andhewould，butforhiswife’sobjections，havetakenhistwosonswithhim，inordertoaccustomthemtogreatoccasions；thatthismightbealesson，anexample，asolemnpicture，thatshouldremainintheirheadslateron。
Theroomwhentheywentinwasfullofmournfulsolemnity。Onthework-table，coveredoverwithawhitecloth，therewerefiveorsixsmallballsofcottoninasilverdish，nearalargecrucifixbetweentwolightedcandles。
Emma，herchinsunkenuponherbreast，hadhereyesinordinatelywideopen，andherpoorhandswanderedoverthesheetswiththathideousandsoftmovementofthedying，thatseemsasiftheywantedalreadytocoverthemselveswiththeshroud。Paleasastatueandwitheyesredasfire，Charles，notweeping，stoodoppositeheratthefootofthebed，whilethepriest，bendingoneknee，wasmutteringwordsinalowvoice。
Sheturnedherfaceslowly，andseemedfilledwithjoyonseeingsuddenlythevioletstole，nodoubtfindingagain，inthemidstofatemporarylullinherpain，thelostvoluptuousnessofherfirstmysticaltransports，withthevisionsofeternalbeatitudethatwerebeginning。
Thepriestrosetotakethecrucifix；thenshestretchedforwardherneckasonewhoisathirst，andglueingherlipstothebodyoftheMan-God，shepresseduponitwithallherexpiringstrengththefullestkissoflovethatshehadevergiven。ThenherecitedtheMisereaturandtheIndulgentiam，dippedhisrightthumbintheoil，andbegantogiveextremeunction。Firstupontheeyes，thathadsocovetedallworldlypomp；thenuponthenostrils，thathadbeengreedyofthewarmbreezeandamorousodours；thenuponthemouth，thathadutteredlies，thathadcurledwithprideandcriedoutinlewdness；thenuponthehandsthathaddelightedinsensualtouches；andfinallyuponthesolesofthefeet，soswiftofyore，whenshewasrunningtosatisfyherdesires，andthatwouldnowwalknomore。
Thecurewipedhisfingers，threwthebitofcottondippedinoilintothefire，andcameandsatdownbythedyingwoman，totellherthatshemustnowblendhersufferingswiththoseofJesusChristandabandonherselftothedivinemercy。
Finishinghisexhortations，hetriedtoplaceinherhandablessedcandle，symbolofthecelestialglorywithwhichshewassoontobesurrounded。Emma，tooweak，couldnotcloseherfingers，andthetaper，butforMonsieurBournisienwouldhavefallentotheground。
However，shewasnotquitesopale，andherfacehadanexpressionofserenityasifthesacramenthadcuredher。
Thepriestdidnotfailtopointthisout；heevenexplainedtoBovarythattheLordsometimesprolongedthelifeofpersonswhenhethoughtitmeetfortheirsalvation；andCharlesrememberedthedaywhen，soneardeath，shehadreceivedthecommunion。
Perhapstherewasnoneedtodespair，hethought。
Infact，shelookedaroundherslowly，asoneawakeningfromadream；theninadistinctvoicesheaskedforherlooking-glass，andremainedsometimebendingoverit，untilthebigtearsfellfromhereyes。Thensheturnedawayherheadwithasighandfellbackuponthepillows。
Herchestsoonbeganpantingrapidly；thewholeofhertongueprotrudedfromhermouth；hereyes，astheyrolled，grewpaler，likethetwoglobesofalampthatisgoingout，sothatonemighthavethoughtheralreadydeadbutforthefearfullabouringofherribs，shakenbyviolentbreathing，asifthesoulwerestrugglingtofreeitself。Felicitekneltdownbeforethecrucifix，andthedruggisthimselfslightlybenthisknees，whileMonsieurCanivetlookedoutvaguelyatthePlace。Bournisienhadagainbeguntopray，hisfacebowedagainsttheedgeofthebed，hislongblackcassocktrailingbehindhimintheroom。Charleswasontheotherside，onhisknees，hisarmsoutstretchedtowardsEmma。Hehadtakenherhandsandpressedthem，shudderingateverybeatofherheart，asattheshakingofafallingruin。
Asthedeath-rattlebecamestrongerthepriestprayedfaster；hisprayersmingledwiththestifledsobsofBovary，andsometimesallseemedlostinthemuffledmurmuroftheLatinsyllablesthattolledlikeapassingbell。
Suddenlyonthepavementwasheardaloudnoiseofclogsandtheclatteringofastick；andavoicerose——araucousvoice——thatsang——
