andthethingsbringinghiminagoodthirdattheleast，thisoughtintwelvemonthstogivehimaprofitofahundredandthirtyfrancs。Hehopedthatthebusinesswouldnotstopthere；
thatthebillswouldnotbepaid；thattheywouldberenewed；andthathispoorlittlemoney，havingthrivenatthedoctor’sasatahospital，wouldcomebacktohimonedayconsiderablymoreplump，andfatenoughtobursthisbag。
Everything，moreover，succeededwithhim。HewasadjudicatorforasupplyofcidertothehospitalatNeufchatel；MonsieurGuillauminpromisedhimsomesharesintheturf-pitsofGaumesnil，andhedreamtofestablishinganewdiligenceservicebetweenArcueilandRouen，whichnodoubtwouldnotbelonginruiningtheramshacklevanofthe“Liond’Or，“andthat，travellingfaster，atacheaperrate，andcarryingmoreluggage，wouldthusputintohishandsthewholecommerceofYonville。
Charlesseveraltimesaskedhimselfbywhatmeansheshouldnextyearbeabletopaybacksomuchmoney。Hereflected，imaginedexpedients，suchasapplyingtohisfatherorsellingsomething。
Buthisfatherwouldbedeaf，andhe——hehadnothingtosell。
Thenheforesawsuchworriesthathequicklydismissedsodisagreeableasubjectofmeditationfromhismind。HereproachedhimselfwithforgettingEmma，asif，allhisthoughtsbelongingtothiswoman，itwasrobbingherofsomethingnottobeconstantlythinkingofher。
Thewinterwassevere，MadameBovary’sconvalescenceslow。Whenitwasfinetheywheeledherarm-chairtothewindowthatoverlookedthesquare，forshenowhadanantipathytothegarden，andtheblindsonthatsidewerealwaysdown。Shewishedthehorsetobesold；whatsheformerlylikednowdispleasedher。
Allherideasseemedtobelimitedtothecareofherself。Shestayedinbedtakinglittlemeals，rangfortheservanttoinquireabouthergruelortochatwithher。Thesnowonthemarket-roofthrewawhite，stilllightintotheroom；thentherainbegantofall；andEmmawaiteddailywithamindfullofeagernessfortheinevitablereturnofsometriflingeventswhichneverthelesshadnorelationtoher。Themostimportantwasthearrivalofthe“Hirondelle“intheevening。Thenthelandladyshoutedout，andothervoicesanswered，whileHippolyte’slantern，ashefetchedtheboxesfromtheboot，waslikeastarinthedarkness。Atmid-dayCharlescamein；thenhewentoutagain；nextshetooksomebeef-tea，andtowardsfiveo’clock，asthedaydrewin，thechildrencomingbackfromschool，draggingtheirwoodenshoesalongthepavement，knockedtheclapperoftheshutterswiththeirrulersoneaftertheother。
ItwasatthishourthatMonsieurBournisiencametoseeher。Heinquiredafterherhealth，gavehernews，exhortedhertoreligion，inacoaxinglittleprattlethatwasnotwithoutitscharm。Themerethoughtofhiscassockcomfortedher。
Oneday，whenattheheightofherillness，shehadthoughtherselfdying，andhadaskedforthecommunion；and，whiletheyweremakingthepreparationsinherroomforthesacrament，whiletheywereturningthenighttablecoveredwithsyrupsintoanaltar，andwhileFelicitewasstrewingdahliaflowersonthefloor，Emmafeltsomepowerpassingoverherthatfreedherfromherpains，fromallperception，fromallfeeling。Herbody，relieved，nolongerthought；anotherlifewasbeginning；itseemedtoherthatherbeing，mountingtowardGod，wouldbeannihilatedinthatlovelikeaburningincensethatmeltsintovapour。Thebed-clothesweresprinkledwithholywater，thepriestdrewfromtheholypyxthewhitewafer；anditwasfaintingwithacelestialjoythatsheputoutherlipstoacceptthebodyoftheSaviourpresentedtoher。Thecurtainsofthealcovefloatedgentlyroundherlikeclouds，andtheraysofthetwotapersburningonthenight-tableseemedtoshinelikedazzlinghalos。Thensheletherheadfallback，fancyingsheheardinspacethemusicofseraphicharps，andperceivedinanazuresky，onagoldenthroneinthemidstofsaintsholdinggreenpalms，GodtheFather，resplendentwithmajesty，whowithasignsenttoearthangelswithwingsoffiretocarryherawayintheirarms。
