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〃You'll make yourself ill；〃 she said scornfully。
He put down his cigar and ran to swallow a glass of cold water at
the pump。 Emma seizing hold of the cigar case threw it quickly to
the back of the cupboard。
The next day was a long one。 She walked about her little garden；
up and down the same walks； stopping before the beds； before the
espalier； before the plaster curate； looking with amazement at
all these things of once…on…a…time that she knew so well。 How far
off the ball seemed already！ What was it that thus set so far
asunder the morning of the day before yesterday and the evening
of to…day？ Her journey to Vaubyessard had made a hole in her
life； like one of those great crevices that a storm will
sometimes make in one night in mountains。 Still she was resigned。
She devoutly put away in her drawers her beautiful dress； down to
the satin shoes whose soles were yellowed with the slippery wax
of the dancing floor。 Her heart was like these。 In its friction
against wealth something had come over it that could not be
effaced。
The memory of this ball； then； became an occupation for Emma。
Whenever the Wednesday came round she said to herself as she
awoke； 〃Ah！ I was there a weeka fortnightthree weeks ago。〃
And little by little the faces grew confused in her remembrance。
She forgot the tune of the quadrilles； she no longer saw the
liveries and appointments so distinctly； some details escaped
her； but the regret remained with her。
Chapter Nine
Often when Charles was out she took from the cupboard； between
the folds of the linen where she had left it； the green silk
cigar case。 She looked at it； opened it； and even smelt the odour
of the lininga mixture of verbena and tobacco。 Whose was it？
The Viscount's？ Perhaps it was a present from his mistress。 It
had been embroidered on some rosewood frame； a pretty little
thing； hidden from all eyes； that had occupied many hours； and
over which had fallen the soft curls of the pensive worker。 A
breath of love had passed over the stitches on the canvas； each
prick of the needle had fixed there a hope or a memory； and all
those interwoven threads of silk were but the continuity of the
same silent passion。 And then one morning the Viscount had taken
it away with him。 Of what had they spoken when it lay upon the
wide…mantelled chimneys between flower…vases and Pompadour
clocks？ She was at Tostes； he was at Paris now； far away！ What
was this Paris like？ What a vague name！ She repeated it in a low
voice； for the mere pleasure of it； it rang in her ears like a
great cathedral bell； it shone before her eyes； even on the
labels of her pomade…pots。
At night； when the carriers passed under her windows in their
carts singing the 〃Marjolaine；〃 she awoke； and listened to the
noise of the iron…bound wheels； which； as they gained the country
road； was soon deadened by the soil。 〃They will be there
to…morrow！〃 she said to herself。
And she followed them in thought up and down the hills；
traversing villages； gliding along the highroads by the light of
the stars。 At the end of some indefinite distance there was
always a confused spot； into which her dream died。
She bought a plan of Paris； and with the tip of her finger on the
map she walked about the capital。 She went up the boulevards；
stopping at every turning； between the lines of the streets； in
front of the white squares that represented the houses。 At last
she would close the lids of her weary eyes； and see in the
darkness the gas jets flaring in the wind and the steps of
carriages lowered with much noise before the peristyles of
theatres。
She took in 〃La Corbeille；〃 a lady's journal； and the 〃Sylphe des
Salons。〃 She devoured； without skipping a work； all the accounts
of first nights； races； and soirees； took interest in the debut
of a singer； in the opening of a new shop。 She knew the latest
fashions； the addresses of the best tailors； the days of the Bois
and the Opera。 In Eugene Sue she studied descriptions of
furniture； she read Balzac and George Sand； seeking in them
imaginary satisfaction for her own desires。 Even at table she had
her book by her； and turned over the pages while Charles ate and
talked to her。 The memory of the Viscount always returned as she
read。 Between him and the imaginary personages she made
comparisons。 But the circle of which he was the centre gradually
widened round him； and the aureole that he bore； fading from his
form； broadened out beyond； lighting up her other dreams。
Paris； more vague than the ocean； glimmered before Emma's eyes in
an atmosphere of vermilion。 The many lives that stirred amid this
tumult were； however； divided into parts； classed as distinct
pictures。 Emma perceived only two or three that hid from her all
the rest； and in themselves represented all humanity。 The world
of ambassadors moved over polished floors in drawing rooms lined
with mirrors； round oval tables covered with velvet and
gold…fringed cloths。 There were dresses with trains； deep
mysteries； anguish hidden beneath smiles。 Then came the society
of the duchesses； all were pale； all got up at four o'clock； the
women； poor angels； wore English point on their petticoats； and
the men； unappreciated geniuses under a frivolous outward
seeming； rode horses to death at pleasure parties； spent the
summer season at Baden； and towards the forties married
heiresses。 In the private rooms of restaurants； where one sups
after midnight by the light of wax candles； laughed the motley
crowd of men of letters and actresses。 They were prodigal as
kings； full of ideal； ambitious； fantastic frenzy。 This was an
existence outside that of all others； between heaven and earth；
in the midst of storms； having something of the sublime。 For the
rest of the world it was lost； with no particular place and as if
non…existent。 The nearer things were； moreover； the more her
thoughts turned away from them。 All her immediate surroundings；
the wearisome country； the middle…class imbeciles； the mediocrity
of existence； seemed to her exceptional； a peculiar chance that
had caught hold of her； while beyond stretched； as far as eye
could see； an immense land of joys and passions。 She confused in
her desire the sensualities of luxury with the delights of the
heart； elegance of manners with delicacy of sentiment。 Did not
love； like Indian plants； need a special soil； a particular
temperature？ Signs by moonlight； long embraces； tears flowing
over yielded hands； all the fevers of the flesh and the languors
of tenderness could not be separated from the balconies of great
castles full of indolence； from boudoirs with silken curtains and
thick carpets； well…filled flower…stands； a bed on a raised dias；
nor from the flashing of precious stones and the shoulder…knots
of liveries。
The lad from the posting house who came to groom the mare every
morning passed through the passage with his heavy wooden shoes；
there were holes in his blouse； his feet were bare in list
slippers。 And this was the groom in knee…britches with whom she
had to be content！ His work done； he did not come back again all
day； for Charles on his return put up his horse himself；
unsaddled him and put on the halter