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- Госпожа Бовари
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And
he
pushed
her
gently
towards
the
staircase
.
"
I
implore
you
,
Monsieur
Lheureux
,
just
a
few
days
more
!
"
She
was
sobbing
.
"
There
!
tears
now
!
"
"
You
are
driving
me
to
despair
!
"
"
What
do
I
care
?
"
said
he
,
shutting
the
door
.
She
was
stoical
the
next
day
when
Maitre
Hareng
,
the
bailiff
,
with
two
assistants
,
presented
himself
at
her
house
to
draw
up
the
inventory
for
the
distraint
.
They
began
with
Bovary
's
consulting-room
,
and
did
not
write
down
the
phrenological
head
,
which
was
considered
an
"
instrument
of
his
profession
"
;
but
in
the
kitchen
they
counted
the
plates
;
the
saucepans
,
the
chairs
,
the
candlesticks
,
and
in
the
bedroom
all
the
nick-nacks
on
the
whatnot
.
They
examined
her
dresses
,
the
linen
,
the
dressing-room
;
and
her
whole
existence
to
its
most
intimate
details
,
was
,
like
a
corpse
on
whom
a
post-mortem
is
made
,
outspread
before
the
eyes
of
these
three
men
.
Maitre
Hareng
,
buttoned
up
in
his
thin
black
coat
,
wearing
a
white
choker
and
very
tight
foot-straps
,
repeated
from
time
to
time
--
"
Allow
me
,
madame
.
You
allow
me
?
"
Often
he
uttered
exclamations
.
"
Charming
!
very
pretty
.
"
Then
he
began
writing
again
,
dipping
his
pen
into
the
horn
inkstand
in
his
left
hand
.
When
they
had
done
with
the
rooms
they
went
up
to
the
attic
.
She
kept
a
desk
there
in
which
Rodolphe
's
letters
were
locked
.
It
had
to
be
opened
.
"
Ah
!
a
correspondence
,
"
said
Maitre
Hareng
,
with
a
discreet
smile
.
"
But
allow
me
,
for
I
must
make
sure
the
box
contains
nothing
else
.
"
And
he
tipped
up
the
papers
lightly
,
as
if
to
shake
out
napoleons
.
Then
she
grew
angered
to
see
this
coarse
hand
,
with
fingers
red
and
pulpy
like
slugs
,
touching
these
pages
against
which
her
heart
had
beaten
.