Thissplendidvisiondweltinhermemoryasthemostbeautifulthingthatitwaspossibletodream，sothatnowshestrovetorecallhersensation。Thatstilllasted，however，butinalessexclusivefashionandwithadeepersweetness。Hersoul，torturedbypride，atlengthfoundrestinChristianhumility，and，tastingthejoyofweakness，shesawwithinherselfthedestructionofherwill，thatmusthaveleftawideentrancefortheinroadsofheavenlygrace。Thereexisted，then，intheplaceofhappiness，stillgreaterjoys——anotherlovebeyondallloves，withoutpauseandwithoutend，onethatwouldgroweternally!Shesawamidtheillusionsofherhopeastateofpurityfloatingabovetheearthminglingwithheaven，towhichsheaspired。Shewantedtobecomeasaint。Sheboughtchapletsandworeamulets；
shewishedtohaveinherroom，bythesideofherbed，areliquarysetinemeraldsthatshemightkissiteveryevening。
Thecuremarvelledatthishumour，althoughEmma’sreligion，hethought，might，fromitsfervour，endbytouchingonheresy，extravagance。Butnotbeingmuchversedinthesematters，assoonastheywentbeyondacertainlimithewrotetoMonsieurBoulard，booksellertoMonsignor，tosendhim“somethinggoodforaladywhowasveryclever。“Thebookseller，withasmuchindifferenceasifhehadbeensendingoffhardwaretoniggers，packedup，pellmell，everythingthatwasthenthefashioninthepiousbooktrade。Therewerelittlemanualsinquestionsandanswers，pamphletsofaggressivetoneafterthemannerofMonsieurdeMaistre，andcertainnovelsinrose-colouredbindingsandwithahoniedstyle，manufacturedbytroubadourseminaristsorpenitentblue-stockings。Therewerethe“Thinkofit；theManoftheWorldatMary’sFeet，byMonsieurde***，decoratedwithmanyOrders“；
“TheErrorsofVoltaire，fortheUseoftheYoung，“etc。
MadameBovary’smindwasnotyetsufficientlycleartoapplyherselfseriouslytoanything；moreover，shebeganthisreadingintoomuchhurry。Shegrewprovokedatthedoctrinesofreligion；thearroganceofthepolemicwritingsdispleasedherbytheirinveteracyinattackingpeopleshedidnotknow；andthesecularstories，relievedwithreligion，seemedtoherwritteninsuchignoranceoftheworld，thattheyinsensiblyestrangedherfromthetruthsforwhoseproofshewaslooking。Nevertheless，shepersevered；andwhenthevolumeslippedfromherhands，shefanciedherselfseizedwiththefinestCatholicmelancholythatanetherealsoulcouldconceive。
AsforthememoryofRodolphe，shehadthrustitbacktothebottomofherheart，anditremainedtheremoresolemnandmoremotionlessthanaking’smummyinacatacomb。Anexhalationescapedfromthisembalmedlove，that，penetratingthrougheverything，perfumedwithtendernesstheimmaculateatmosphereinwhichshelongedtolive。WhenshekneltonherGothicprie-Dieu，sheaddressedtotheLordthesamesuavewordsthatshehadmurmuredformerlytoherloverintheoutpouringsofadultery。Itwastomakefaithcome；butnodelightsdescendedfromtheheavens，andshearosewithtiredlimbsandwithavaguefeelingofagiganticdupery。
Thissearchingafterfaith，shethought，wasonlyonemeritthemore，andintheprideofherdevoutnessEmmacomparedherselftothosegrandladiesoflongagowhosegloryshe，haddreamedofoveraportraitofLaValliere，andwho，trailingwithsomuchmajestythelace-trimmedtrainsoftheirlonggowns，retiredintosolitudestoshedatthefeetofChristallthetearsofheartsthatlifehadwounded。
