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the beautiful satin bindings； Emma looked with dazzled eyes at
the names of the unknown authors； who had signed their verses for
the most part as counts or viscounts。
She trembled as she blew back the tissue paper over the engraving
and saw it folded in two and fall gently against the page。 Here
behind the balustrade of a balcony was a young man in a short
cloak； holding in his arms a young girl in a white dress wearing
an alms…bag at her belt； or there were nameless portraits of
English ladies with fair curls； who looked at you from under
their round straw hats with their large clear eyes。 Some there
were lounging in their carriages； gliding through parks； a
greyhound bounding along in front of the equipage driven at a
trot by two midget postilions in white breeches。 Others； dreaming
on sofas with an open letter； gazed at the moon through a
slightly open window half draped by a black curtain。 The naive
ones； a tear on their cheeks； were kissing doves through the bars
of a Gothic cage； or； smiling； their heads on one side； were
plucking the leaves of a marguerite with their taper fingers；
that curved at the tips like peaked shoes。 And you； too； were
there； Sultans with long pipes reclining beneath arbours in the
arms of Bayaderes； Djiaours； Turkish sabres； Greek caps； and you
especially； pale landscapes of dithyrambic lands； that often show
us at once palm trees and firs； tigers on the right； a lion to
the left； Tartar minarets on the horizon； the whole framed by a
very neat virgin forest； and with a great perpendicular sunbeam
trembling in the water； where； standing out in relief like white
excoriations on a steel…grey ground； swans are swimming about。
And the shade of the argand lamp fastened to the wall above
Emma's head lighted up all these pictures of the world； that
passed before her one by one in the silence of the dormitory； and
to the distant noise of some belated carriage rolling over the
Boulevards。
When her mother died she cried much the first few days。 She had a
funeral picture made with the hair of the deceased； and； in a
letter sent to the Bertaux full of sad reflections on life； she
asked to be buried later on in the same grave。 The goodman
thought she must be ill； and came to see her。 Emma was secretly
pleased that she had reached at a first attempt the rare ideal of
pale lives； never attained by mediocre hearts。 She let herself
glide along with Lamartine meanderings； listened to harps on
lakes； to all the songs of dying swans； to the falling of the
leaves； the pure virgins ascending to heaven； and the voice of
the Eternal discoursing down the valleys。 She wearied of it；
would not confess it； continued from habit； and at last was
surprised to feel herself soothed； and with no more sadness at
heart than wrinkles on her brow。
The good nuns； who had been so sure of her vocation； perceived
with great astonishment that Mademoiselle Rouault seemed to be
slipping from them。 They had indeed been so lavish to her of
prayers； retreats； novenas； and sermons； they had so often
preached the respect due to saints and martyrs； and given so much
good advice as to the modesty of the body and the salvation of
her soul； that she did as tightly reined horses； she pulled up
short and the bit slipped from her teeth。 This nature； positive
in the midst of its enthusiasms； that had loved the church for
the sake of the flowers； and music for the words of the songs；
and literature for its passional stimulus； rebelled against the
mysteries of faith as it grew irritated by discipline； a thing
antipathetic to her constitution。 When her father took her from
school； no one was sorry to see her go。 The Lady Superior even
thought that she had latterly been somewhat irreverent to the
community。
Emma； at home once more； first took pleasure in looking after the
servants； then grew disgusted with the country and missed her
convent。 When Charles came to the Bertaux for the first time； she
thought herself quite disillusioned； with nothing more to learn；
and nothing more to feel。
But the uneasiness of her new position； or perhaps the
disturbance caused by the presence of this man； had sufficed to
make her believe that she at last felt that wondrous passion
which； till then； like a great bird with rose…coloured wings；
hung in the splendour of the skies of poesy； and now she could
not think that the calm in which she lived was the happiness she
had dreamed。
Chapter Seven
She thought； sometimes； that； after all； this was the happiest
time of her lifethe honeymoon； as people called it。 To taste
the full sweetness of it； it would have been necessary doubtless
to fly to those lands with sonorous names where the days after
marriage are full of laziness most suave。 In post chaises behind
blue silken curtains to ride slowly up steep road； listening to
the song of the postilion re…echoed by the mountains； along with
the bells of goats and the muffled sound of a waterfall； at
sunset on the shores of gulfs to breathe in the perfume of lemon
trees； then in the evening on the villa…terraces above； hand in
hand to look at the stars； making plans for the future。 It seemed
to her that certain places on earth must bring happiness； as a
plant peculiar to the soil； and that cannot thrive elsewhere。 Why
could not she lean over balconies in Swiss chalets； or enshrine
her melancholy in a Scotch cottage； with a husband dressed in a
black velvet coat with long tails； and thin shoes； a pointed hat
and frills？ Perhaps she would have liked to confide all these
things to someone。 But how tell an undefinable uneasiness；
variable as the clouds； unstable as the winds？ Words failed
herthe opportunity； the courage。
If Charles had but wished it； if he had guessed it； if his look
had but once met her thought； it seemed to her that a sudden
plenty would have gone out from her heart； as the fruit falls
from a tree when shaken by a hand。 But as the intimacy of their
life became deeper； the greater became the gulf that separated
her from him。
Charles's conversation was commonplace as a street pavement； and
everyone's ideas trooped through it in their everyday garb；
without exciting emotion； laughter； or thought。 He had never had
the curiosity； he said； while he lived at Rouen； to go to the
theatre to see the actors from Paris。 He could neither swim； nor
fence； nor shoot； and one day he could not explain some term of
horsemanship to her that she had come across in a novel。
A man； on the contrary； should he not know everything； excel in
manifold activities； initiate you into the energies of passion；
the refinements of life； all mysteries？ But this one taught
nothing； knew nothing； wished nothing。 He thought her happy； and
she resented this easy calm； this serene heaviness； the very
happiness she gave him。
Sometimes she would draw； and it was great amusement to Charles
to stand there bolt upright and watch her bend over her
cardboard； with eyes half…closed the better to see her work； or
rolling； between her fingers； little bread…pellets。 As to the
piano； the more quickly her fingers glided over it the more he
wondered。 She struck the notes with aplomb； and ran from top to
bott