“Itisverystrange，“thoughtEmma，“howuglythischildis!“
Whenateleveno’clockCharlescamebackfromthechemist’sshop，whitherhehadgoneafterdinnertoreturntheremainderofthesticking-plaster，hefoundhiswifestandingbythecradle。
“Iassureyouit’snothing。“hesaid，kissingherontheforehead。“Don’tworry，mypoordarling；youwillmakeyourselfill。“
Hehadstayedalongtimeatthechemist’s。Althoughhehadnotseemedmuchmoved，Homais，nevertheless，hadexertedhimselftobuoyhimup，to“keepuphisspirits。“Thentheyhadtalkedofthevariousdangersthatthreatenchildhood，ofthecarelessnessofservants。MadameHomaisknewsomethingofit，havingstilluponherchestthemarksleftbyabasinfullofsoupthatacookhadformerlydroppedonherpinafore，andhergoodparentstooknoendoftroubleforher。Thekniveswerenotsharpened，northefloorswaxed；therewereirongratingstothewindowsandstrongbarsacrossthefireplace；thelittleHomais，inspiteoftheirspirit，couldnotstirwithoutsomeonewatchingthem；attheslightestcoldtheirfatherstuffedthemwithpectorals；anduntiltheywereturnedfourtheyall，withoutpity，hadtowearwaddedhead-protectors。This，itistrue，wasafancyofMadameHomais’；herhusbandwasinwardlyafflictedatit。Fearingthepossibleconsequencesofsuchcompressiontotheintellectualorgans。Heevenwentsofarastosaytoher，“DoyouwanttomakeCaribsorBotocudosofthem？“
Charles，however，hadseveraltimestriedtointerrupttheconversation。“Ishouldliketospeaktoyou，“hehadwhisperedintheclerk’sear，whowentupstairsinfrontofhim。
“Canhesuspectanything？“Leonaskedhimself。Hisheartbeat，andherackedhisbrainwithsurmises。
Atlast，Charles，havingshutthedoor，askedhimtoseehimselfwhatwouldbethepriceatRouenofafinedaguerreotypes。Itwasasentimentalsurpriseheintendedforhiswife，adelicateattention——hisportraitinafrock-coat。Buthewantedfirsttoknow“howmuchitwouldbe。“TheinquirieswouldnotputMonsieurLeonout，sincehewenttotownalmosteveryweek。
Why？MonsieurHomaissuspectedsome“youngman’saffair“atthebottomofit，anintrigue。Buthewasmistaken。Leonwasafternolove-making。Hewassadderthanever，asMadameLefrancoissawfromtheamountoffoodheleftonhisplate。Tofindoutmoreaboutitshequestionedthetax-collector。Binetansweredroughlythathe“wasn’tpaidbythepolice。“
Allthesame，hiscompanionseemedverystrangetohim，forLeonoftenthrewhimselfbackinhischair，andstretchingouthisarms。Complainedvaguelyoflife。
“It’sbecauseyoudon’ttakeenoughrecreation，“saidthecollector。
“Whatrecreation？“
“IfIwereyouI’dhavealathe。“
“ButIdon’tknowhowtoturn，“answeredtheclerk。
“Ah!that’strue，“saidtheother，rubbinghischinwithanairofmingledcontemptandsatisfaction。
Leonwaswearyoflovingwithoutanyresult；moreoverhewasbeginningtofeelthatdepressioncausedbytherepetitionofthesamekindoflife，whennointerestinspiresandnohopesustainsit。HewassoboredwithYonvilleanditsinhabitants，thatthesightofcertainpersons，ofcertainhouses，irritatedhimbeyondendurance；andthechemist，goodfellowthoughhewas，wasbecomingabsolutelyunbearabletohim。Yettheprospectofanewconditionoflifefrightenedasmuchasitseducedhim。
Thisapprehensionsoonchangedintoimpatience，andthenParisfromafarsoundeditsfanfareofmaskedballswiththelaughofgrisettes。Ashewastofinishreadingthere，whynotsetoutatonce？Whatpreventedhim？Andhebeganmakinghome-preparations；
hearrangedhisoccupationsbeforehand。Hefurnishedinhisheadanapartment。Hewouldleadanartist’slifethere!Hewouldtakelessonsontheguitar!Hewouldhaveadressing-gown，aBasquecap，bluevelvetslippers!Heevenalreadywasadmiringtwocrossedfoilsoverhischimney-piece，withadeath’sheadontheguitarabovethem。
