madame bovary(包法利夫人)-第4章

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led　to　the　kitchen；　where　a　large　fire　was　blazing。　The　servant's
breakfast　was　boiling　beside　it　in　small　pots　of　all　sizes。　Some
damp　clothes　were　drying　inside　the　chimney…corner。　The　shovel；
tongs；　and　the　nozzle　of　the　bellows；　all　of　colossal　size；　shone
like　polished　steel；　while　along　the　walls　hung　many　pots　and
pans　in　which　the　clear　flame　of　the　hearth；　mingling　with　the
first　rays　of　the　sun　coming　in　through　the　window；　was　mirrored
fitfully。
Charles　went　up　the　first　floor　to　see　the　patient。　He　found　him
in　his　bed；　sweating　under　his　bed…clothes；　having　thrown　his
cotton　nightcap　right　away　from　him。　He　was　a　fat　little　man　of
fifty；　with　white　skin　and　blue　eyes；　the　forepart　of　his　head
bald；　and　he　wore　earrings。　By　his　side　on　a　chair　stood　a　large
decanter　of　brandy；　whence　he　poured　himself　a　little　from　time
to　time　to　keep　up　his　spirits；　but　as　soon　as　he　caught　sight　of
the　doctor　his　elation　subsided；　and　instead　of　swearing；　as　he
had　been　doing　for　the　last　twelve　hours；　began　to　groan　freely。
The　fracture　was　a　simple　one；　without　any　kind　of　complication。
Charles　could　not　have　hoped　for　an　easier　case。　Then　calling　to
mind　the　devices　of　his　masters　at　the　bedsides　of　patients；　he
comforted　the　sufferer　with　all　sorts　of　kindly　remarks；　those
Caresses　of　the　surgeon　that　are　like　the　oil　they　put　on
bistouries。　In　order　to　make　some　splints　a　bundle　of　laths　was
brought　up　from　the　cart…house。　Charles　selected　one；　cut　it　into
two　pieces　and　planed　it　with　a　fragment　of　windowpane；　while　the
servant　tore　up　sheets　to　make　bandages；　and　Mademoiselle　Emma
tried　to　sew　some　pads。　As　she　was　a　long　time　before　she　found
her　work…case；　her　father　grew　impatient；　she　did　not　answer；　but
as　she　sewed　she　pricked　her　fingers；　which　she　then　put　to　her
mouth　to　suck　them。　Charles　was　surprised　at　the　whiteness　of　her
nails。　They　were　shiny；　delicate　at　the　tips；　more　polished　than
the　ivory　of　Dieppe；　and　almond…shaped。　Yet　her　hand　was　not
beautiful；　perhaps　not　white　enough；　and　a　little　hard　at　the
knuckles；　besides；　it　was　too　long；　with　no　soft　inflections　in
the　outlines。　Her　real　beauty　was　in　her　eyes。　Although　brown；
they　seemed　black　because　of　the　lashes；　and　her　look　came　at　you
frankly；　with　a　candid　boldness。
The　bandaging　over；　the　doctor　was　invited　by　Monsieur　Rouault
himself　to　〃pick　a　bit〃　before　he　left。
Charles　went　down　into　the　room　on　the　ground　floor。　Knives　and
forks　and　silver　goblets　were　laid　for　two　on　a　little　table　at
the　foot　of　a　huge　bed　that　had　a　canopy　of　printed　cotton　with
figures　representing　Turks。　There　was　an　odour　of　iris…root　and
damp　sheets　that　escaped　from　a　large　oak　chest　opposite　the
window。　On　the　floor　in　corners　were　sacks　of　flour　stuck　upright
in　rows。　These　were　the　overflow　from　the　neighbouring　granary；
to　which　three　stone　steps　led。　By　way　of　decoration　for　the
apartment；　hanging　to　a　nail　in　the　middle　of　the　wall；　whose
green　paint　scaled　off　from　the　effects　of　the　saltpetre；　was　a
crayon　head　of　Minerva　in　gold　frame；　underneath　which　was
written　in　Gothic　letters　〃To　dear　Papa。〃
First　they　spoke　of　the　patient；　then　of　the　weather；　of　the
great　cold；　of　the　wolves　that　infested　the　fields　at　night。
Mademoiselle　Rouault　did　not　at　all　like　the　country；　especially
now　that　she　had　to　look　after　the　farm　almost　alone。　As　the　room
was　chilly；　she　shivered　as　she　ate。　This　showed　something　of　her
full　lips；　that　she　had　a　habit　of　biting　when　silent。
Her　neck　stood　out　from　a　white　turned…down　collar。　Her　hair；
whose　two　black　folds　seemed　each　of　a　single　piece；　so　smooth
were　they；　was　parted　in　the　middle　by　a　delicate　lie　that　curved
slightly　with　the　curve　of　the　head；　and；　just　showing　the　tip　of
the　ear；　it　was　joined　behind　in　a　thick　chignon；　with　a　wavy
movement　at　the　temples　that　the　country　doctor　saw　now　for　the
first　time　in　his　life。　The　upper　part　of　her　cheek　was
rose…coloured。　She　had；　like　a　man；　thrust　in　between　two　buttons
of　her　bodice　a　tortoise…shell　eyeglass。
