CHAPTER TEN

Little by little, these fears of Rodolphe's became her own fears, as well. At first, she had thought of nothing but him, and being in love with him. But now, she knew she must be careful, or she would lose that love, which she could not bear. On her way back from his house, she looked to the right and left, watched everything moving, every window she passed in the village. She listened for people walking, voices, people working, and sometimes stopped in fear, afraid someone was there.

One morning, she was returning home like this, when she suddenly saw a rifle pointing at her. A man stood up, it was Captain Binet, hunting for wild ducks.

"Why didn't you shout out?" he cried. "When you see a gun, you should always give warning. You're out early."

"Yes," she paused, "I've been to the nurse's to see my baby."

"Oh, very well, very well."

"Good-bye, Monsieur Binet," and she left.

Emma knew she should not have left so quickly. The story about the nurse was a terrible excuse. Everyone in Yonville knew that the Bovary child had been back at home for the past year. Besides, no one lived in that direction; the path led only to Rodolphe's house. So Binet would guess where she'd been! And he wouldn't keep the secret.

After dinner, Charles, seeing a worried look on her face, suggested a visit to the Homais' to cheer her up. The first person she saw in the chemist's shop was Binet.

"Unfavorable weather today, quite humid," the chemist began.

"Some people don't seem to mind the hot weather, though," replied Monsieur Binet, as he looked at Emma.

Her heart was beating quickly with fear.

"He'll never go," she thought.

Madame Homais appeared, with one of her children in her arms.

"And how is your little girl?" Madame Homais asked.

"Quiet!" exclaimed her husband.

"Why didn't you bring her with you?" she asked.

Emma was watching as Binet checked his bill. At last he left. Emma was relieved.

"Why are you breathing so hard?" asked Madame Homais, with a worried look.

"Ah, it's a bit warm," she answered.

Next day, Madame Bovary and her lover discussed how they could meet safely, without others seeing. They decided that Rodolphe would look for a house in Yonville that they could use, where they would be safe.

All through the winter, three or four times every week, he used to arrive in the garden during the night. Emma had removed the key from the gate; Charles thought it had been lost.

Rodolphe would gently throw a few stones against the shudders when he would arrive. She would get up immediately, but sometimes she would have to wait. Charles often sat by the fireplace talking. She would get impatient. At last, she began to undress, then picked up a book, and sat there reading very quietly. Eventually, Charles would call out to her from the bedroom: "Come on, Emma, it's time!"

"All right, I'm coming," she answered.

He would soon fall asleep, and she would quietly leave, smiling, in her nightclothes.

Rodolphe had a large blanket that he would wrap around her, putting his arms around her waist. He would lead her in silence to the end of the garden, to that same garden seat on which Leon used to look at her so lovingly during past summer evenings. She never thought of Leon now.

The nights were cold, and they held each other tightly. On rainy nights, they would escape to Monsieur Bovary's office. While in Charles' office, Rodolphe would make many jokes about Charles, which upset Emma a bit. She would like Rodolphe to be more serious. Once, she thought she heard footsteps outside.

"There's someone coming!" she said. "Have you got your gun?"

"What for?"

"Why, to defend yourself," Emma replied.

"From your husband? Ha! Poor little man!"

She was impressed by his bravery, though she felt that he was sometimes impolite, which shocked her.

Rodolphe thought about this matter of holding a gun. If she was serious in that he should take a gun with him, he thought she was being ridiculous. Her husband was never envious, and Rodolphe certainly did not want to quarrel with the respected Monsieur Bovary.

Emma was getting quite emotional, as their secret relationship continued. She was now asking for a ring, almost like a wedding ring, to promise a lifelong union. She talked of her mother, and asked about his. It was twenty years since Rodolphe had lost his, but Emma comforted him as if he had just lost her that morning. Sometimes, she would look up at the moon and say:

"I am sure that, together up there, both of our mothers are content to see us so in love."

But—she was so pretty! This "love affair" was a new experience for him. Emma was quite emotional, something he usually hated, but it delighted him to be the reason for such behavior.

He no longer spoke to her with tender words that made her cry tears of joy. The grand romanticism seemed to be fading. She refused to believe it. She became more tender with her lover. And Rodolphe became more disinterested.

She didn't know if she regretted starting a secret love affair with him, or rather that she just didn't love him any longer. She felt embarrassed, by her weakness, which made her angry. She went almost in fear, afraid that if she didn't go, he would tell her husband.

Yet, by appearance, they seemed more in love than before. At the end of six months, when spring came, they were acting as husband and wife when they were alone together.

That was the time of year when Monsieur Rouault would send a turkey to the young family, along with a letter.

My dear children,

I hope you are all in good health, and that you will enjoy this bird. I've been having trouble at the farm lately. The harvest has taken a lot of time, and I don't know when I shall get over to see you. I can't leave the place now because I'm all on my own, my poor Emma!

I'm all right myself, except for a cold I caught the other day. I've heard that Bovary has been working hard as ever, but that doesn't surprise me. I'm glad to hear it, my dear ones. I still have not seen my beloved granddaughter, Berthe Bovary, but I hope to see her soon. I've planted a plum tree for her in the garden, underneath your window, and I won't touch it unless it's to take some fruit for her when she comes.

Goodbye, my dear children. My love to you, my girl, and you too, son-in-law, and a kiss for the little one on both cheeks.

I am, with every good wish,

Your loving father,

Theodore Rouault

Emma stood a few minutes with the paper in her hands. She was imagining her father sitting near the fireplace, writing the letter she had just received. She remembered summer evenings filled with sunshine. Happy days, days full of hope and freedom, days rich with dreams of her future. She had no dreams now.

Why was she unhappy now? What had happened in her life to make her so upset? She thought about what had caused her to suffer. She could hear her little girl shouting with laughter. The child was playing in the grass.

"Bring her to me!" said her mother, rushing out to pick her up in her arms. "Oh how I love you, how I love you!"

She noticed some dirt on the girl's ears, and she asked the maid to prepare a bath. The mother tenderly gave her daughter a wash, changed her clothes and shoes, asked the maid about a hundred and one questions about her, and finally, with more kisses and some crying, gave the girl back to the maid, who was astonished at such tenderness.

Rodolphe noticed that she was more upset than usual that night.

"Only a mood," he decided. "She'll feel better soon." And he did not come for a visit for the next three evenings.

When he did come again, she acted distant to him.

He pretended not to notice her coldness. Then, she regretted her strange behavior.

She then wondered why she hated Charles so much, and whether it would be better to love him, if she could. But there was little about him that she could love, as every movement he made annoyed or embarrassed her. Soon enough, however, she had a reason to take pride in her husband.

(end of section)