About the middle of October she could sit up in bed
supported by pillows. Charles wept when he saw
her eat her first bread-and-jelly. Her strength
returned to her; she got up for a few hours of an afternoon,
and one day, when she felt better, he tried to take
her, leaning on his arm, for a walk round the garden.
The sand of the paths was disappearing beneath the
dead leaves; she walked slowly, dragging along her
slippers, and leaning against Charles’s shoulder.
She smiled all the time.
They went thus to the bottom of the garden near the
terrace. She drew herself up slowly, shading
her eyes with her hand to look. She looked far
off, as far as she could, but on the horizon were only
great bonfires of grass smoking on the hills.
“You will tire yourself, my darling!”
said Bovary. And, pushing her gently to make
her go into the arbour, “Sit down on this seat;
you’ll be comfortable.”
“Oh! no; not there!” she said in a faltering
voice.
She was seized with giddiness, and from that evening
her illness recommenced, with a more uncertain character,
it is true, and more complex symptoms. Now she
suffered in her heart, then in the chest, the head,
the limbs; she had vomitings, in which Charles thought
he saw the first signs of cancer.
And besides this, the poor fellow was worried about
money matters.
To begin with, he did not know how he could pay Monsieur
Homais for all the physic supplied by him, and though,
as a medical man, he was not obliged to pay for it,
he nevertheless blushed a little at such an obligation.
Then the expenses of the household, now that the servant
was mistress, became terrible. Bills rained in
upon the house; the tradesmen grumbled; Monsieur Lheureux
especially harassed him. In fact, at the height
of Emma’s illness, the latter, taking advantage
of the circumstances to make his bill larger, had
hurriedly brought the cloak, the travelling-bag, two
trunks instead of one, and a number of other things.
It was very well for Charles to say he did not want
them. The tradesman answered arrogantly that
these articles had been ordered, and that he would
not take them back; besides, it would vex madame in
her convalescence; the doctor had better think it
over; in short, he was resolved to sue him rather
than give up his rights and take back his goods.
Charles subsequently ordered them to be sent back to
the shop. Felicite forgot; he had other things
to attend to; then thought no more about them.
Monsieur Lheureux returned to the charge, and, by turns
threatening and whining, so managed that Bovary ended
by signing a bill at six months. But hardly had
he signed this bill than a bold idea occurred to him:
it was to borrow a thousand francs from Lheureux.
So, with an embarrassed air, he asked if it were possible
to get them, adding that it would be for a year, at
any interest he wished. Lheureux ran off to his
