Madame Bovary - Penn State University

Madame Bovaryother day at the fair at Yvetot, where I had gone to hire a The spelling mistakes were interwoven one with the other,shepherd, having turned away mine because he was too dainty. and Emma followed the kindly thought that cackled rightHow we are to be pitied with such a lot of thieves! Besides, through it like a hen half hidden in the hedge of thorns. Thehe was also rude. I heard from a pedlar, who, travelling through writing had been dried with ashes from the hearth, for a littleyour part of the country this winter, had a tooth drawn, that grey powder slipped from the letter on to her dress, and sheBovary was as usual working hard. That doesn’t surprise me; almost thought she saw her father bending over the hearth toand he showed me his tooth; we had some coffee together. I take up the tongs. How long since she had been with him,asked him if he had seen you, and he said not, but that he had sitting on the footstool in the chimney-corner, where she usedseen two horses in the stables, from which I conclude that to burn the end of a bit of wood in the great flame of the seasedges!She remembered the summer evenings all full of sun-business is looking up. So much the better, my dear children,and may God send you every imaginable happiness! It grieves shine. The colts neighed when anyone passed by, and galloped,me not yet to have seen my dear little grand-daughter, Berthe galloped. Under her window there was a beehive, and sometimesthe bees wheeling round in the light struck against herBovary. I have planted an Orleans plum-tree for her in thegarden under your room, and I won’t have it touched unless window like rebounding balls of gold. What happiness thereit is to have jam made for her by and bye, that I will keep in had been at that time, what freedom, what hope! What anthe cupboard for her when she comes.abundance of illusions! Nothing was left of them now. She“Good-bye, my dear children. I kiss you, my girl, you too, had got rid of them all in her soul’s life, in all her successivemy son-in-law, and the little one on both cheeks. I am, with conditions of lifemaidenhood, her marriage, and her love—best compliments, your loving father.thus constantly losing them all her life through, like a travellerwho leaves something of his wealth at every inn along his“Theodore Rouault.”She held the coarse paper in her fingers for some minutes. road.148