She always accompanied him to the first step of the stairs. When his
horse had not yet been brought round she stayed there. They had said
"Good-bye"; there was no more talking. The open air wrapped her round,
playing with the soft down on the back of her neck, or blew to and fro
on her hips the apron-strings, that fluttered like streamers. Once,
during a thaw the bark of the trees in the yard was oozing, the snow on
the roofs of the outbuildings was melting; she stood on the threshold,
and went to fetch her sunshade and opened it. The sunshade of silk of
the colour of pigeons' breasts, through which the sun shone, lighted
up with shifting hues the white skin of her face. She smiled under the
tender warmth, and drops of water could be heard falling one by one on
the stretched silk.
During the first period of Charles's visits to the Bertaux, Madame
Bovary junior never failed to inquire after the invalid, and she had
even chosen in the book that she kept on a system of double entry a
clean blank page for Monsieur Rouault. But when she heard he had a
daughter, she began to make inquiries, and she learnt the Mademoiselle
Rouault, brought up at the Ursuline Convent, had received what is called
"a good education"; and so knew dancing, geography, drawing, how to
embroider and play the piano. That was the last straw.
"So it is for this," she said to herself, "that his face beams when he
goes to see her, and that he puts on his new waistcoat at the risk of
spoiling it with the rain. Ah! that woman! That woman!"
And she detested her instinctively. At first she solaced herself by
allusions that Charles did not understand, then by casual observations
that he let pass for fear of a storm, finally by open apostrophes to
which he knew not what to answer. "Why did he go back to the Bertaux now
that Monsieur Rouault was cured and that these folks hadn't paid yet?
Ah! it was because a young lady was there, some one who know how to
talk, to embroider, to be witty. That was what he cared about; he wanted
town misses." And she went on-"The daughter of old Rouault a town miss! Get out! Their grandfather was
a shepherd, and they have a cousin who was almost had up at the assizes
for a nasty blow in a quarrel. It is not worth while making such a fuss,
or showing herself at church on Sundays in a silk gown like a countess.
Besides, the poor old chap, if it hadn't been for the colza last year,
would have had much ado to pay up his arrears."