第64章

Bovarywasfaraway。Hewaswalkingwithgreatstridesalongbythewall，neartheespalier，andhegroundhisteeth；heraisedtoheavenlooksofmalediction，butnotsomuchasaleafstirred。

Afinerainwasfalling：Charles，whosechestwasbare，atlastbegantoshiver；hewentinandsatdowninthekitchen。

Atsixo’clockanoiselikeaclatterofoldironwasheardonthePlace；itwasthe“Hirondelle“comingin，andheremainedwithhisforeheadagainstthewindowpane，watchingallthepassengersgetout，oneaftertheother。Feliciteputdownamattressforhiminthedrawing-room。Hethrewhimselfuponitandfellasleep。

Althoughaphilosopher，MonsieurHomaisrespectedthedead。SobearingnogrudgetopoorCharles，hecamebackagainintheeveningtositupwiththebody；bringingwithhimthreevolumesandapocket-bookfortakingnotes。

MonsieurBournisienwasthere，andtwolargecandleswereburningattheheadofthebed，thathadbeentakenoutofthealcove。

Thedruggist，onwhomthesilenceweighed，wasnotlongbeforehebeganformulatingsomeregretsaboutthis“unfortunateyoungwoman。“andthepriestrepliedthattherewasnothingtodonowbutprayforher。

“Yet，“Homaiswenton，“oneoftwothings；eithershediedinastateofgrace(astheChurchhasit)，andthenshehasnoneedofourprayers；orelseshedepartedimpertinent(thatis，I

believe，theecclesiasticalexpression)，andthen——“

Bournisieninterruptedhim，replyingtestilythatitwasnonethelessnecessarytopray。

“But，“objectedthechemist，“sinceGodknowsallourneeds，whatcanbethegoodofprayer？“

“What!“criedtheecclesiastic，“prayer!Why，aren’tyouaChristian？“

“Excuseme，“saidHomais；“IadmireChristianity。Tobeginwith，itenfranchisedtheslaves，introducedintotheworldamorality——“

“Thatisn’tthequestion。Allthetexts-“

“Oh!oh!Astotexts，lookathistory；it，isknownthatallthetextshavebeenfalsifiedbytheJesuits。“

Charlescamein，andadvancingtowardsthebed，slowlydrewthecurtains。

Emma’sheadwasturnedtowardsherrightshoulder，thecornerofhermouth，whichwasopen，seemedlikeablackholeatthelowerpartofherface；hertwothumbswerebentintothepalmsofherhands；akindofwhitedustbesprinkledherlashes，andhereyeswerebeginningtodisappearinthatviscouspallorthatlookslikeathinweb，asifspidershadspunitover。Thesheetsunkinfromherbreasttoherknees，andthenroseatthetipsofhertoes，anditseemedtoCharlesthatinfinitemasses，anenormousload，wereweighinguponher。

Thechurchclockstrucktwo。Theycouldheartheloudmurmuroftheriverflowinginthedarknessatthefootoftheterrace。

MonsieurBournisienfromtimetotimeblewhisnosenoisily，andHomais’penwasscratchingoverthepaper。

“Come，mygoodfriend，“hesaid，“