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of the music； which interfered very much with the words。
〃What does it matter？〃 said Emma。 〃Do be quiet！〃
〃Yes； but you know；〃 he went on； leaning against her shoulder； 〃I
like to understand things。〃
〃Be quiet！ be quiet！〃 she cried impatiently。
Lucie advanced； half supported by her women； a wreath of orange
blossoms in her hair； and paler than the white satin of her gown。
Emma dreamed of her marriage day； she saw herself at home again
amid the corn in the little path as they walked to the church。
Oh； why had not she； like this woman； resisted； implored？ She； on
the contrary； had been joyous； without seeing the abyss into
which she was throwing herself。 Ah！ if in the freshness of her
beauty； before the soiling of marriage and the disillusions of
adultery； she could have anchored her life upon some great；
strong heart； then virtue； tenderness； voluptuousness； and duty
blending； she would never have fallen from so high a happiness。
But that happiness； no doubt； was a lie invented for the despair
of all desire。 She now knew the smallness of the passions that
art exaggerated。 So； striving to divert her thoughts； Emma
determined now to see in this reproduction of her sorrows only a
plastic fantasy； well enough to please the eye； and she even
smiled internally with disdainful pity when at the back of the
stage under the velvet hangings a man appeared in a black cloak。
His large Spanish hat fell at a gesture he made； and immediately
the instruments and the singers began the sextet。 Edgar； flashing
with fury； dominated all the others with his clearer voice；
Ashton hurled homicidal provocations at him in deep notes； Lucie
uttered her shrill plaint； Arthur at one side； his modulated
tones in the middle register； and the bass of the minister pealed
forth like an organ； while the voices of the women repeating his
words took them up in chorus delightfully。 They were all in a row
gesticulating； and anger； vengeance； jealousy； terror； and
stupefaction breathed forth at once from their half…opened
mouths。 The outraged lover brandished his naked sword； his
guipure ruffle rose with jerks to the movements of his chest； and
he walked from right to left with long strides； clanking against
the boards the silver…gilt spurs of his soft boots； widening out
at the ankles。 He； she thought must have an inexhaustible love
to lavish it upon the crowd with such effusion。 All her small
fault…findings faded before the poetry of the part that absorbed
her； and； drawn towards this man by the illusion of the
character； she tried to imagine to herself his lifethat life
resonant； extraordinary； splendid； and that might have been hers
if fate had willed it。 They would have known one another； loved
one another。 With him； through all the kingdoms of Europe she
would have travelled from capital to capital； sharing his
fatigues and his pride； picking up the flowers thrown to him；
herself embroidering his costumes。 Then each evening； at the back
of a box； behind the golden trellis…work she would have drunk in
eagerly the expansions of this soul that would have sung for her
alone； from the stage； even as he acted； he would have looked at
her。 But the mad idea seized her that he was looking at her； it
was certain。 She longed to run to his arms； to take refuge in his
strength； as in the incarnation of love itself； and to say to
him； to cry out； 〃Take me away！ carry me with you！ let us go！
Thine； thine！ all my ardour and all my dreams！〃
The curtain fell。
The smell of the gas mingled with that of the breaths； the waving
of the fans； made the air more suffocating。 Emma wanted to go
out； the crowd filled the corridors； and she fell back in her
arm…chair with palpitations that choked her。 Charles； fearing
that she would faint； ran to the refreshment…room to get a glass
of barley…water。
He had great difficulty in getting back to his seat； for his
elbows were jerked at every step because of the glass he held in
his hands； and he even spilt three…fourths on the shoulders of a
Rouen lady in short sleeves； who feeling the cold liquid running
down to her loins； uttered cries like a peacock； as if she were
being assassinated。 Her husband； who was a millowner； railed at
the clumsy fellow； and while she was with her handkerchief wiping
up the stains from her handsome cherry…coloured taffeta gown； he
angrily muttered about indemnity； costs； reimbursement。 At last
Charles reached his wife； saying to her； quite out of breath
〃Ma foi！ I thought I should have had to stay there。 There is such
a crowdSUCH a crowd！〃
He added
〃Just guess whom I met up there！ Monsieur Leon！〃
〃Leon？〃
〃Himself！ He's coming along to pay his respects。〃 And as he
finished these words the ex…clerk of Yonville entered the box。
He held out his hand with the ease of a gentleman； and Madame
Bovary extended hers； without doubt obeying the attraction of a
stronger will。 She had not felt it since that spring evening when
the rain fell upon the green leaves； and they had said good…bye
standing at the window。 But soon recalling herself to the
necessities of the situation； with an effort she shook off the
torpor of her memories； and began stammering a few hurried words。
〃Ah； good…day！ What！ you here？〃
〃Silence！〃 cried a voice from the pit； for the third act was
beginning。
〃So you are at Rouen？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃And since when？〃
〃Turn them out！ turn them out！〃 People were looking at them。 They
were silent。
But from that moment she listened no more； and the chorus of the
guests； the scene between Ashton and his servant； the grand duet
in D major； all were for her as far off as if the instruments had
grown less sonorous and the characters more remote。 She
remembered the games at cards at the druggist's； and the walk to
the nurse's； the reading in the arbour； the tete…a…tete by the
firesideall that poor love； so calm and so protracted； so
discreet； so tender； and that she had nevertheless forgotten。 And
why had he come back？ What combination of circumstances had
brought him back into her life？ He was standing behind her；
leaning with his shoulder against the wall of the box； now and
again she felt herself shuddering beneath the hot breath from his
nostrils falling upon her hair。
〃Does this amuse you？〃 said he； bending over her so closely that
the end of his moustache brushed her cheek。 She replied
carelessly
〃Oh； dear me； no； not much。〃
Then he proposed that they should leave the theatre and go and
take an ice somewhere。
〃Oh； not yet； let us stay；〃 said Bovary。 〃Her hair's undone； this
is going to be tragic。〃
But the mad scene did not at all interest Emma； and the acting of
the singer seemed to her exaggerated。
〃She screams too loud；〃 said she； turning to Charles； who was
listening。
〃Yesa little；〃 he replied； undecided between the frankness of
his pleasure and his respect for his wife's opinion。
Then with a sigh Leon said
〃The heat is〃
〃Unbearable！ Yes！〃
〃Do you feel unwell？〃 asked Bovary。
〃Yes； I am stifling； let us go。〃
Monsieur Leon put her long lace shawl carefully about her
shoulders； and all three went off to sit down in the harbour； in
the open air； outside the windows of a cafe。
First they spoke of her illness；