“Truly，“hesaidwithagroan，“itadornedthetombofRichardCoeurdeLion，KingofEnglandandDukeofNormandy。ItwastheCalvinists，sir，whoreducedittothiscondition。Theyhadburieditforspiteintheearth，undertheepiscopalseatofMonsignor。See!thisisthedoorbywhichMonsignorpassestohishouse。Letuspassonquicklytoseethegargoylewindows。“
ButLeonhastilytooksomesilverfromhispocketandseizedEmma’sarm。Thebeadlestooddumfounded，notabletounderstandthisuntimelymunificencewhentherewerestillsomanythingsforthestrangertosee。Socallinghimback，hecried——
“Sir!sir!Thesteeple!thesteeple!“
“No，thankyou!“saidLeon。
“Youarewrong，sir!Itisfourhundredandfortyfeethigh，ninelessthanthegreatpyramidofEgypt。Itisallcast；it——“
Leonwasfleeing，foritseemedtohimthathislove，thatfornearlytwohoursnowhadbecomepetrifiedinthechurchlikethestones，wouldvanishlikeavapourthroughthatsortoftruncatedfunnel，ofoblongcage，ofopenchimneythatrisessogrotesquelyfromthecathedralliketheextravagantattemptofsomefantasticbrazier。
“Butwherearewegoing？“shesaid。
Makingnoanswer，hewalkedonwitharapidstep；andMadameBovarywasalready，dippingherfingerintheholywaterwhenbehindthemtheyheardapantingbreathinterruptedbytheregularsoundofacane。Leonturnedback。
“Sir!“
“Whatisit？“
Andherecognisedthebeadle，holdingunderhisarmsandbalancingagainsthisstomachsometwentylargesewnvolumes。
Theywereworks“whichtreatedofthecathedral。“
“Idiot!“growledLeon，rushingoutofthechurch。
Aladwasplayingabouttheclose。
“Goandgetmeacab!“
ThechildboundedofflikeaballbytheRueQuatre-Vents；thentheywerealoneafewminutes，facetoface，andalittleembarrassed。
“Ah!Leon!Really——Idon’tknow——ifIought，“shewhispered。Thenwithamoreseriousair，“Doyouknow，itisveryimproper——“
“Howso？“repliedtheclerk。“ItisdoneatParis。“
Andthat，asanirresistibleargument，decidedher。
Stillthecabdidnotcome。Leonwasafraidshemightgobackintothechurch。Atlastthecabappeared。
“Atallevents，gooutbythenorthporch，“criedthebeadle，whowasleftaloneonthethreshold，“soastoseetheResurrection，theLastJudgment，Paradise，KingDavid，andtheCondemnedinHell-flames。“
“Whereto，sir？“askedthecoachman。
“Whereyoulike，“saidLeon，forcingEmmaintothecab。
Andthelumberingmachinesetout。ItwentdowntheRueGrand-Pont，crossedthePlacedesArts，theQuaiNapoleon，thePontNeuf，andstoppedshortbeforethestatueofPierreCorneille。
“Goon，“criedavoicethatcamefromwithin。
Thecabwentonagain，andassoonasitreachedtheCarrefourLafayette，setoffdown-hill，andenteredthestationatagallop。
“No，straighton!“criedthesamevoice。
Thecabcameoutbythegate，andsoonhavingreachedtheCours，trottedquietlybeneaththeelm-trees。Thecoachmanwipedhisbrow，puthisleatherhatbetweenhisknees，anddrovehiscarriagebeyondthesidealleybythemeadowtothemarginofthewaters。
Itwentalongbytheriver，alongthetowing-pathpavedwithsharppebbles，andforalongwhileinthedirectionofOyssel，beyondtheisles。
ButsuddenlyitturnedwithadashacrossQuatremares，Sotteville，LaGrande-Chaussee，theRued’Elbeuf，andmadeitsthirdhaltinfrontoftheJardindesPlantes。
“Geton，willyou？“criedthevoicemorefuriously。
Andatonceresumingitscourse，itpassedbySaint-Sever，bytheQuai’desCurandiers，theQuaiauxMeules，oncemoreoverthebridge，bythePlaceduChampdeMars，andbehindthehospitalgardens，whereoldmeninblackcoatswerewalkinginthesunalongtheterraceallgreenwithivy。ItwentuptheBoulevardBouvreuil，alongtheBoulevardCauchoise，thenthewholeofMont-RiboudettotheDevillehills。
Itcameback；andthen，withoutanyfixedplanordirection，wanderedaboutathazard。ThecabwasseenatSaint-Pol，atLescure，atMontGargan，atLaRougue-MarcandPlaceduGaillardbois；intheRueMaladrerie，RueDinanderie，beforeSaint-Romain，Saint-Vivien，Saint-Maclou，Saint-Nicaise——infrontoftheCustoms，atthe“VieilleTour，“the“TroisPipes，“andtheMonumentalCemetery。Fromtimetotimethecoachman，onhisboxcastdespairingeyesatthepublic-houses。Hecouldnotunderstandwhatfuriousdesireforlocomotionurgedtheseindividualsnevertowishtostop。Hetriedtonowandthen，andatonceexclamationsofangerburstforthbehindhim。Thenhelashedhisperspiringjadesafresh，butindifferenttotheirjolting，runningupagainstthingshereandthere，notcaringifhedid，demoralised，andalmostweepingwiththirst，fatigue，anddepression。
