There was a sound of steps on the pavement. Charles looked up, and

through the lowered blinds he saw at the corner of the market in

the broad sunshine Dr. Canivet, who was wiping his brow with his

handkerchief. Homais, behind him, was carrying a large red box in his

hand, and both were going towards the chemist's.

Then with a feeling of sudden tenderness and discouragement Charles

turned to his wife saying to her-"Oh, kiss me, my own!"

"Leave me!" she said, red with anger.

"What is the matter?" he asked, stupefied. "Be calm; compose yourself.

You know well enough that I love you. Come!"

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"Enough!" she cried with a terrible look.

And escaping from the room, Emma closed the door so violently that the

barometer fell from the wall and smashed on the floor.

Charles sank back into his arm-chair overwhelmed, trying to discover

what could be wrong with her, fancying some nervous illness, weeping,

and vaguely feeling something fatal and incomprehensible whirling round

him.

When Rodolphe came to the garden that evening, he found his mistress

waiting for him at the foot of the steps on the lowest stair. They threw

their arms round one another, and all their rancour melted like snow

beneath the warmth of that kiss.




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