Thedifficultywastheconsentofhismother；nothing，however，seemedmorereasonable。Evenhisemployeradvisedhimtogotosomeotherchamberswherehecouldadvancemorerapidly。Takingamiddlecourse，then，LeonlookedforsomeplaceassecondclerkatRouen；foundnone，andatlastwrotehismotheralongletterfullofdetails，inwhichhesetforththereasonsforgoingtoliveatParisimmediately。Sheconsented。
Hedidnothurry。EverydayforamonthHivertcarriedboxes，valises，parcelsforhimfromYonvilletoRouenandfromRouentoYonville；andwhenLeonhadpackeduphiswardrobe，hadhisthreearm-chairsrestuffed，boughtastockofneckties，inaword，hadmademorepreparationsthanforavoyagearoundtheworld，heputitofffromweektoweek，untilhereceivedasecondletterfromhismotherurginghimtoleave，sincehewantedtopasshisexaminationbeforethevacation。
Whenthemomentforthefarewellshadcome，MadameHomaiswept，Justinsobbed；Homais，asamanofnerve，concealedhisemotion；
hewishedtocarryhisfriend’sovercoathimselfasfarasthegateofthenotary，whowastakingLeontoRoueninhiscarriage。
ThelatterhadjusttimetobidfarewelltoMonsieurBovary。
Whenhereachedtheheadofthestairs，hestopped，hewassooutofbreath。Ashecamein，MadameBovaryarosehurriedly。
“ItisIagain!“saidLeon。
“Iwassureofit!“
Shebitherlips，andarushofbloodflowingunderherskinmadeherredfromtherootsofherhairtothetopofhercollar。Sheremainedstanding，leaningwithhershoulderagainstthewainscot。
“Thedoctorisnothere？“hewenton。
“Heisout。“Sherepeated，“Heisout。“
Thentherewassilence。Theylookedatoneanotherandtheirthoughts，confoundedinthesameagony，clungclosetogetherliketwothrobbingbreasts。
“IshouldliketokissBerthe，“saidLeon。
EmmawentdownafewstepsandcalledFelicite。
Hethrewonelonglookaroundhimthattookinthewalls，thedecorations，thefireplace，asiftopenetrateeverything，carryawayeverything。Butshereturned，andtheservantbroughtBerthe，whowasswingingawindmillroofdownwardsattheendofastring。Leonkissedherseveraltimesontheneck。
“Good-bye，poorchild!good-bye，dearlittleone!good-bye!“Andhegaveherbacktohermother。
“Takeheraway，“shesaid。
Theyremainedalone——MadameBovary，herbackturned，herfacepressedagainstawindow-pane；Leonheldhiscapinhishand，knockingitsoftlyagainsthisthigh。
“Itisgoingtorain，“saidEmma。
“Ihaveacloak，“heanswered。
“Ah!“
Sheturnedaround，herchinlowered，herforeheadbentforward。
Thelightfellonitasonapieceofmarble，tothecurveoftheeyebrows，withoutone’sbeingabletoguesswhatEmmawasseeingonthehorizonorwhatshewasthinkingwithinherself。
“Well，good-bye，“hesighed。
Sheraisedherheadwithaquickmovement。
“Yes，good-bye——go!“
Theyadvancedtowardseachother；heheldouthishand；shehesitated。
“IntheEnglishfashion，then，“shesaid，givingherownhandwhollytohim，andforcingalaugh。
Leonfeltitbetweenhisfingers，andtheveryessenceofallhisbeingseemedtopassdownintothatmoistpalm。Thenheopenedhishand；theireyesmetagain，andhedisappeared。
Whenhereachedthemarket-place，hestoppedandhidbehindapillartolookforthelasttimeatthiswhitehousewiththefourgreenblinds。Hethoughthesawashadowbehindthewindowintheroom；butthecurtain，slidingalongthepoleasthoughnooneweretouchingit，slowlyopeneditslongobliquefoldsthatspreadoutwithasinglemovement，andthushungstraightandmotionlessasaplasterwall。Leonsetoffrunning。
>Fromafarhesawhisemployer’sgigintheroad，andbyitamaninacoarseapronholdingthehorse。HomaisandMonsieurGuillauminweretalking。Theywerewaitingforhim。
“Embraceme，“saidthedruggistwithtearsinhiseyes。“Hereisyourcoat，mygoodfriend。Mindthecold；takecareofyourself；
lookafteryourself。“
“Come，Leon，jumpin，“saidthenotary。
Homaisbendoverthesplash-board，andinavoicebrokenbysobsutteredthesethreesadwords——
“Apleasantjourney!“
“Good-night，“saidMonsieurGuillaumin。“Givehimhishead。“Theysetout，andHomaiswentback。