ShehurriedofftotellMadameCaron，andthetwoladieswentuptotheattic，and，hiddenbysomelinenspreadacrossprops，stationedthemselvescomfortablyforoverlookingthewholeofBinet’sroom。
Hewasaloneinhisgarret，busyimitatinginwoodoneofthoseindescribablebitsofivory，composedofcrescents，ofsphereshollowedoutonewithintheother，thewholeasstraightasanobelisk，andofnousewhatever；andhewasbeginningonthelastpiece——hewasnearinghisgoal。Inthetwilightoftheworkshopthewhitedustwasflyingfromhistoolslikeashowerofsparksunderthehoofsofagallopinghorse；thetwowheelswereturning，droning；Binetsmiled，hischinlowered，hisnostrilsdistended，and，inaword，seemedlostinoneofthosecompletehappinessesthat，nodoubt，belongonlytocommonplaceoccupations，whichamusethemindwithfaciledifficulties，andsatisfybyarealisationofthatbeyondwhichsuchmindshavenotadream。
“Ah!theresheis!“exclaimedMadameTuvache。
Butitwasimpossiblebecauseofthelathetohearwhatshewassaying。
Atlasttheseladiesthoughttheymadeouttheword“francs，“andMadameTuvachewhisperedinalowvoice——
“Sheisbegginghimtogivehertimeforpayinghertaxes。“
“Apparently!“repliedtheother。
Theysawherwalkingupanddown，examiningthenapkin-rings，thecandlesticks，thebanisterrailsagainstthewalls，whileBinetstrokedhisbeardwithsatisfaction。
“Doyouthinkshewantstoordersomethingofhim？“saidMadameTuvache。
“Why，hedoesn’tsellanything，“objectedherneighbour。
Thetax-collectorseemedtobelisteningwithwide-openeyes，asifhedidnotunderstand。Shewentoninatender，suppliantmanner。Shecamenearertohim，herbreastheaving；theynolongerspoke。
“Isshemakinghimadvances？“saidMadameTuvache。Binetwasscarlettohisveryears。Shetookholdofhishands。
“Oh，it’stoomuch!“
Andnodoubtshewassuggestingsomethingabominabletohim；forthetax-collector——yethewasbrave，hadfoughtatBautzenandatLutzen，hadbeenthroughtheFrenchcampaign，andhadevenbeenrecommendedforthecross——suddenly，asatthesightofaserpent，recoiledasfarashecouldfromher，crying——
“Madame!whatdoyoumean？“
“Womenlikethatoughttobewhipped，“saidMadameTuvache。
“Butwhereisshe？“continuedMadameCaron，forshehaddisappearedwhilsttheyspoke；thencatchingsightofhergoinguptheGrandeRue，andturningtotherightasifmakingforthecemetery，theywerelostinconjectures。
“NurseRollet，“shesaidonreachingthenurse’s，“Iamchoking；
unlaceme!“Shefellonthebedsobbing。NurseRolletcoveredherwithapetticoatandremainedstandingbyherside。Then，asshedidnotanswer，thegoodwomanwithdrew，tookherwheelandbeganspinningflax。
“Oh，leaveoff!“shemurmured，fancyingsheheardBinet’slathe。
“What’sbotheringher？“saidthenursetoherself。“Whyhasshecomehere？“
Shehadrushedthither；impelledbyakindofhorrorthatdroveherfromherhome。
Lyingonherback，motionless，andwithstaringeyes，shesawthingsbutvaguely，althoughshetriedtowithidioticpersistence。Shelookedatthescalesonthewalls，twobrandssmokingendtoend，andalongspidercrawlingoverherheadinarentinthebeam。Atlastshebegantocollectherthoughts。Sheremembered——oneday——Leon——Oh!howlongagothatwas——thesunwasshiningontheriver，andtheclematiswereperfumingtheair。
Then，carriedawayasbyarushingtorrent，shesoonbegantorecallthedaybefore。
“Whattimeisit？“sheasked。
MereRolletwentout，raisedthefingersofherrighthandtothatsideoftheskythatwasbrightest，andcamebackslowly，saying——
“Nearlythree。“
“Ahlthanks，thanks!“
Forhewouldcome；hewouldhavefoundsomemoney。Buthewould，perhaps，godownyonder，notguessingshewashere，andshetoldthenursetoruntoherhousetofetchhim。
“Bequick!“
“But，mydearlady，I’mgoing，I’mgoing!“
