Page 430 - madame-bovary

At six o’clock a noise like a clatter of old iron was heard on
the Place; it was the ‘Hirondelle’ coming in, and he remained
with his forehead against the windowpane, watching all the
passengers get out, one after the other. Felicite put down a
mattress for him in the drawing-room. He threw himself
upon it and fell asleep.
Although a philosopher, Monsieur Homais respected the
dead. So bearing no grudge to poor Charles, he came back
again in the evening to sit up with the body; bringing with
him three volumes and a pocket-book for taking notes.
Monsieur Bournisien was there, and two large candles
were burning at the head of the bed, that had been taken out
of the alcove. The druggist, on whom the silence weighed,
was not long before he began formulating some regrets
about this ‘unfortunate young woman.’ and the priest re-
plied that there was nothing to do now but pray for her.
‘Yet,’ Homais went on, ‘one of two things; either she died
in a state of grace (as the Church has it), and then she has no
need of our prayers; or else she departed impertinent (that
is, I believe, the ecclesiastical expression), and then—‘
Bournisien interrupted him, replying testily that it was
none the less necessary to pray.
‘But,’ objected the chemist, ‘since God knows all our
needs, what can be the good of prayer?’
‘What!’ cried the ecclesiastic, ‘prayer! Why, aren’t you a
Christian?’
‘Excuse me,’ said Homais; ‘I admire Christianity. To be-
gin with, it enfranchised the slaves, introduced into the
world a morality—‘