CHAPTER SEVEN

And yet, sometimes it occurred to her that this was the happiest time of her life, as a new bride. To fully enjoy her new life, and feel entirely content, she must have to be in a land far away, with musical names where wedding nights complete a life of perfect happiness; of course, such places and feelings can only be imagined in novels.

She would have been glad to have someone to discuss her feelings with, but how to describe such feelings, that change like the wind? Lacking the words, she had neither the opportunity nor the courage.

Charles, however, could never guess her true feelings. As their outward familiarity grew, she inwardly separated herself from him.

Charles' conversation bored her, lacking emotion, laughter, and dreams. He had no desire to go to the theatre; he couldn't swim, nor fire a pistol. She thought, however, that a man should know about everything. But this one had nothing to teach; knew nothing, wanted nothing. He thought she was happy; and she hated him for that.

Emma knew how to run the house. She requested patients' payments respectfully. When they had one of the neighbors to dinner, she knew how to present the dishes in an elegant fashion. Charles' respect for himself grew, having such a wife to care for him.

His mother still came to see him, whenever she and her husband had troubles between them. The elder Madame Bovary seemed, however, to rather dislike her daughter-in-law, who wasted their money, and spent her days dreaming.

In the days before Charles' first wife died, his mother felt that she was still his favorite. But now she saw that as Charles fell in love with Emma, he seemed to love his mother less.

Charles didn't know what to say. He respected his mother; and he was completely in love with his wife.

Although Emma knew she was not in love, she tried to make herself fall in love. In the moonlight, she used to read him love poems, or sing the most romantic love songs she knew. She still felt nothing, and Charles seemed neither more emotional nor more loving.

Soon enough, Charles' sweet touches and tender kisses seemed nothing more than a routine; it was just one more habit he enjoyed.

A patient of his had given the doctor's wife a young dog, which she often took for walks. One afternoon, sitting on the grass, Emma said to herself, "Oh God, Oh God, why did I get married?"

She wondered if she would have met some other man. They weren't all like this one. Perhaps he would be handsome and intelligent. But no, life for her was cold and silent.

She called Djali, and took the dog between her knees.

"Come, kiss mistress! You haven't got any troubles!" The dog looked at her, she felt touched, and spoke to it aloud.

Towards the end of September, they received an invitation to la Vaubyessard, the home of the Marquis d'Andervilliers, who had quite a high position in politics. A servant was sent to Tostes to pay for an operation, and had noticed the excellent cherry trees in the doctor's little garden. La Vaubyessard's cherry trees were not doing well, and the Marquis sent Bovary a request for a tree, and afterwards came to thank him. He saw Emma, and noticed her womanly figure and gentle manners. He then invited the young couple to a dinner at la Vaubyessard.

On Wednesday at three o'clock, Monsieur and Madame Bovary left for la Vaubyessard.

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