Shewonderednowthatshehadnotthoughtofhimfromthefirst。
Yesterdayhehadgivenhisword；hewouldnotbreakit。AndshealreadysawherselfatLheureux’sspreadingoutherthreebank-notesonhisbureau。ThenshewouldhavetoinventsomestorytoexplainmatterstoBovary。Whatshoulditbe？
Thenurse，however，wasalongwhilegone。But，astherewasnoclockinthecot，Emmafearedshewasperhapsexaggeratingthelengthoftime。Shebeganwalkingroundthegarden，stepbystep；
shewentintothepathbythehedge，andreturnedquickly，hopingthatthewomanwouldhavecomebackbyanotherroad。Atlast，wearyofwaiting，assailedbyfearsthatshethrustfromher，nolongerconsciouswhethershehadbeenhereacenturyoramoment，shesatdowninacorner，closedhereyes，andstoppedherears。
Thegategrated；shesprangup。BeforeshehadspokenMereRolletsaidtoher——
“Thereisnooneatyourhouse!“
“What？“
“Oh，noone!Andthedoctoriscrying。Heiscallingforyou；
they’relookingforyou。“
Emmaanswerednothing。Shegaspedassheturnedhereyesabouther，whilethepeasantwoman，frightenedatherface，drewbackinstinctively，thinkinghermad。Suddenlyshestruckherbrowandutteredacry；forthethoughtofRodolphe，likeaflashoflightninginadarknight，hadpassedintohersoul。Hewassogood，sodelicate，sogenerous!Andbesides，shouldhehesitatetodoherthisservice，shewouldknowwellenoughhowtoconstrainhimtoitbyre-waking，inasinglemoment，theirlostlove。SoshesetouttowardsLaHuchette，notseeingthatshewashasteningtoofferherselftothatwhichbutawhileagohadsoangeredher，notintheleastconsciousofherprostitution。
ChapterEightSheaskedherselfasshewalkedalong，“WhatamIgoingtosay？
HowshallIbegin？“Andasshewentonsherecognisedthethickets，thetrees，thesea-rushesonthehill，thechateauyonder。Allthesensationsofherfirsttendernesscamebacktoher，andherpoorachingheartopenedoutamorously。Awarmwindblewinherface；themeltingsnowfelldropbydropfromthebudstothegrass。
Sheentered，assheusedto，throughthesmallpark-gate。Shereachedtheavenueborderedbyadoublerowofdenselime-trees。
Theywereswayingtheirlongwhisperingbranchestoandfro。Thedogsintheirkennelsallbarked，andthenoiseoftheirvoicesresounded，butbroughtoutnoone。
Shewentupthelargestraightstaircasewithwoodenbalustersthatledtothecorridorpavedwithdustyflags，intowhichseveraldoorsinarowopened，asinamonasteryoraninn。Hiswasatthetop，rightattheend，ontheleft。Whensheplacedherfingersonthelockherstrengthsuddenlydesertedher。Shewasafraid，almostwishedhewouldnotbethere，thoughthiswasheronlyhope，herlastchanceofsalvation。Shecollectedherthoughtsforonemoment，and，strengtheningherselfbythefeelingofpresentnecessity，wentin。
Hewasinfrontofthefire，bothhisfeetonthemantelpiece，smokingapipe。
“What!itisyou!“hesaid，gettinguphurriedly。
“Yes，itisI，Rodolphe。Ishouldliketoaskyouradvice。“
And，despiteallherefforts，itwasimpossibleforhertoopenherlips。
“Youhavenotchanged；youarecharmingasever!“
“Oh，“sherepliedbitterly，“theyarepoorcharmssinceyoudisdainedthem。“
Thenhebeganalongexplanationofhisconduct，excusinghimselfinvagueterms，indefaultofbeingabletoinventbetter。
Sheyieldedtohiswords，stillmoretohisvoiceandthesightofhim，sothat，shepretendedtobelieve，orperhapsbelieved；
inthepretexthegavefortheirrupture；thiswasasecretonwhichdependedthehonour，theverylifeofathirdperson。
“Nomatter!“shesaid，lookingathimsadly。“Ihavesufferedmuch。“
Herepliedphilosophically——
“Suchislife!“
“Haslife，“Emmawenton，“beengoodtoyouatleast，sinceourseparation？“
“Oh，neithergoodnorbad。“
“Perhapsitwouldhavebeenbetternevertohaveparted。“
“Yes，perhaps。“