She showed him the impossibility of their love, and that they must remain, as formerly, on the simple terms of a fraternal friendship.

Was she speaking thus seriously?  No doubt Emma did not herself know, quite absorbed as she was by the charm of the seduction, and the necessity of defending herself from it; and contemplating the young man with a moved look, she gently repulsed the timid caresses that his trembling hands attempted.

“Ah! forgive me!” he cried, drawing back.

Emma was seized with a vague fear at this shyness, more dangerous to her than the boldness of Rodolphe when he advanced to her open-armed.  No man had ever seemed to her so beautiful.  An exquisite candour emanated from his being.  He lowered his long fine eyelashes, that curled upwards.  His cheek, with the soft skin reddened, she thought, with desire of her person, and Emma felt an invincible longing to press her lips to it.  Then, leaning towards the clock as if to see the time—­

“Ah! how late it is!” she said; “how we do chatter!”

He understood the hint and took up his hat.

“It has even made me forget the theatre.  And poor Bovary has left me here especially for that.  Monsieur Lormeaux, of the Rue Grand-Pont, was to take me and his wife.”

And the opportunity was lost, as she was to leave the next day.

“Really!” said Leon.

“Yes.”

“But I must see you again,” he went on.  “I wanted to tell you—­”

“What?”

“Something—­important—­serious.  Oh, no!  Besides, you will not go; it is impossible.  If you should—­listen to me.  Then you have not understood me; you have not guessed—­”

“Yet you speak plainly,” said Emma.

“Ah! you can jest.  Enough! enough!  Oh, for pity’s sake, let me see you once—­only once!”

“Well—­” She stopped; then, as if thinking better of it, “Oh, not here!”

“Where you will.”

“Will you—­” She seemed to reflect; then abruptly, “To-morrow at eleven o’clock in the cathedral.”

“I shall be there,” he cried, seizing her hands, which she disengaged.

And as they were both standing up, he behind her, and Emma with her head bent, he stooped over her and pressed long kisses on her neck.

“You are mad!  Ah! you are mad!” she said, with sounding little laughs, while the kisses multiplied.

Then bending his head over her shoulder, he seemed to beg the consent of her eyes.  They fell upon him full of an icy dignity.

Leon stepped back to go out.  He stopped on the threshold; then he whispered with a trembling voice, “Tomorrow!”

She answered with a nod, and disappeared like a bird into the next room.

In the evening Emma wrote the clerk an interminable letter, in which she cancelled the rendezvous; all was over; they must not, for the sake of their happiness, meet again.  But when the letter was finished, as she did not know Leon’s address, she was puzzled.