CHAPTER THREE

One morning Monsieur Rouault came to pay Charles—seventy-five francs and a turkey. He had heard of Charles' misfortune, and came to comfort him.

"I know what it means to lose a wife," he said to Charles. "When I lost my poor wife, I cried, and wished I were dead. I nearly went crazy; I couldn't eat ... But we mustn't want to die because others have died ... It will pass! Come and see us some time. My daughter thinks of you—she says you've forgotten her."

Charles went to Les Bertaux again. Everything was the same as it had been—five months ago. Rouault went in and out, on his own legs again.

Rouault paid close attention to his poor doctor, knowing what pain he was in. Monsieur Rouault started telling stories, and Charles laughed, but then remembered his wife and was sad. Coffee was brought in; he thought no more about his wife.

He thought about her less and less as he became used to living by himself, and could visit Les Bertaux whenever he liked.

One day he arrived about three o'clock. Everyone was out, except Emma, who he found in the kitchen. Emma was sitting near the window sewing. She offered him a drink. They drank Curacao, which was strong, orange-flavored liquor, together. She tipped her head back to drink, and then licked the glass, laughing as she did.

She sat down again to sew. She did not speak; neither did Charles. Finally, she spoke about her schooling and he about his time in medical school. She showed him her old music books, and spoke of her mother.

On his way home that night, Charles remembered the things she had said, trying to remember all of them, to better understand her life. But he could only think of her as when they first met or when he had just left her now. He wondered what would happen to her. Would she marry? Who would she marry? Her father was rich, and she ... so beautiful. His mind kept saying—suppose you married, suppose you married! That night, Charles could not sleep.

The next morning, he decided he would ask old Rouault. His daughter was of little use to him; she knew nothing of farming.

Monsieur Rouault had seen that Charles was often nervous when Emma was present—which meant that he would be proposing marriage to her soon. Rouault thought about the possibility beforehand. He thought Charles was a bit of a weak man, but was well educated and steady. He said to himself, "If he asks for her, he shall have her."

Charles soon went to spend three days at Les Bertaux. He was too afraid to propose the question to Monsieur Rouault. As he was leaving on the third day, Monsieur Rouault came to say goodbye. The moment had come to speak.

"Monsieur Rouault ... Monsieur Rouault," Charles said nervously.

"There's nothing I'd like better, and I expect the little girl will agree. I must ask her first, however. I'll say goodbye to you, and get back home. If it's 'Yes'—I'll open the front door."

And he went off.

Charles waited half an hour. Then he waited another nineteen minutes. Suddenly he saw the door open.

The next morning he returned to Les Bertaux at nine o'clock. Emma looked embarrassed, but did her work with a little laugh. Her father embraced his future son-in-law. They decided the two would marry next spring, given Madame Bovary's recent death. They thought about the wedding all through the winter. Mademoiselle Rouault used the time to sew her wedding dress.

So there was a great wedding-party, at which forty-three guests were present for sixteen hours.

(end of section)