Andontheharbour，inthemidstofthedraysandcasks，andinthestreets，atthecorners，thegoodfolkopenedlargewonder-strickeneyesatthissight，soextraordinaryintheprovinces，acabwithblindsdrawn，andwhichappearedthusconstantlyshutmorecloselythanatomb，andtossingaboutlikeavessel。
Onceinthemiddleoftheday，intheopencountry，justasthesunbeatmostfiercelyagainsttheoldplatedlanterns，abaredhandpassedbeneaththesmallblindsofyellowcanvas，andthrewoutsomescrapsofpaperthatscatteredinthewind，andfartherofflightedlikewhitebutterfliesonafieldofredcloverallinbloom。
Ataboutsixo’clockthecarriagestoppedinabackstreetoftheBeauvoisineQuarter，andawomangotout，whowalkedwithherveildown，andwithoutturningherhead。
ChapterTwoOnreachingtheinn，MadameBovarywassurprisednottoseethediligence。Hivert，whohadwaitedforherfifty-threeminutes，hadatlaststarted。
Yetnothingforcedhertogo；butshehadgivenherwordthatshewouldreturnthatsameevening。Moreover，Charlesexpectedher，andinherheartshefeltalreadythatcowardlydocilitythatisforsomewomenatoncethechastisementandatonementofadultery。
Shepackedherboxquickly，paidherbill，tookacabintheyard，hurryingonthedriver，urginghimon，everymomentinquiringaboutthetimeandthemilestraversed。Hesucceededincatchingupthe“Hirondelle“asitnearedthefirsthousesofQuincampoix。
Hardlywassheseatedinhercornerthansheclosedhereyes，andopenedthematthefootofthehill，whenfromafarsherecognisedFelicite，whowasonthelookoutinfrontofthefarrier’sshop。Hivertpulledinhishorsesand，theservant，climbinguptothewindow，saidmysteriously——
“Madame，youmustgoatoncetoMonsieurHomais。It’sforsomethingimportant。“
Thevillagewassilentasusual。Atthecornerofthestreetsweresmallpinkheapsthatsmokedintheair，forthiswasthetimeforjam-making，andeveryoneatYonvillepreparedhissupplyonthesameday。Butinfrontofthechemist’sshoponemightadmireafarlargerheap，andthatsurpassedtheotherswiththesuperioritythatalaboratorymusthaveoverordinarystores，ageneralneedoverindividualfancy。
Shewentin。Thelargearm-chairwasupset，andeventhe“FanaldeRouen“layontheground，outspreadbetweentwopestles。Shepushedopenthelobbydoor，andinthemiddleofthekitchen，amidbrownjarsfullofpickedcurrants，ofpowderedsugarandlumpsugar，ofthescalesonthetable，andofthepansonthefire，shesawalltheHomais，smallandlarge，withapronsreachingtotheirchins，andwithforksintheirhands。Justinwasstandingupwithbowedhead，andthechemistwasscreaming——
“WhotoldyoutogoandfetchitintheCapharnaum。“
“Whatisit？Whatisthematter？“
“Whatisit？“repliedthedruggist。“Wearemakingpreserves；
theyaresimmering；buttheywereabouttoboilover，becausethereistoomuchjuice，andIorderedanotherpan。Thenhe，fromindolence，fromlaziness，wentandtook，hangingonitsnailinmylaboratory，thekeyoftheCapharnaum。“
Itwasthusthedruggistcalledasmallroomundertheleads，fulloftheutensilsandthegoodsofhistrade。Heoftenspentlonghourstherealone，labelling，decanting，anddoingupagain；
andhelookeduponitnotasasimplestore，butasaveritablesanctuary，whencethereafterwardsissued，elaboratedbyhishands，allsortsofpills，boluses，infusions，lotions，andpotions，thatwouldbearfarandwidehiscelebrity。Nooneintheworldsetfootthere，andherespecteditso，thathesweptithimself。Finally，ifthepharmacy，opentoallcomers，wasthespotwherehedisplayedhispride，theCapharnaumwastherefugewhere，egoisticallyconcentratinghimself，Homaisdelightedintheexerciseofhispredilections，sothatJustin’sthoughtlessnessseemedtohimamonstrouspieceofirreverence，and，redderthanthecurrants，herepeated——
“Yes，fromtheCapharnaum!Thekeythatlocksuptheacidsandcausticalkalies!Togoandgetasparepan!apanwithalid!