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of the forks on the plates in the dining-room.
She pretended that she wanted to kill the rats that kept
her from sleeping.
‘I must tell master.’
‘No, stay!’ Then with an indifferent air, ‘Oh, it’s not worth
while; I’ll tell him presently. Come, light me upstairs.’
She entered the corridor into which the laboratory door
opened. Against the wall was a key labelled Capharnaum.
‘Justin!’ called the druggist impatiently.
‘Let us go up.’
And he followed her. The key turned in the lock, and
she went straight to the third shelf, so well did her memory
guide her, seized the blue jar, tore out the cork, plunged in
her hand, and withdrawing it full of a white powder, she
began eating it.
‘Stop!’ he cried, rushing at her.
‘Hush! someone will come.’
He was in despair, was calling out.
‘Say nothing, or all the blame will fall on your master.’
Then she went home, suddenly calmed, and with some-
thing of the serenity of one that had performed a duty.
When Charles, distracted by the news of the distraint,
returned home, Emma had just gone out. He cried aloud,
wept, fainted, but she did not return. Where could she be?
He sent Felicite to Homais, to Monsieur Tuvache, to Lheu-
reux, to the ‘Lion d’Or,’ everywhere, and in the intervals of
his agony he saw his reputation destroyed, their fortune lost,
Berthe’s future ruined. By what?—Not a word! He waited
till six in the evening. At last, unable to bear it any longer,

10 Madame Bovary