsogovernorofNormandy；diedonthe23rdofJuly，1531——aSunday，astheinscriptionspecifies；andbelow，thisfigure，abouttodescendintothetomb，portraysthesameperson。Itisnotpossible，isit，toseeamoreperfectrepresentationofannihilation？“
　　MadameBovaryputuphereyeglasses。Leon，motionless，lookedather，nolongerevenattemptingtospeakasingleword，tomakeagesture，sodiscouragedwasheatthistwo-foldobstinacyofgossipandindifference。
　　Theeverlastingguidewenton——
　　“Nearhim，thiskneelingwomanwhoweepsishisspouse，DianedePoitiers，CountessdeBreze，DuchessdeValentinois，bornin1499，diedin1566，andtotheleft，theonewiththechildistheHolyVirgin。Nowturntothisside；herearethetombsoftheAmbroise。TheywerebothcardinalsandarchbishopsofRouen。ThatonewasministerunderLouisXII。Hedidagreatdealforthecathedral。Inhiswillheleftthirtythousandgoldcrownsforthepoor。“
　　Andwithoutstopping，stilltalking，hepushedthemintoachapelfullofbalustrades，someputaway，anddisclosedakindofblockthatcertainlymightoncehavebeenanill-madestatue。