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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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- Стр. 58/303
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The
fire
was
dying
out
in
the
cinders
;
the
teapot
was
empty
,
Leon
was
still
reading
.
Emma
listened
to
him
,
mechanically
turning
around
the
lampshade
,
on
the
gauze
of
which
were
painted
clowns
in
carriages
,
and
tight-rope
dances
with
their
balancing-poles
.
Leon
stopped
,
pointing
with
a
gesture
to
his
sleeping
audience
;
then
they
talked
in
low
tones
,
and
their
conversation
seemed
the
more
sweet
to
them
because
it
was
unheard
.
Thus
a
kind
of
bond
was
established
between
them
,
a
constant
commerce
of
books
and
of
romances
.
Monsieur
Bovary
,
little
given
to
jealousy
,
did
not
trouble
himself
about
it
.
On
his
birthday
he
received
a
beautiful
phrenological
head
,
all
marked
with
figures
to
the
thorax
and
painted
blue
.
This
was
an
attention
of
the
clerk
's
.
He
showed
him
many
others
,
even
to
doing
errands
for
him
at
Rouen
;
and
the
book
of
a
novelist
having
made
the
mania
for
cactuses
fashionable
,
Leon
bought
some
for
Madame
Bovary
,
bringing
them
back
on
his
knees
in
the
"
Hirondelle
,
"
pricking
his
fingers
on
their
hard
hairs
.
She
had
a
board
with
a
balustrade
fixed
against
her
window
to
hold
the
pots
.
The
clerk
,
too
,
had
his
small
hanging
garden
;
they
saw
each
other
tending
their
flowers
at
their
windows
.
Of
the
windows
of
the
village
there
was
one
yet
more
often
occupied
;
for
on
Sundays
from
morning
to
night
,
and
every
morning
when
the
weather
was
bright
,
one
could
see
at
the
dormer-window
of
the
garret
the
profile
of
Monsieur
Binet
bending
over
his
lathe
,
whose
monotonous
humming
could
be
heard
at
the
Lion
d'Or
.
One
evening
on
coming
home
Leon
found
in
his
room
a
rug
in
velvet
and
wool
with
leaves
on
a
pale
ground
.
He
called
Madame
Homais
,
Monsieur
Homais
,
Justin
,
the
children
,
the
cook
;
he
spoke
of
it
to
his
chief
;
every
one
wanted
to
see
this
rug
.
Why
did
the
doctor
's
wife
give
the
clerk
presents
?
It
looked
queer
.
They
decided
that
she
must
be
his
lover
.
He
made
this
seem
likely
,
so
ceaselessly
did
he
talk
of
her
charms
and
of
her
wit
;
so
much
so
,
that
Binet
once
roughly
answered
him
--
"
What
does
it
matter
to
me
since
I
'm
not
in
her
set
?
"
He
tortured
himself
to
find
out
how
he
could
make
his
declaration
to
her
,
and
always
halting
between
the
fear
of
displeasing
her
and
the
shame
of
being
such
a
coward
,
he
wept
with
discouragement
and
desire
.
Then
he
took
energetic
resolutions
,
wrote
letters
that
he
tore
up
,
put
it
off
to
times
that
he
again
deferred
.
