“The one you’ve on is good enough for
the house, but you want another for calls. I
saw that the very moment that I came in. I’ve
the eye of an American!”
He did not send the stuff; he brought it. Then
he came again to measure it; he came again on other
pretexts, always trying to make himself agreeable,
useful, “enfeoffing himself,” as Homais
would have said, and always dropping some hint to
Emma about the power of attorney. He never mentioned
the bill; she did not think of it. Charles, at
the beginning of her convalescence, had certainly
said something about it to her, but so many emotions
had passed through her head that she no longer remembered
it. Besides, she took care not to talk of any
money questions. Madame Bovary seemed surprised
at this, and attributed the change in her ways to
the religious sentiments she had contracted during
her illness.
But as soon as she was gone, Emma greatly astounded
Bovary by her practical good sense. It would
be necessary to make inquiries, to look into mortgages,
and see if there were any occasion for a sale by auction
or a liquidation. She quoted technical terms casually,
pronounced the grand words of order, the future, foresight,
and constantly exaggerated the difficulties of settling
his father’s affairs so much, that at last one
day she showed him the rough draft of a power of attorney
to manage and administer his business, arrange all
loans, sign and endorse all bills, pay all sums, etc.
She had profited by Lheureux’s lessons.
Charles naively asked her where this paper came from.
“Monsieur Guillaumin”; and with the utmost
coolness she added, “I don’t trust him
overmuch. Notaries have such a bad reputation.
Perhaps we ought to consult—we only know—no
one.”
“Unless Leon—” replied Charles,
who was reflecting. But it was difficult to explain
matters by letter. Then she offered to make the
journey, but he thanked her. She insisted.
It was quite a contest of mutual consideration.
At last she cried with affected waywardness—
“No, I will go!”
“How good you are!” he said, kissing her
forehead.
The next morning she set out in the “Hirondelle”
to go to Rouen to consult Monsieur Leon, and she stayed
there three days.
They were three full, exquisite days—a
true honeymoon. They were at the Hotel-de-Boulogne,
on the harbour; and they lived there, with drawn blinds
and closed doors, with flowers on the floor, and iced
syrups were brought them early in the morning.
Towards evening they took a covered boat and went
to dine on one of the islands. It was the time
when one hears by the side of the dockyard the caulking-mallets
sounding against the hull of vessels. The smoke
of the tar rose up between the trees; there were large
fatty drops on the water, undulating in the purple
colour of the sun, like floating plaques of Florentine
bronze.
