And no doubt she was suggesting something abominable to him; for the tax-collector—­yet he was brave, had fought at Bautzen and at Lutzen, had been through the French campaign, and had even been recommended for the cross—­suddenly, as at the sight of a serpent, recoiled as far as he could from her, crying—­

“Madame! what do you mean?”

“Women like that ought to be whipped,” said Madame Tuvache.

“But where is she?” continued Madame Caron, for she had disappeared whilst they spoke; then catching sight of her going up the Grande Rue, and turning to the right as if making for the cemetery, they were lost in conjectures.

“Nurse Rollet,” she said on reaching the nurse’s, “I am choking; unlace me!” She fell on the bed sobbing.  Nurse Rollet covered her with a petticoat and remained standing by her side.  Then, as she did not answer, the good woman withdrew, took her wheel and began spinning flax.

“Oh, leave off!” she murmured, fancying she heard Binet’s lathe.

“What’s bothering her?” said the nurse to herself.  “Why has she come here?”

She had rushed thither; impelled by a kind of horror that drove her from her home.

Lying on her back, motionless, and with staring eyes, she saw things but vaguely, although she tried to with idiotic persistence.  She looked at the scales on the walls, two brands smoking end to end, and a long spider crawling over her head in a rent in the beam.  At last she began to collect her thoughts.  She remembered—­one day—­Leon—­Oh! how long ago that was—­the sun was shining on the river, and the clematis were perfuming the air.  Then, carried away as by a rushing torrent, she soon began to recall the day before.

“What time is it?” she asked.

Mere Rollet went out, raised the fingers of her right hand to that side of the sky that was brightest, and came back slowly, saying—­

“Nearly three.”

“Ahl thanks, thanks!”

For he would come; he would have found some money.  But he would, perhaps, go down yonder, not guessing she was here, and she told the nurse to run to her house to fetch him.

“Be quick!”

“But, my dear lady, I’m going, I’m going!”

She wondered now that she had not thought of him from the first.  Yesterday he had given his word; he would not break it.  And she already saw herself at Lheureux’s spreading out her three bank-notes on his bureau.  Then she would have to invent some story to explain matters to Bovary.  What should it be?

The nurse, however, was a long while gone.  But, as there was no clock in the cot, Emma feared she was perhaps exaggerating the length of time.  She began walking round the garden, step by step; she went into the path by the hedge, and returned quickly, hoping that the woman would have come back by another road.  At last, weary of waiting, assailed by fears that she thrust from her, no longer conscious whether she had been here a century or a moment, she sat down in a corner, closed her eyes, and stopped her ears.  The gate grated; she sprang up.  Before she had spoken Mere Rollet said to her—­