“I understand,” said the notary; “a man of science can’t be worried with the practical details of life.”

And Charles felt relieved by this comfortable reflection, which gave his weakness the flattering appearance of higher pre-occupation.

And what an outburst the next Thursday at the hotel in their room with Leon!  She laughed, cried, sang, sent for sherbets, wanted to smoke cigarettes, seemed to him wild and extravagant, but adorable, superb.

He did not know what recreation of her whole being drove her more and more to plunge into the pleasures of life.  She was becoming irritable, greedy, voluptuous; and she walked about the streets with him carrying her head high, without fear, so she said, of compromising herself.  At times, however, Emma shuddered at the sudden thought of meeting Rodolphe, for it seemed to her that, although they were separated forever, she was not completely free from her subjugation to him.

One night she did not return to Yonville at all.  Charles lost his head with anxiety, and little Berthe would not go to bed without her mamma, and sobbed enough to break her heart.  Justin had gone out searching the road at random.  Monsieur Homais even had left his pharmacy.

At last, at eleven o’clock, able to bear it no longer, Charles harnessed his chaise, jumped in, whipped up his horse, and reached the “Croix-Rouge” about two o’clock in the morning.  No one there!  He thought that the clerk had perhaps seen her; but where did he live?  Happily, Charles remembered his employer’s address, and rushed off there.

Day was breaking, and he could distinguish the escutcheons over the door, and knocked.  Someone, without opening the door, shouted out the required information, adding a few insults to those who disturb people in the middle of the night.

The house inhabited by the clerk had neither bell, knocker, nor porter.  Charles knocked loudly at the shutters with his hands.  A policeman happened to pass by.  Then he was frightened, and went away.

“I am mad,” he said; “no doubt they kept her to dinner at Monsieur Lormeaux’.”  But the Lormeaux no longer lived at Rouen.

“She probably stayed to look after Madame Dubreuil.  Why, Madame Dubreuil has been dead these ten months!  Where can she be?”

An idea occurred to him.  At a cafe he asked for a Directory, and hurriedly looked for the name of Mademoiselle Lempereur, who lived at No. 74 Rue de la Renelle-des-Maroquiniers.

As he was turning into the street, Emma herself appeared at the other end of it.  He threw himself upon her rather than embraced her, crying—­

“What kept you yesterday?”

“I was not well.”

“What was it?  Where?  How?”

She passed her hand over her forehead and answered, “At Mademoiselle Lempereur’s.”

“I was sure of it!  I was going there.”

“Oh, it isn’t worth while,” said Emma.  “She went out just now; but for the future don’t worry.  I do not feel free, you see, if I know that the least delay upsets you like this.”