The Chateau de Vaubyessard; Dinner; A retired courtier; The dance and the guests; A noble partner; Return to Tostes; Charles finds a cigar-case; Nastasie gets notice.

The chateau, an extensive modern building in the Renaissance style, with two projecting wings and three flights of stone steps, was situated at the foot of a wide stretch of parkland, on which some cattle were grazing between groups of tall, umbrageous trees, while little clumps of flowering shrubs- rhododendrons, syringas and guelder-roses- clustered, in their varying shades of green, along the curving line of the gravel drive. A stream flowed on beneath a bridge, and through the gathering mist were to be seen some thatched buildings, dotted about in the meadowland, which was bounded on either side by two gently sloping, wooded hills; and in the rear, in two parallel lines, were the stables and coach-house, all that was left standing of the original chateau when it was pulled down.

Charles drew up at the middle flight of steps. The servants appeared on the scene. The Marquis came forward, and, offering his arm to the doctor's lady, escorted her into the hall.

It was floored with marble, and very lofty, and the mingled sound of footsteps and voices awoke the echoes as in a church. Facing the entrance was a straight staircase, and, to the left, a gallery, looking on to the garden, led to the billiard-room, in which the click of the ivory balls was audible as soon as one entered the front door. As she passed through it on her way to the drawing-room Emma perceived some dignified-looking men grouped round the table. They were all wearing high cravats and decorations, and smiled to themselves as they got their cues into position for a stroke. On the sombre woodwork of the panelled walls hung great gilt frames with names lettered in black along the lower border. She read: 'Jean Antoine d'Andervilliers d'Yverbonvine, Comte de la Vaubyessard and Baron de la Fresnaye, killed at the battle of Coutras, 20th October 1587', and on another 'Jean Antoine Henry Guy d'Andervilliers de la Vaubyessard, Admiral of France and Knight of the Order of Saint Michael, wounded at la Hougue Saint Vaast, the 29th May, 1692, died at la Vaubyessard the 23rd January, 1693'. The other inscriptions were hardly discernible, for the lampshades which concentrated the light on the green surface of the billiard-table left the rest of the room in semi-darkness. Burnishing the dark canvases, the light splintered itself in little delicate veins as it fell on the cracks in the varnish, and from all these various dark squares bordered with gold there stood out, here and there, some brighter portion of the picture- a pale brow, a pair of eyes that seemed to be gazing at you, wigs that uncoiled themselves on the powdery shoulders of the scarlet coats, or, maybe, the buckle of a garter above a well-turned calf.

The Marquis opened the door of the drawing-room. One of the ladies rose (it was the Marquise herself) and came forward to greet Emma. She made her sit down beside her on a little sofa, and began to chat with easy unconstraint, as if she had known her for a long time. She was a woman of about forty, with fine shoulders, an aquiline nose, and a languid voice, and that night she was wearing, upon her auburn hair, a plain lace fichu which fell in a point behind her shoulders. A fair-complexioned young person sat close by in a high-backed chair, and some gentlemen, wearing flowers in their button-holes, lounged about the fireplace talking to the ladies.

At seven o'clock dinner was served. The men, who were in the majority, were seated at the first table, in the vestibule; the ladies at the second, in the dining-room, with the Marquis and the Marquise.

Emma felt on entering as though she were swathed about with warm air, blended of the perfume of flowers and fine linen, the savour of viands and the delicate odour of truffles. The flambeaux in the candelabra were mirrored in long tongues of light in the silver dish-covers. The facets of the cut glass, veiled by a softening mist, radiated a delicate glimmer; down the whole table's length were floral bouquets ranged in line, and on the wide-rimmed plates stood napkins folded like bishops' mitres, each holding in its opening a little oval roll. Lobsters protruded their red claws over the dish's edge. There were masses of splendid fruit piled on moss in filigree baskets; quails decked in their plumage. It was a medley of fragrant odours. In silk stockings, knee breeches, white stock and frilled shirt, the major-domo, solemn as a judge, handed the dishes between the shoulders of the guests, and with a magic twist of his spoon caused the morsel of your choice to leap on to your plate. On the high porcelain stove, with its copper rods, stood the statue of a woman draped to the chin, looking calmly down on the thronged apartment.