Thenshegaveherselfuptoexcessivecharity。Shesewedclothesforthepoor，shesentwoodtowomeninchildbed；andCharlesoneday，oncominghome，foundthreegood-for-nothingsinthekitchenseatedatthetableeatingsoup。Shehadherlittlegirl，whomduringherillnessherhusbandhadsentbacktothenurse，broughthome。Shewantedtoteachhertoread；evenwhenBerthecried，shewasnotvexed。Shehadmadeuphermindtoresignation，touniversalindulgence。Herlanguageabouteverythingwasfullofidealexpressions。Shesaidtoherchild，“Isyourstomach-achebetter，myangel？“
MadameBovaryseniorfoundnothingtocensureexceptperhapsthismaniaofknittingjacketsfororphansinsteadofmendingherownhouse-linen；but，harassedwithdomesticquarrels，thegoodwomantookpleasureinthisquiethouse，andsheevenstayedtheretillafterEaster，toescapethesarcasmsofoldBovary，whoneverfailedonGoodFridaytoorderchitterlings。
Besidesthecompanionshipofhermother-in-law，whostrengthenedheralittlebytherectitudeofherjudgmentandhergraveways，Emmaalmosteverydayhadothervisitors。ThesewereMadameLanglois，MadameCaron，MadameDubreuil，MadameTuvache，andregularlyfromtwotofiveo’clocktheexcellentMadameHomais，who，forherpart，hadneverbelievedanyofthetittle-tattleaboutherneighbour。ThelittleHomaisalsocametoseeher；
Justinaccompaniedthem。Hewentupwiththemtoherbedroom，andremainedstandingnearthedoor，motionlessandmute。OftenevenMadameBovary；takingnoheedofhim，beganhertoilette。Shebeganbytakingouthercomb，shakingherheadwithaquickmovement，andwhenheforthefirsttimesawallthismassofhairthatfelltoherkneesunrollinginblackringlets，itwastohim，poorchild!likeasuddenentranceintosomethingnewandstrange，whosesplendourterrifiedhim。
Emma，nodoubt，didnotnoticehissilentattentionsorhistimidity。Shehadnosuspicionthatthelovevanishedfromherlifewasthere，palpitatingbyherside，beneaththatcoarsehollandshirt，inthatyouthfulheartopentotheemanationsofherbeauty。Besides，shenowenvelopedallthingswithsuchindifference，shehadwordssoaffectionatewithlookssohaughty，suchcontradictoryways，thatonecouldnolongerdistinguishegotismfromcharity，orcorruptionfromvirtue。Oneevening，forexample，shewasangrywiththeservant，whohadaskedtogoout，andstammeredasshetriedtofindsomepretext。
Thensuddenly——
“Soyoulovehim？“shesaid。
AndwithoutwaitingforanyanswerfromFelicite，whowasblushing，sheadded，“There!runalong；enjoyyourself!“
Inthebeginningofspringshehadthegardenturnedupfromendtoend，despiteBovary’sremonstrances。However，hewasgladtoseeheratlastmanifestawishofanykind。Asshegrewstrongershedisplayedmorewilfulness。First，shefoundoccasiontoexpelMereRollet，thenurse，whoduringherconvalescencehadcontractedthehabitofcomingtoooftentothekitchenwithhertwonurslingsandherboarder，betteroffforteeththanacannibal。ThenshegotridoftheHomaisfamily，successivelydismissedalltheothervisitors，andevenfrequentedchurchlessassiduously，tothegreatapprovalofthedruggist，whosaidtoherinafriendlyway——
“Youweregoinginabitforthecassock!“
Asformerly，MonsieurBournisiendroppedineverydaywhenhecameoutaftercatechismclass。Hepreferredstayingoutofdoorstotakingtheair“inthegrove，“ashecalledthearbour。ThiswasthetimewhenCharlescamehome。Theywerehot；somesweetciderwasbroughtout，andtheydranktogethertomadame’scompleterestoration。