-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Гюстав Флобер
-
- Госпожа Бовари
-
- Стр. 107/303
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Approach
,
venerable
Catherine
Nicaise
Elizabeth
Leroux
!
"
said
the
councillor
,
who
had
taken
the
list
of
prize-winners
from
the
president
;
and
,
looking
at
the
piece
of
paper
and
the
old
woman
by
turns
,
he
repeated
in
a
fatherly
tone
--
"
Approach
!
approach
!
"
"
Are
you
deaf
?
"
said
Tuvache
,
fidgeting
in
his
armchair
;
and
he
began
shouting
in
her
ear
,
"
Fifty-four
years
of
service
.
A
silver
medal
!
Twenty-five
francs
!
For
you
!
"
Then
,
when
she
had
her
medal
,
she
looked
at
it
,
and
a
smile
of
beatitude
spread
over
her
face
;
and
as
she
walked
away
they
could
hear
her
muttering
"
I
'll
give
it
to
our
cure
up
home
,
to
say
some
masses
for
me
!
"
"
What
fanaticism
!
"
exclaimed
the
chemist
,
leaning
across
to
the
notary
.
The
meeting
was
over
,
the
crowd
dispersed
,
and
now
that
the
speeches
had
been
read
,
each
one
fell
back
into
his
place
again
,
and
everything
into
the
old
grooves
;
the
masters
bullied
the
servants
,
and
these
struck
the
animals
,
indolent
victors
,
going
back
to
the
stalls
,
a
green-crown
on
their
horns
.
The
National
Guards
,
however
,
had
gone
up
to
the
first
floor
of
the
town
hall
with
buns
spitted
on
their
bayonets
,
and
the
drummer
of
the
battalion
carried
a
basket
with
bottles
.
Madame
Bovary
took
Rodolphe
's
arm
;
he
saw
her
home
;
they
separated
at
her
door
;
then
he
walked
about
alone
in
the
meadow
while
he
waited
for
the
time
of
the
banquet
.
The
feast
was
long
,
noisy
,
ill
served
;
the
guests
were
so
crowded
that
they
could
hardly
move
their
elbows
;
and
the
narrow
planks
used
for
forms
almost
broke
down
under
their
weight
.
They
ate
hugely
.
Each
one
stuffed
himself
on
his
own
account
.
Sweat
stood
on
every
brow
,
and
a
whitish
steam
,
like
the
vapour
of
a
stream
on
an
autumn
morning
,
floated
above
the
table
between
the
hanging
lamps
.
Rodolphe
,
leaning
against
the
calico
of
the
tent
was
thinking
so
earnestly
of
Emma
that
he
heard
nothing
.
Behind
him
on
the
grass
the
servants
were
piling
up
the
dirty
plates
,
his
neighbours
were
talking
;
he
did
not
answer
them
;
they
filled
his
glass
,
and
there
was
silence
in
his
thoughts
in
spite
of
the
growing
noise
.
He
was
dreaming
of
what
she
had
said
,
of
the
line
of
her
lips
;
her
face
,
as
in
a
magic
mirror
,
shone
on
the
plates
of
the
shakos
,
the
folds
of
her
gown
fell
along
the
walls
,
and
days
of
love
unrolled
to
all
infinity
before
him
in
the
vistas
of
the
future
.
He
saw
her
again
in
the
evening
during
the
fireworks
,
but
she
was
with
her
husband
,
Madame
Homais
,
and
the
druggist
,
who
was
worrying
about
the
danger
of
stray
rockets
,
and
every
moment
he
left
the
company
to
go
and
give
some
advice
to
Binet
.
The
pyrotechnic
pieces
sent
to
Monsieur
Tuvache
had
,
through
an
excess
of
caution
,
been
shut
up
in
his
cellar
,
and
so
the
damp
powder
would
not
light
,
and
the
principal
set
piece
,
that
was
to
represent
a
dragon
biting
his
tail
,
failed
completely
.
Now
and
then
a
meagre
Roman-candle
went
off
;
then
the
gaping
crowd
sent
up
a
shout
that
mingled
with
the
cry
of
the
women
,
whose
waists
were
being
squeezed
in
the
darkness
.
Emma
silently
nestled
against
Charles
's
shoulder
;
then
,
raising
her
chin
,
she
watched
the
luminous
rays
of
the
rockets
against
the
dark
sky
.
Rodolphe
gazed
at
her
in
the
light
of
the
burning
lanterns
.
They
went
out
one
by
one
.
The
stars
shone
out
.
A
few
crops
of
rain
began
to
fall
.
She
knotted
her
fichu
round
her
bare
head
.
