Sheinsisted，however，onhistakingatleastthechain，andLheureuxhadalreadyputitinhispocketandwasgoing，whenshecalledhimback。
“Youwillleaveeverythingatyourplace。Astothecloak“——sheseemedtobereflecting——“donotbringiteither；youcangivemethemaker’saddress，andtellhimtohaveitreadyforme。“
Itwasthenextmonththattheyweretorunaway。ShewastoleaveYonvilleasifshewasgoingonsomebusinesstoRouen。
Rodolphewouldhavebookedtheseats，procuredthepassports，andevenhavewrittentoParisinordertohavethewholemail-coachreservedforthemasfarasMarseilles，wheretheywouldbuyacarriage，andgoonthencewithoutstoppingtoGenoa。ShewouldtakecaretosendherluggagetoLheureuxwhenceitwouldbetakendirecttothe“Hirondelle，“sothatnoonewouldhaveanysuspicion。Andinallthisthereneverwasanyallusiontothechild。Rodolpheavoidedspeakingofher；perhapshenolongerthoughtaboutit。
Hewishedtohavetwomoreweeksbeforehimtoarrangesomeaffairs；thenattheendofaweekhewantedtwomore；thenhesaidhewasill；nexthewentonajourney。ThemonthofAugustpassed，and，afterallthesedelays，theydecidedthatitwastobeirrevocablyfixedforthe4thSeptember——aMonday。
AtlengththeSaturdaybeforearrived。
Rodolphecameintheeveningearlierthanusual。
“Everythingisready？“sheaskedhim。
“Yes。“
Thentheywalkedroundagarden-bed，andwenttositdownneartheterraceonthekerb-stoneofthewall。
“Youaresad，“saidEmma。
“No；why？“
Andyethelookedatherstrangelyinatenderfashion。
“Itisbecauseyouaregoingaway？“shewenton；“becauseyouareleavingwhatisdeartoyou——yourlife？Ah!Iunderstand。Ihavenothingintheworld!youarealltome；soshallIbetoyou。I
willbeyourpeople，yourcountry；Iwilltend，Iwillloveyou!“
“Howsweetyouare!“hesaid，seizingherinhisarms。
“Really!“shesaidwithavoluptuouslaugh。“Doyouloveme？
Swearitthen!“
“DoIloveyou——loveyou？Iadoreyou，mylove。“
Themoon，fullandpurple-coloured，wasrisingrightoutoftheearthattheendofthemeadow。Sherosequicklybetweenthebranchesofthepoplars，thathidherhereandtherelikeablackcurtainpiercedwithholes。Thensheappeareddazzlingwithwhitenessintheemptyheavensthatshelitup，andnowsailingmoreslowlyalong，letfallupontheriveragreatstainthatbrokeupintoaninfinityofstars；andthesilversheenseemedtowrithethroughtheverydepthslikeaheedlessserpentcoveredwithluminousscales；italsoresembledsomemonstercandelabraallalongwhichsparkleddropsofdiamondsrunningtogether。Thesoftnightwasaboutthem；massesofshadowfilledthebranches。
Emma，hereyeshalfclosed，breathedinwithdeepsighsthefreshwindthatwasblowing。Theydidnotspeak，lostastheywereintherushoftheirreverie。Thetendernessoftheolddayscamebacktotheirhearts，fullandsilentastheflowingriver，withthesoftnessoftheperfumeofthesyringas，andthrewacrosstheirmemoriesshadowsmoreimmenseandmoresombrethanthoseofthestillwillowsthatlengthenedoutoverthegrass。Oftensomenight-animal，hedgehogorweasel，settingoutonthehunt，disturbedthelovers，orsometimestheyheardaripepeachfallingallalonefromtheespalier。
“Ah!whatalovelynight!“saidRodolphe。
“Weshallhaveothers，“repliedEmma；and，asifspeakingtoherself：“Yet，itwillbegoodtotravel。Andyet，whyshouldmyheartbesoheavy？Isitdreadoftheunknown？Theeffectofhabitsleft？Orrather——？No；itistheexcessofhappiness。HowweakIam，amInot？Forgiveme!“
“Thereisstilltime!“hecried。“Reflect!perhapsyoumayrepent!“
“Never!“shecriedimpetuously。Andcomingclosertohim：“Whatillcouldcometome？Thereisnodesert，noprecipice，nooceanIwouldnottraversewithyou。Thelongerwelivetogetherthemoreitwillbelikeanembrace，everydaycloser，morehearttoheart。Therewillbenothingtotroubleus，nocares，noobstacle。Weshallbealone，alltoourselveseternally。Oh，speak!Answerme!“
Atregularintervalsheanswered，“Yes——Yes——“Shehadpassedherhandsthroughhishair，andsherepeatedinachildlikevoice，despitethebigtearswhichwerefalling，“Rodolphe!Rodolphe!
