At daybreak Madame Bovary senior arrived.  Charles as he embraced her burst into another flood of tears.  She tried, as the chemist had done, to make some remarks to him on the expenses of the funeral.  He became so angry that she was silent, and he even commissioned her to go to town at once and buy what was necessary.

Charles remained alone the whole afternoon; they had taken Berthe to Madame Homais’; Felicite was in the room upstairs with Madame Lefrancois.

In the evening he had some visitors.  He rose, pressed their hands, unable to speak.  Then they sat down near one another, and formed a large semicircle in front of the fire.  With lowered faces, and swinging one leg crossed over the other knee, they uttered deep sighs at intervals; each one was inordinately bored, and yet none would be the first to go.

Homais, when he returned at nine o’clock (for the last two days only Homais seemed to have been on the Place), was laden with a stock of camphor, of benzine, and aromatic herbs.  He also carried a large jar full of chlorine water, to keep off all miasmata.  Just then the servant, Madame Lefrancois, and Madame Bovary senior were busy about Emma, finishing dressing her, and they were drawing down the long stiff veil that covered her to her satin shoes.

Felicite was sobbing—­“Ah! my poor mistress! my poor mistress!”

“Look at her,” said the landlady, sighing; “how pretty she still is!  Now, couldn’t you swear she was going to get up in a minute?”

Then they bent over her to put on her wreath.  They had to raise the head a little, and a rush of black liquid issued, as if she were vomiting, from her mouth.

“Oh, goodness!  The dress; take care!” cried Madame Lefrancois.  “Now, just come and help,” she said to the chemist.  “Perhaps you’re afraid?”

“I afraid?” replied he, shrugging his shoulders.  “I dare say!  I’ve seen all sorts of things at the hospital when I was studying pharmacy.  We used to make punch in the dissecting room!  Nothingness does not terrify a philosopher; and, as I often say, I even intend to leave my body to the hospitals, in order, later on, to serve science.”

The cure on his arrival inquired how Monsieur Bovary was, and, on the reply of the druggist, went on—­“The blow, you see, is still too recent.”

Then Homais congratulated him on not being exposed, like other people, to the loss of a beloved companion; whence there followed a discussion on the celibacy of priests.

“For,” said the chemist, “it is unnatural that a man should do without women!  There have been crimes—­”

“But, good heaven!” cried the ecclesiastic, “how do you expect an individual who is married to keep the secrets of the confessional, for example?”

Homais fell foul of the confessional.  Bournisien defended it; he enlarged on the acts of restitution that it brought about.  He cited various anecdotes about thieves who had suddenly become honest.  Military men on approaching the tribunal of penitence had felt the scales fall from their eyes.  At Fribourg there was a minister—­