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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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- Стр. 210/303
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The
leafless
trees
on
the
boulevards
made
violet
thickets
in
the
midst
of
the
houses
,
and
the
roofs
,
all
shining
with
the
rain
,
threw
back
unequal
reflections
,
according
to
the
height
of
the
quarters
in
which
they
were
.
Sometimes
a
gust
of
wind
drove
the
clouds
towards
the
Saint
Catherine
hills
,
like
aerial
waves
that
broke
silently
against
a
cliff
.
A
giddiness
seemed
to
her
to
detach
itself
from
this
mass
of
existence
,
and
her
heart
swelled
as
if
the
hundred
and
twenty
thousand
souls
that
palpitated
there
had
all
at
once
sent
into
it
the
vapour
of
the
passions
she
fancied
theirs
.
Her
love
grew
in
the
presence
of
this
vastness
,
and
expanded
with
tumult
to
the
vague
murmurings
that
rose
towards
her
.
She
poured
it
out
upon
the
square
,
on
the
walks
,
on
the
streets
,
and
the
old
Norman
city
outspread
before
her
eyes
as
an
enormous
capital
,
as
a
Babylon
into
which
she
was
entering
.
She
leant
with
both
hands
against
the
window
,
drinking
in
the
breeze
;
the
three
horses
galloped
,
the
stones
grated
in
the
mud
,
the
diligence
rocked
,
and
Hivert
,
from
afar
,
hailed
the
carts
on
the
road
,
while
the
bourgeois
who
had
spent
the
night
at
the
Guillaume
woods
came
quietly
down
the
hill
in
their
little
family
carriages
.
They
stopped
at
the
barrier
;
Emma
undid
her
overshoes
,
put
on
other
gloves
,
rearranged
her
shawl
,
and
some
twenty
paces
farther
she
got
down
from
the
"
Hirondelle
.
"
The
town
was
then
awakening
.
Shop-boys
in
caps
were
cleaning
up
the
shop-fronts
,
and
women
with
baskets
against
their
hips
,
at
intervals
uttered
sonorous
cries
at
the
corners
of
streets
.
She
walked
with
downcast
eyes
,
close
to
the
walls
,
and
smiling
with
pleasure
under
her
lowered
black
veil
.
For
fear
of
being
seen
,
she
did
not
usually
take
the
most
direct
road
.
She
plunged
into
dark
alleys
,
and
,
all
perspiring
,
reached
the
bottom
of
the
Rue
Nationale
,
near
the
fountain
that
stands
there
.
It
,
is
the
quarter
for
theatres
,
public-houses
,
and
whores
.
Often
a
cart
would
pass
near
her
,
bearing
some
shaking
scenery
.
Waiters
in
aprons
were
sprinkling
sand
on
the
flagstones
between
green
shrubs
.
It
all
smelt
of
absinthe
,
cigars
,
and
oysters
.
She
turned
down
a
street
;
she
recognised
him
by
his
curling
hair
that
escaped
from
beneath
his
hat
.
Leon
walked
along
the
pavement
.
She
followed
him
to
the
hotel
.
He
went
up
,
opened
the
door
,
entered
--
What
an
embrace
!
Then
,
after
the
kisses
,
the
words
gushed
forth
.
They
told
each
other
the
sorrows
of
the
week
,
the
presentiments
,
the
anxiety
for
the
letters
;
but
now
everything
was
forgotten
;
they
gazed
into
each
other
's
faces
with
voluptuous
laughs
,
and
tender
names
.
The
bed
was
large
,
of
mahogany
,
in
the
shape
of
a
boat
.
The
curtains
were
in
red
levantine
,
that
hung
from
the
ceiling
and
bulged
out
too
much
towards
the
bell-shaped
bedside
;
and
nothing
in
the
world
was
so
lovely
as
her
brown
head
and
white
skin
standing
out
against
this
purple
colour
,
when
,
with
a
movement
of
shame
,
she
crossed
her
bare
arms
,
hiding
her
face
in
her
hands
.
