Page 272 - madame-bovary

of applying herself to this work, counting the threads in the
linen. Suddenly the remembrance of the letter returned to
her. How had she lost it? Where could she find it? But she
felt such weariness of spirit that she could not even invent a
pretext for leaving the table. Then she became a coward; she
was afraid of Charles; he knew all, that was certain! Indeed
he pronounced these words in a strange manner:
‘We are not likely to see Monsieur Rodolphe soon again,
it seems.’
‘Who told you?’ she said, shuddering.
‘Who told me!’ he replied, rather astonished at her abrupt
tone. ‘Why, Girard, whom I met just now at the door of the
Cafe Francais. He has gone on a journey, or is to go.’
She gave a sob.
‘What surprises you in that? He absents himself like that
from time to time for a change, and, ma foi, I think he’s
right, when one has a fortune and is a bachelor. Besides, he
has jolly times, has our friend. He’s a bit of a rake. Monsieur
Langlois told me—‘
He stopped for propriety’s sake because the servant came
in. She put back into the basket the apricots scattered on the
sideboard. Charles, without noticing his wife’s colour, had
them brought to him, took one, and bit into it.
‘Ah! perfect!’ said he; ‘just taste!’
And he handed her the basket, which she put away from
her gently.
‘Do just smell! What an odour!’ he remarked, passing it
under her nose several times.
‘I am choking,’ she cried, leaping up. But by an effort of

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