Page 351 - madame-bovary

his wounds, and he fell back into the mud with a yell. Then
the, passengers in the ‘Hirondelle’ ended by falling asleep,
some with open mouths, others with lowered chins, leaning
against their neighbour’s shoulder, or with their arm passed
through the strap, oscillating regularly with the jolting of
the carriage; and the reflection of the lantern swinging
without, on the crupper of the wheeler; penetrating into the
interior through the chocolate calico curtains, threw san-
guineous shadows over all these motionless people. Emma,
drunk with grief, shivered in her clothes, feeling her feet
grow colder and colder, and death in her soul.
Charles at home was waiting for her; the ‘Hirondelle’
was always late on Thursdays. Madame arrived at last, and
scarcely kissed the child. The dinner was not ready. No mat-
ter! She excused the servant. This girl now seemed allowed
to do just as she liked.
Often her husband, noting her pallor, asked if she were
unwell.
‘No,’ said Emma.
‘But,’ he replied, ‘you seem so strange this evening.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing! nothing!’
There were even days when she had no sooner come in
than she went up to her room; and Justin, happening to be
there, moved about noiselessly, quicker at helping her than
the best of maids. He put the matches ready, the candle-
stick, a book, arranged her nightgown, turned back the
bedclothes.
‘Come!’ said she, ‘that will do. Now you can go.’
For he stood there, his hands hanging down and his eyes

0 Madame Bovary