CHAPTER FIVE

Emma went upstairs. There was no furniture in the first room. She walked into the second, the bride's room. She noticed a bouquet of flowers sitting in the corner of the room—a bride's bouquet—the first one's! She stared at it. Charles noticed, and took it out of the room. Emma sat down in her new room, thinking of her own wedding bouquet packed away in her luggage, and wondering what would happen to it if she were to die.

She spent the first few days deciding how to redecorate the house. Her husband was happy with his new life. A meal together and a walk along the road in the evening completed his happiness. In bed in the morning, he would watch the sunlight fall on her pale cheeks.

As he would leave in the morning, he would blow her a kiss. She waved in answer and shut the window. He left. When, till now, had life been good to him? In his schooldays?—Alone among students who had more money than he or were more clever than he in class. Or later, when he had been studying medicine, and never had enough money to take out a young lady. And then for fourteen months he had lived with the widow, who cried all the day and night. But now, this pretty woman he loved was his for life.

Before the wedding, she had believed herself in love, but not having found the happiness that results from love, she now believed she was mistaken. And Emma wondered what exactly "love" meant in life, which had looked so beautiful in books.

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