Page 207 - madame-bovary

head, blushing. He went on—
‘Emma!’
‘Sir,’ she said, drawing back a little.
‘Ah! you see,’ replied he in a melancholy voice, ‘that I was
right not to come back; for this name, this name that fills
my whole soul, and that escaped me, you forbid me to use!
Madame Bovary! why all the world calls you thus! Besides,
it is not your name; it is the name of another!’
He repeated, ‘of another!’ And he hid his face in his
hands.
‘Yes, I think of you constantly. The memory of you drives
me to despair. Ah! forgive me! I will leave you! Farewell! I
will go far away, so far that you will never hear of me again;
and yet— to-day—I know not what force impelled me to-
wards you. For one does not struggle against Heaven; one
cannot resist the smile of angels; one is carried away by that
which is beautiful, charming, adorable.’
It was the first time that Emma had heard such words
spoken to herself, and her pride, like one who reposes
bathed in warmth, expanded softly and fully at this glow-
ing language.
‘But if I did not come,’ he continued, ‘if I could not see
you, at least I have gazed long on all that surrounds you.
At night-every night-I arose; I came hither; I watched your
house, its glimmering in the moon, the trees in the garden
swaying before your window, and the little lamp, a gleam
shining through the window-panes in the darkness. Ah!
you never knew that there, so near you, so far from you, was
a poor wretch!’

0 Madame Bovary