Page 308 - madame-bovary

made little movements inside the satin of them with her
toes.
At last she sighed.
‘But the most wretched thing, is it not—is to drag out, as
I do, a useless existence. If our pains were only of some use
to someone, we should find consolation in the thought of
the sacrifice.’
He started off in praise of virtue, duty, and silent immola-
tion, having himself an incredible longing for self-sacrifice
that he could not satisfy.
‘I should much like,’ she said, ‘to be a nurse at a hospital.’
‘Alas! men have none of these holy missions, and I see no-
where any calling—unless perhaps that of a doctor.’
With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Emma interrupt-
ed him to speak of her illness, which had almost killed her.
What a pity! She should not be suffering now! Leon at once
envied the calm of the tomb, and one evening he had even
made his will, asking to be buried in that beautiful rug
with velvet stripes he had received from her. For this was
how they would have wished to be, each setting up an ide-
al to which they were now adapting their past life. Besides,
speech is a rolling-mill that always thins out the sentiment.
But at this invention of the rug she asked, ‘But why?’
‘Why?’ He hesitated. ‘Because I loved you so!’ And con-
gratulating himself at having surmounted the difficulty,
Leon watched her face out of the corner of his eyes.
It was like the sky when a gust of wind drives the clouds
across. The mass of sad thoughts that darkened them
seemed to be lifted from her blue eyes; her whole face shone.

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