over her to congratulate her; the courtyard was full of carriages; farewells were
called to her through their windows; the music master with his violin case bowed
in passing by. How far all of this! How far away! She called Djali, took her
between her knees, and smoothed the long delicate head, saying, "Come, kiss
mistress; you have no troubles."
Then noting the melancholy face of the graceful animal, who yawned slowly, she
softened, and comparing her to herself, spoke to her aloud as to somebody in
trouble whom one is consoling.
Occasionally there came gusts of winds, breezes from the sea rolling in one
sweep over the whole plateau of the Caux country, which brought even to these
fields a salt freshness. The rushes, close to the ground, whistled; the branches
trembled in a swift rustling, while their summits, ceaselessly swaying, kept up a
deep murmur. Emma drew her shawl round her shoulders and rose.
In the avenue a green light dimmed by the leaves lit up the short moss that
crackled softly beneath her feet. The sun was setting; the sky showed red
between the branches, and the trunks of the trees, uniform, and planted in a
straight line, seemed a brown colonnade standing out against a background of
gold. A fear took hold of her; she called Djali, and hurriedly returned to Tostes by
the high road, threw herself into an armchair, and for the rest of the evening did
not speak.
But towards the end of September something extraordinary fell upon her life; she
was invited by the Marquis d'Andervilliers to Vaubyessard.
Secretary of State under the Restoration, the Marquis, anxious to re-enter
political life, set about preparing for his candidature to the Chamber of Deputies
long beforehand. In the winter he distributed a great deal of wood, and in the
Conseil General always enthusiastically demanded new roads for his
arrondissement. During the dog-days he had suffered from an abscess, which
Charles had cured as if by miracle by giving a timely little touch with the lancet.
The steward sent to Tostes to pay for the operation reported in the evening that
he had seen some superb cherries in the doctor's little garden. Now cherry trees
did not thrive at Vaubyessard; the Marquis asked Bovary for some slips; made it
his business to thank his personally; saw Emma; thought she had a pretty figure,
and that she did not bow like a peasant; so that he did not think he was going
beyond the bounds of condescension, nor, on the other hand, making a mistake,
in inviting the young couple.
On Wednesday at three o'clock, Monsieur and Madame Bovary, seated in their
dog-cart, set out for Vaubyessard, with a great trunk strapped on behind and a
bonnet-box in front of the apron. Besides these Charles held a bandbox between
his knees.
They arrived at nightfall, just as the lamps in the park were being lit to show the
way for the carriages.