“MaidsanthewarmthofasummerdayDreamofloveandoflovealways“
Emmaraisedherselflikeagalvanisedcorpse，herhairundone，hereyesfixed，staring。
“Wherethesicklebladeshavebeen，Nannette，gatheringearsofcorn，Passesbendingdown，myqueen，Totheearthwheretheywereborn。“
“Theblindman!“shecried。AndEmmabegantolaugh，anatrocious，frantic，despairinglaugh，thinkingshesawthehideousfaceofthepoorwretchthatstoodoutagainsttheeternalnightlikeamenace。
“Thewindisstrongthissummerday，Herpetticoathasflownaway。“
Shefellbackuponthemattressinaconvulsion。Theyalldrewnear。Shewasdead。
ChapterNineThereisalwaysafterthedeathofanyoneakindofstupefaction；
sodifficultisittograspthisadventofnothingnessandtoresignourselvestobelieveinit。Butstill，whenhesawthatshedidnotmove，Charlesthrewhimselfuponher，crying——
“Farewell!farewell!“
HomaisandCanivetdraggedhimfromtheroom。
“Restrainyourself“
“Yes。“saidhe，struggling，“I’llbequiet。I’llnotdoanything。
Butleavemealone。Iwanttoseeher。Sheismywife!“
Andhewept。
“Cry，“saidthechemist；“letnaturetakehercourse；thatwillsolaceyou。“
Weakerthanachild，Charleslethimselfbeleddownstairsintothesitting-room，andMonsieurHomaissoonwenthome。OnthePlacehewasaccostedbytheblindman，who，havingdraggedhimselfasfarasYonville，inthehopeofgettingtheantiphlogisticpomade，wasaskingeverypasser-bywherethedruggistlived。
“Therenow!asifIhadn’tgototherfishtofry。Well，somuchtheworse；youmustcomelateron。“
Andheenteredtheshophurriedly。
Hehadtowritetwoletters，toprepareasoothingpotionforBovary，toinventsomeliethatwouldconcealthepoisoning，andworkitupintoanarticleforthe“Fanal，“withoutcountingthepeoplewhowerewaitingtogetthenewsfromhim；andwhentheYonvillershadallheardhisstoryofthearsenicthatshehadmistakenforsugarinmakingavanillacream。HomaisoncemorereturnedtoBovary’s。
HefoundhimaloneMonsieurCanivethadleft，sittinginanarm-chairnearthewindow，staringwithanidioticlookattheflagsofthefloor。
“Now，“saidthechemist，“yououghtyourselftofixthehourfortheceremony。“
“Why？Whatceremony？“Then，inastammering，frightenedvoice，“Oh，no!notthat。No!Iwanttoseeherhere。“
Homais，tokeephimselfincountenance，tookupawater-bottleonthewhatnottowaterthegeraniums。
“Ah!thanks，“saidCharles；“youaregood。“
Buthedidnotfinish，chokingbeneaththecrowdofmemoriesthatthisactionofthedruggistrecalledtohim。
Thentodistracthim，Homaisthoughtfittotalkalittlehorticulture：plantswantedhumidity。Charlesbowedhisheadinsignofapprobation。
“Besides，thefinedayswillsoonbehereagain。“
“Ah!“saidBovary。
Thedruggist，athiswit’send，begansoftlytodrawasidethesmallwindow-curtain。
“Hallo!there’sMonsieurTuvachepassing。“
Charlesrepeatedlikeamachine——
“MonsieurTuvachepassing!“
Homaisdidnotdaretospeaktohimagainaboutthefuneralarrangements；itwasthepriestwhosucceededinreconcilinghimtothem。
Heshuthimselfupinhisconsulting-room，tookapen，andaftersobbingforsometime，wrote——
“Iwishhertobeburiedinherwedding-dress，withwhiteshoes，andawreath。Herhairistobespreadoutoverhershoulders。
Threecoffins，oneofoak，oneofmahogany，oneoflead。Letnoonesayanythingtome。Ishallhavestrength。Overallthereistobeplacedalargepieceofgreenvelvet。Thisismywish；seethatitisdone。“
ThetwomenweremuchsurprisedatBovary’sromanticideas。Thechemistatoncewenttohimandsaid——
“Thisvelvetseemstomeasuperfetation。Besides，theexpense——“
“What’sthattoyou？“criedCharles。“Leaveme!Youdidnotloveher。Go!“
Thepriesttookhimbythearmforaturninthegarden。Hediscoursedonthevanityofearthlythings。Godwasverygreat，wasverygood：onemustsubmittohisdecreeswithoutamurmur；
nay，musteventhankhim。
Charlesburstoutintoblasphemies：“IhateyourGod!“
“Thespiritofrebellionisstilluponyou，“sighedtheecclesiastic。