Госпожа Бовари

Chapter 11

           Raysoflightwerestrayingthroughthetrellis,thevineleavesthrewtheirshadowsonthesand,thejasminesperfumedtheair,theheavenswereblue,Spanishfliesbuzzedroundtheliliesinbloom,andCharleswassuffocatinglikeayouthbeneaththevagueloveinfluencesthatfilledhisachingheart.

           Atseveno’clocklittleBerthe,whohadnotseenhimalltheafternoon,wenttofetchhimtodinner.

           Hisheadwasthrownbackagainstthewall,hiseyesclosed,hismouthopen,andinhishandwasalongtressofblackhair.

           "Comealong,papa,"shesaid.

           Andthinkinghewantedtoplay;shepushedhimgently.Hefelltotheground.Hewasdead.

           Thirty-sixhoursafter,atthedruggist’srequest,MonsieurCanivetcamethither.Hemadeapost-mortemandfoundnothing.

           Wheneverythinghadbeensold,twelvefrancsseventy-fivecentimesremained,thatservedtopayforMademoiselleBovary’sgoingtohergrandmother.Thegoodwomandiedthesameyear;oldRouaultwasparalysed,anditwasanauntwhotookchargeofher.Sheispoor,andsendshertoacotton-factorytoearnaliving.

           SinceBovary’sdeaththreedoctorshavefollowedoneanotheratYonvillewithoutanysuccess,soseverelydidHomaisattackthem.Hehasanenormouspractice;theauthoritiestreathimwithconsideration,andpublicopinionprotectshim.

           HehasjustreceivedthecrossoftheLegionofHonour.

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