Little by little the memory of this reprimand grew fainter, and

he continued, as heretofore, to give anodyne consultations in his

back-parlour. But the mayor resented it, his colleagues were jealous,

everything was to be feared; gaining over Monsieur Bovary by his

attentions was to earn his gratitude, and prevent his speaking out later

on, should he notice anything. So every morning Homais brought him "the

paper," and often in the afternoon left his shop for a few moments to

have a chat with the Doctor.

Charles was dull: patients did not come. He remained seated for hours

without speaking, went into his consulting room to sleep, or watched

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his wife sewing. Then for diversion he employed himself at home as a

workman; he even tried to do up the attic with some paint which had been

left behind by the painters. But money matters worried him. He had

spent so much for repairs at Tostes, for madame's toilette, and for the

moving, that the whole dowry, over three thousand crowns, had slipped

away in two years.

Then how many things had been spoilt or lost during their carriage from

Tostes to Yonville, without counting the plaster cure, who falling out

of the coach at an over-severe jolt, had been dashed into a thousand

fragments on the pavements of Quincampoix! A pleasanter trouble came

to distract him, namely, the pregnancy of his wife. As the time of her

confinement approached he cherished her the more. It was another bond of

the flesh establishing itself, and, as it were, a continued sentiment

of a more complex union. When from afar he saw her languid walk, and

her figure without stays turning softly on her hips; when opposite one

another he looked at her at his ease, while she took tired poses in her

armchair, then his happiness knew no bounds; he got up, embraced her,

passed his hands over her face, called her little mamma, wanted to

make her dance, and half-laughing, half-crying, uttered all kinds of

caressing pleasantries that came into his head. The idea of having

begotten a child delighted him. Now he wanted nothing. He knew human

life from end to end, and he sat down to it with serenity.

Emma at first felt a great astonishment; then was anxious to be

delivered that she might know what it was to be a mother. But not

being able to spend as much as she would have liked, to have a

swing-bassinette with rose silk curtains, and embroidered caps, in a fit

of bitterness she gave up looking after the trousseau, and ordered the

whole of it from a village needlewoman, without choosing or discussing

anything. Thus she did not amuse herself with those preparations that

stimulate the tenderness of mothers, and so her affection was from the

very outset, perhaps, to some extent attenuated.




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