Ah!Rodolphe!dearlittleRodolphe!“
Midnightstruck。
“Midnight!“saidshe。“Come，itisto-morrow。Onedaymore!“
Herosetogo；andasifthemovementhemadehadbeenthesignalfortheirflight，Emmasaid，suddenlyassumingagayair——
“Youhavethepassports？“
“Yes。“
“Youareforgettingnothing？“
“No。“
“Areyousure？“
“Certainly。“
“ItisattheHoteldeProvence，isitnot，thatyouwillwaitformeatmidday？“
Henodded。
“Tillto-morrowthen!“saidEmmainalastcaress；andshewatchedhimgo。
Hedidnotturnround。Sheranafterhim，and，leaningoverthewater’sedgebetweenthebulrushes“To-morrow!“shecried。
Hewasalreadyontheothersideoftheriverandwalkingfastacrossthemeadow。
AfterafewmomentsRodolphestopped；andwhenhesawherwithherwhitegowngraduallyfadeawayintheshadelikeaghost，hewasseizedwithsuchabeatingoftheheartthatheleantagainstatreelestheshouldfall。
“WhatanimbecileIam!“hesaidwithafearfuloath。“Nomatter!
Shewasaprettymistress!“
AndimmediatelyEmma’sbeauty，withallthepleasuresoftheirlove，camebacktohim。Foramomenthesoftened；thenherebelledagainsther。
“For，afterall，“heexclaimed，gesticulating，“Ican’texilemyself——haveachildonmyhands。“
Hewassayingthesethingstogivehimselffirmness。
“Andbesides，theworry，theexpense!Ah!no，no，no，no!athousandtimesno!Thatwouldbetoostupid。“
ChapterThirteenNosoonerwasRodolpheathomethanhesatdownquicklyathisbureauunderthestag’sheadthathungasatrophyonthewall。
Butwhenhehadthepenbetweenhisfingers，hecouldthinkofnothing，sothat，restingonhiselbows，hebegantoreflect。
Emmaseemedtohimtohaverecededintoafar-offpast，asiftheresolutionhehadtakenhadsuddenlyplacedadistancebetweenthem。
Togetbacksomethingofher，hefetchedfromthecupboardatthebedsideanoldRheimsbiscuit-box，inwhichheusuallykepthislettersfromwomen，andfromitcameanodourofdrydustandwitheredroses。Firsthesawahandkerchiefwithpalelittlespots。Itwasahandkerchiefofhers。Oncewhentheywerewalkinghernosehadbled；hehadforgottenit。Nearit，chippedatallthecorners，wasaminiaturegivenhimbyEmma：hertoiletteseemedtohimpretentious，andherlanguishinglookintheworstpossibletaste。Then，fromlookingatthisimageandrecallingthememoryofitsoriginal，Emma’sfeatureslittlebylittlegrewconfusedinhisremembrance，asifthelivingandthepaintedface，rubbingoneagainsttheother，hadeffacedeachother。
Finally，hereadsomeofherletters；theywerefullofexplanationsrelatingtotheirjourney，short，technical，andurgent，likebusinessnotes。Hewantedtoseethelongonesagain，thoseofoldtimes。Inordertofindthematthebottomofthebox，Rodolphedisturbedalltheothers，andmechanicallybeganrummagingamidstthismassofpapersandthings，findingpell-mellbouquets，garters，ablackmask，pins，andhair——hair!
darkandfair，someeven，catchinginthehingesofthebox，brokewhenitwasopened。
Thusdallyingwithhissouvenirs，heexaminedthewritingandthestyleoftheletters，asvariedastheirorthography。Theyweretenderorjovial，facetious，melancholy；thereweresomethataskedforlove，othersthataskedformoney。Awordrecalledfacestohim，certaingestures，thesoundofavoice；sometimes，however，herememberednothingatall。
Infact，thesewomen，rushingatonceintohisthoughts，crampedeachotherandlessened，asreducedtoauniformleveloflovethatequalisedthemall。Sotakinghandfulsofthemixed-upletters，heamusedhimselfforsomemomentswithlettingthemfallincascadesfromhisrightintohislefthand。Atlast，boredandweary，Rodolphetookbacktheboxtothecupboard，sayingtohimself，“Whatalotofrubbish!“Whichsummeduphisopinion；forpleasures，likeschoolboysinaschoolcourtyard，hadsotrampleduponhisheartthatnogreenthinggrewthere，andthatwhichpassedthroughit，moreheedlessthanchildren，didnoteven，likethem，leaveanamecarveduponthewall。