Page 346 - madame-bovary

against their hips, at intervals uttered sonorous cries at the
corners of streets. She walked with downcast eyes, close
to the walls, and smiling with pleasure under her lowered
black veil.
For fear of being seen, she did not usually take the most
direct road. She plunged into dark alleys, and, all perspiring,
reached the bottom of the Rue Nationale, near the fountain
that stands there. It, is the quarter for theatres, public-hous-
es, and whores. Often a cart would pass near her, bearing
some shaking scenery. Waiters in aprons were sprinkling
sand on the flagstones between green shrubs. It all smelt of
absinthe, cigars, and oysters.
She turned down a street; she recognised him by his
curling hair that escaped from beneath his hat.
Leon walked along the pavement. She followed him to
the hotel. He went up, opened the door, entered—What an
embrace!
Then, after the kisses, the words gushed forth. They told
each other the sorrows of the week, the presentiments, the
anxiety for the letters; but now everything was forgotten;
they gazed into each other’s faces with voluptuous laughs,
and tender names.
The bed was large, of mahogany, in the shape of a boat.
The curtains were in red levantine, that hung from the
ceiling and bulged out too much towards the bell-shaped
bedside; and nothing in the world was so lovely as her
brown head and white skin standing out against this purple
colour, when, with a movement of shame, she crossed her
bare arms, hiding her face in her hands.