Page 65 - madame-bovary

ing round the table men with grave faces, their chins resting
on high cravats. They all wore orders, and smiled silently as
they made their strokes.
On the dark wainscoting of the walls large gold frames
bore at the bottom names written in black letters. She read:
‘Jean-Antoine d’Andervilliers d’Yvervonbille, Count de la
Vaubyessard and Baron de la Fresnay, killed at the battle
of Coutras on the 20th of October, 1857.’ And on another:
‘Jean-Antoine-Henry-Guy d’Andervilliers de la Vaubyes-
sard, Admiral of France and Chevalier of the Order of St.
Michael, wounded at the battle of the Hougue-Saint-Vaast
on the 29th of May, 1692; died at Vaubyessard on the 23rd
of January 1693.’ One could hardly make out those that
followed, for the light of the lamps lowered over the green
cloth threw a dim shadow round the room. Burnishing
the horizontal pictures, it broke up against these in deli-
cate lines where there were cracks in the varnish, and from
all these great black squares framed in with gold stood out
here and there some lighter portion of the painting—a pale
brow, two eyes that looked at you, perukes flowing over and
powdering red-coated shoulders, or the buckle of a garter
above a well-rounded calf.
The Marquis opened the drawing room door; one of the
ladies (the Marchioness herself) came to meet Emma. She
made her sit down by her on an ottoman, and began talk-
ing to her as amicably as if she had known her a long time.
She was a woman of about forty, with fine shoulders, a hook
nose, a drawling voice, and on this evening she wore over
her brown hair a simple guipure fichu that fell in a point at

Madame Bovary