CHAPTER NINE

Often, when Charles was out, she used to take out the cigar case from where she had hidden it. She opened it, smelled it, and remembered the Viscount. She was at Tostes now; he was far away in Paris. Why "Paris"? Such a mighty name.

She bought a guide to Paris, and tracked her way to the capital with her finger. She had thoughts of Paris dancing in her head all day long. Nothing else existed. Her boring countryside life seemed too ordinary for her, particular bad luck for the unfortunate young woman.

A new girl of fourteen, Felicite, came to replace the maid. Emma taught her how to clean and dress Madame Bovary, and tried to make her a lady's maid.

Emma often sat in her room, thinking and dreaming. She longed to travel—or to go back to the church. She wanted to die, and she wanted to live in Paris.

Charles looked well and felt well. He was content with his life; his patients appreciated his calm manner and honest billing.

Emma, however, was generally getting angrier with him. The way he loudly ate his meals and drank his wine annoyed her. And now, he began to gain weight, and his cheeks swelled. Emma used to straighten his shirt or tie. She did this, not because she loved him, as he imagined, but because it was a nervous habit, embarrassed of him.

And all the time, she was waiting for something to happen in her life, although she did not know what. But every morning when she awoke, she hoped to find it there. Then in the evening, sadder every day, she longed for the next day.

Spring came, and with the warmer weather, she often had trouble breathing. As soon as July came, she began counting how many weeks there were till October, thinking that the Marquis d'Andervilliers might have another dance at la Vaubyessard. September came and went without a letter or a visit. She was disappointed, and sadness grew in her heart.

Other people, however, could at least expect something to happen to them, but for her, nothing. With no one to hear her play, she stopped playing the piano. Sewing and drawing made her upset, so she soon stopped that, as well.

"I've read everything," she said to herself, so she sat everyday watching out the window.

The next winter was cold and difficult. On warm days, Emma went out into the garden. No birds sang. Everything seemed asleep. She went upstairs again, locked her door, and sat alone in sadness.

She no longer managed the house. When the elder Madame Bovary came for a visit, she was astonished to see how Emma had changed. It became quite difficult to please Emma. Nothing satisfied the girl living in her own sadness.

Towards the end of February, her father, Monsieur Rouault, came over with a grand turkey to celebrate his leg, which had recovered fully. He spent three days at Tostes, and Emma showed him nothing but disrespect and annoyance.

Would this suffering last forever? Why was she so unlucky in life? She cried for envy of the wealthy lives of La Vaubyessard women, filled with dances and pleasure-seeking.

She grew pale, and became ill. Charles prescribed medicine, which only upset her more. As she was always complaining about Tostes, Charles concluded that the situation was making her ill. He decided that they must move, although it would be difficult for him to leave Tostes, just as he was becoming familiar with the townspeople after living there four years. Yet, they must move, for his poor wife. He decided on a small town called Yonville-l'Abbaye, whose doctor had left a week ago.

When they left Tostes in March, Madame Bovary was pregnant.

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