When　Charles；　after　bidding　farewell　to　old　Rouault；　returned　to
the　room　before　leaving；　he　found　her　standing；　her　forehead
against　the　window；　looking　into　the　garden；　where　the　bean　props
had　been　knocked　down　by　the　wind。　She　turned　round。　〃Are　you
looking　for　anything？〃　she　asked。
〃My　whip；　if　you　please；〃　he　answered。
He　began　rummaging　on　the　bed；　behind　the　doors；　under　the
chairs。　It　had　fallen　to　the　floor；　between　the　sacks　and　the
wall。　Mademoiselle　Emma　saw　it；　and　bent　over　the　flour　sacks。
Charles　out　of　politeness　made　a　dash　also；　and　as　he　stretched
out　his　arm；　at　the　same　moment　felt　his　breast　brush　against　the
back　of　the　young　girl　bending　beneath　him。　She　drew　herself　up；
scarlet；　and　looked　at　him　over　her　shoulder　as　she　handed　him
his　whip。
Instead　of　returning　to　the　Bertaux　in　three　days　as　he　had
promised；　he　went　back　the　very　next　day；　then　regularly　twice　a
week；　without　counting　the　visits　he　paid　now　and　then　as　if　by
accident。
Everything；　moreover；　went　well；　the　patient　progressed
favourably；　and　when；　at　the　end　of　forty…six　days；　old　Rouault
was　seen　trying　to　walk　alone　in　his　〃den；〃　Monsieur　Bovary　began
to　be　looked　upon　as　a　man　of　great　capacity。　Old　Rouault　said
that　he　could　not　have　been　cured　better　by　the　first　doctor　of
Yvetot；　or　even　of　Rouen。
As　to　Charles；　he　did　not　stop　to　ask　himself　why　it　was　a
pleasure　to　him　to　go　to　the　Bertaux。　Had　he　done　so；　he　would；
no　doubt；　have　attributed　his　zeal　to　the　importance　of　the　case；
or　perhaps　to　the　money　he　hoped　to　make　by　it。　Was　it　for　this；
however；　that　his　visits　to　the　farm　formed　a　delightful
exception　to　the　meagre　occupations　of　his　life？　On　these　days　he
rose　early；　set　off　at　a　gallop；　urging　on　his　horse；　then　got
down　to　wipe　his　boots　in　the　grass　and　put　on　black　gloves
before　entering。　He　liked　going　into　the　courtyard；　and　noticing
the　gate　turn　against　his　shoulder；　the　cock　crow　on　the　wall；
the　lads　run　to　meet　him。　He　liked　the　granary　and　the　stables；
he　liked　old　Rouault；　who　pressed　his　hand　and　called　him　his
saviour；　he　like　the　small　wooden　shoes　of　Mademoiselle　Emma　on
the　scoured　flags　of　the　kitchenher　high　heels　made　her　a
little　taller；　and　when　she　walked　in　front　of　him；　the　wooden
soles　springing　up　quickly　struck　with　a　sharp　sound　against　the
leather　of　her　boots。
She　always　accompanied　him　to　the　first　step　of　the　stairs。　When
his　horse　had　not　yet　been　brought　round　she　stayed　there。　They
had　said　〃Good…bye〃；　there　was　no　more　talking。　The　open　air
wrapped　her　round；　playing　with　the　soft　down　on　the　back　of　her
neck；　or　blew　to　and　fro　on　her　hips　the　apron…strings；　that
fluttered　like　streamers。　Once；　during　a　thaw　the　bark　of　the
trees　in　the　yard　was　oozing；　the　snow　on　the　roofs　of　the
outbuildings　was　melting；　she　stood　on　the　threshold；　and　went　to
fetch　her　sunshade　and　opened　it。　The　sunshade　of　silk　of　the
colour　of　pigeons'　breasts；　through　which　the　sun　shone；　lighted
up　with　shifting　hues　the　white　skin　of　her　face。　She　smiled
under　the　tender　warmth；　and　drops　of　water　could　be　heard
falling　one　by　one　on　the　stretched　silk。
During　the　first　period　of　Charles's　visits　to　the　Bertaux；
Madame　Bovary　junior　never　failed　to　inquire　after　the　invalid；
and　she　had　even　chosen　in　the　book　that　she　kept　on　a　system　of
double　entry　a　clean　blank　page　for　Monsieur　Rouault。　But　when
she　heard　he　had　a　daughter；　she　began　to　make　inquiries；　and　she
learnt　the　Mademoiselle　Rouault；　brought　up　at　the　Ursuline
Convent；　had　received　what　is　called　〃a　good　education〃；　and　so
knew　dancing；　geography；　drawing；　how　to　embroider　and　play　the
piano。　That　was　the　last　straw。
〃So　it　is　for　this；〃　she　said　to　herself；　〃that　his　face　beams
when　he　goes　to　see　her；　and　that　he　puts　on　his　new　waistcoat　at
the　risk　of　spoiling　it　with　the　rain。　Ah！　that　woman！　That
woman！〃
And　she　detested　her　instinctively。　At　first　she　solaced　herself
by　allusions　that　Charles　did　not　understand；　then　by　casual
observations　that　he　let　pass　for　fear　of　a　storm；　finally　by
open　apostrophes　to　which　he　knew　not　what　to　answer。