In the beginning he had called on her several times
along with the druggist. Charles had not appeared
particularly anxious to see him again, and Leon did
not know what to do between his fear of being indiscreet
and the desire for an intimacy that seemed almost impossible.
When the first cold days set in Emma left her bedroom
for the sitting-room, a long apartment with a low
ceiling, in which there was on the mantelpiece a large
bunch of coral spread out against the looking-glass.
Seated in her arm chair near the window, she could
see the villagers pass along the pavement.
Twice a day Leon went from his office to the Lion
d’Or. Emma could hear him coming from afar;
she leant forward listening, and the young man glided
past the curtain, always dressed in the same way, and
without turning his head. But in the twilight,
when, her chin resting on her left hand, she let the
embroidery she had begun fall on her knees, she often
shuddered at the apparition of this shadow suddenly
gliding past. She would get up and order the
table to be laid.
Monsieur Homais called at dinner-time. Skull-cap
in hand, he came in on tiptoe, in order to disturb
no one, always repeating the same phrase, “Good
evening, everybody.” Then, when he had taken
his seat at the table between the pair, he asked the
doctor about his patients, and the latter consulted
his as to the probability of their payment. Next
they talked of “what was in the paper.”
Homais by this hour knew it almost by heart, and he
repeated it from end to end, with the reflections
of the penny-a-liners, and all the stories of individual
catastrophes that had occurred in France or abroad.
But the subject becoming exhausted, he was not slow
in throwing out some remarks on the dishes before
him.
Sometimes even, half-rising, he delicately pointed
out to madame the tenderest morsel, or turning to
the servant, gave her some advice on the manipulation
of stews and the hygiene of seasoning.
He talked aroma, osmazome, juices, and gelatine in
a bewildering manner. Moreover, Homais, with
his head fuller of recipes than his shop of jars,
excelled in making all kinds of preserves, vinegars,
and sweet liqueurs; he knew also all the latest inventions
in economic stoves, together with the art of preserving
cheese and of curing sick wines.
At eight o’clock Justin came to fetch him to
shut up the shop.
Then Monsieur Homais gave him a sly look, especially
if Felicite was there, for he half noticed that his
apprentice was fond of the doctor’s house.
“The young dog,” he said, “is beginning
to have ideas, and the devil take me if I don’t
believe he’s in love with your servant!”
But a more serious fault with which he reproached
Justin was his constantly listening to conversation.
On Sunday, for example, one could not get him out
of the drawing-room, whither Madame Homais had called
him to fetch the children, who were falling asleep
in the arm-chairs, and dragging down with their backs
calico chair-covers that were too large.
