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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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- Стр. 133/303
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Charles
rushed
to
the
"
Lion
d'Or
,
"
and
the
chemist
,
who
caught
sight
of
him
passing
along
the
Place
hatless
,
abandoned
his
shop
.
He
appeared
himself
breathless
,
red
,
anxious
,
and
asking
everyone
who
was
going
up
the
stairs
--
"
Why
,
what
's
the
matter
with
our
interesting
strephopode
?
"
The
strephopode
was
writhing
in
hideous
convulsions
,
so
that
the
machine
in
which
his
leg
was
enclosed
was
knocked
against
the
wall
enough
to
break
it
.
With
many
precautions
,
in
order
not
to
disturb
the
position
of
the
limb
,
the
box
was
removed
,
and
an
awful
sight
presented
itself
.
The
outlines
of
the
foot
disappeared
in
such
a
swelling
that
the
entire
skin
seemed
about
to
burst
,
and
it
was
covered
with
ecchymosis
,
caused
by
the
famous
machine
.
Hippolyte
had
already
complained
of
suffering
from
it
.
No
attention
had
been
paid
to
him
;
they
had
to
acknowledge
that
he
had
not
been
altogether
wrong
,
and
he
was
freed
for
a
few
hours
.
But
,
hardly
had
the
oedema
gone
down
to
some
extent
,
than
the
two
savants
thought
fit
to
put
back
the
limb
in
the
apparatus
,
strapping
it
tighter
to
hasten
matters
.
At
last
,
three
days
after
,
Hippolyte
being
unable
to
endure
it
any
longer
,
they
once
more
removed
the
machine
,
and
were
much
surprised
at
the
result
they
saw
.
The
livid
tumefaction
spread
over
the
leg
,
with
blisters
here
and
there
,
whence
there
oozed
a
black
liquid
.
Matters
were
taking
a
serious
turn
.
Hippolyte
began
to
worry
himself
,
and
Mere
Lefrancois
,
had
him
installed
in
the
little
room
near
the
kitchen
,
so
that
he
might
at
least
have
some
distraction
.
But
the
tax-collector
,
who
dined
there
every
day
,
complained
bitterly
of
such
companionship
.
Then
Hippolyte
was
removed
to
the
billiard-room
.
He
lay
there
moaning
under
his
heavy
coverings
,
pale
with
long
beard
,
sunken
eyes
,
and
from
time
to
time
turning
his
perspiring
head
on
the
dirty
pillow
,
where
the
flies
alighted
.
Madame
Bovary
went
to
see
him
.
She
brought
him
linen
for
his
poultices
;
she
comforted
,
and
encouraged
him
.
Besides
,
he
did
not
want
for
company
,
especially
on
market-days
,
when
the
peasants
were
knocking
about
the
billiard-balls
round
him
,
fenced
with
the
cues
,
smoked
,
drank
,
sang
,
and
brawled
.
"
How
are
you
?
"
they
said
,
clapping
him
on
the
shoulder
.
"
Ah
!
you
're
not
up
to
much
,
it
seems
,
but
it
's
your
own
fault
.
You
should
do
this
!
do
that
!
"
And
then
they
told
him
stories
of
people
who
had
all
been
cured
by
other
remedies
than
his
.
Then
by
way
of
consolation
they
added
--
"
You
give
way
too
much
!
Get
up
!
You
coddle
yourself
like
a
king
!
All
the
same
,
old
chap
,
you
do
n't
smell
nice
!
"
Gangrene
,
in
fact
,
was
spreading
more
and
more
.
Bovary
himself
turned
sick
at
it
.
He
came
every
hour
,
every
moment
.
Hippolyte
looked
at
him
with
eyes
full
of
terror
,
sobbing
--
"
When
shall
I
get
well
?
Oh
,
save
me
!
How
unfortunate
I
am
!
How
unfortunate
I
am
!
"
