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There
was
a
sound
of
steps
on
the
pavement
.
Charles
looked
up
,
and
through
the
lowered
blinds
he
saw
at
the
corner
of
the
market
in
the
broad
sunshine
Dr.
Canivet
,
who
was
wiping
his
brow
with
his
handkerchief
.
Homais
,
behind
him
,
was
carrying
a
large
red
box
in
his
hand
,
and
both
were
going
towards
the
chemist
's
.
Then
with
a
feeling
of
sudden
tenderness
and
discouragement
Charles
turned
to
his
wife
saying
to
her
--
"
Oh
,
kiss
me
,
my
own
!
"
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"
Leave
me
!
"
she
said
,
red
with
anger
.
"
What
is
the
matter
?
"
he
asked
,
stupefied
.
"
Be
calm
;
compose
yourself
.
You
know
well
enough
that
I
love
you
.
Come
!
"
"
Enough
!
"
she
cried
with
a
terrible
look
.
And
escaping
from
the
room
,
Emma
closed
the
door
so
violently
that
the
barometer
fell
from
the
wall
and
smashed
on
the
floor
.
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Charles
sank
back
into
his
arm-chair
overwhelmed
,
trying
to
discover
what
could
be
wrong
with
her
,
fancying
some
nervous
illness
,
weeping
,
and
vaguely
feeling
something
fatal
and
incomprehensible
whirling
round
him
.
When
Rodolphe
came
to
the
garden
that
evening
,
he
found
his
mistress
waiting
for
him
at
the
foot
of
the
steps
on
the
lowest
stair
.
They
threw
their
arms
round
one
another
,
and
all
their
rancour
melted
like
snow
beneath
the
warmth
of
that
kiss
.
They
began
to
love
one
another
again
.
Often
,
even
in
the
middle
of
the
day
,
Emma
suddenly
wrote
to
him
,
then
from
the
window
made
a
sign
to
Justin
,
who
,
taking
his
apron
off
,
quickly
ran
to
La
Huchette
.
Rodolphe
would
come
;
she
had
sent
for
him
to
tell
him
that
she
was
bored
,
that
her
husband
was
odious
,
her
life
frightful
.