Madame Bovary noticed that a number of ladies had not put their gloves in their glasses.

At the top end of the table, alone among the crowd of women, bending down over a well-filled plate, with his napkin tied round his neck like a child's bib, sat an old man, who, as he ate, let little drops of gravy trickle from his mouth. His eyes were weak and watery, and he wore a little pigtail tied with a bow of black ribbon. He was the Marquis's father-in-law, the old Duc de Laverdiere, the quondam favourite of the Comte d'Artois, in the old hunting days at Vaudreuil at the Marquis de Conflans's. The gossips said he had been one of Marie Antoinette's lovers, coming between Messieurs de Coigny and de Lauzun. He had led a tumultuous and dissolute life, crammed full of duels and gambling and abductions. He had got through all his money, and had been the terror of his family. A footman, stationed behind his chair, would lean down and bawl into his ear the names of the several dishes, and with stammering tongue and trembling fingers he would indicate the one he desired.

Try as she would, Emma simply could not keep her eyes off the old man and his drooping lips. She gazed at him as though he were some extraordinary phenomenon, something august. He had lived at Court and shared the couch of Queens!

The glasses were filled with iced champagne. Emma felt a thrill go through her as she tasted the coldness of it in her mouth. She had never seen a pomegranate or eaten a pineapple. The very caster sugar seemed whiter here, and more finely powdered, than elsewhere.

At length the ladies went upstairs to make ready for the ball. Emma dressed with all the scrupulous care of an actress about to make her 'debut'. She did her hair as the man at the shop had directed her, and then she proceeded to array herself in the delicate muslin frock that had been carefully laid out upon the bed.

Charles's trousers pinched him round the middle. 'And what a nuisance these foot-straps will be when I'm dancing,' he remarked.

'Dancing?' said Emma.

'Yes!'

'Why, you must be off your head! People would laugh at you. Sit still and watch the others; it looks better for a doctor.'

Charles held his peace. He kept pacing up and down the room, waiting for Emma to finish.

He saw her from behind, in the glass, between two candles. Her eyes seemed darker than ever. Her frontlets, curving softly outwards near the ears, shone with an azure radiance. In her chignon, a rose trembled on its fragile stem with artificial dewdrops on the tips of its petals. Her dress was pale saffron, trimmed with three bunches of pompon roses mixed with green.

Charles stole up and kissed her on the shoulder.

'Leave me alone,' she said, 'you'll ruin my dress.'

They heard the preluding flourish of the violins and the notes of a horn. Down the stairs she went, hardly able to keep herself from running.

The quadrilles had begun, and fresh guests were arriving. People were thronging into the room. She sat down on a settle, near the door. The quadrille being over, the floor was free for the groups of men who were lounging about talking, and for servants in livery who were going round with large trays. All along the rows of seated women there was a flutter of painted fans, a galaxy of smiles half-hidden, half-revealed, by bouquets; gold-mounted scent-bottles were toyed with by dainty hands encased in gloves that showed the moulding of the nails and fastened tight about the wrist. Lace frills, diamond brooches, medallion bracelets, fluttered on bodices, glittered on bosoms and jingled on naked arms. Tresses, patted well down on the forehead and twisted in a coil at the back of the neck, were adorned with forget-me-nots, jasmine, pomegranate flowers, wheatears or cornflowers, in wreaths, or bunches, or sprays. Stolid in their places, solemn-visaged dowagers glowered beneath their red silk turbans.

Emma's heart beat high when, her partner holding her by the tips of her fingers, she took her place in line and stood waiting for the signal to begin. But her nervousness soon disappeared, and, swaying in rhythm to the music, she glided on, with little graceful movements of her neck. A smile came to her lips at certain subtleties of the violin, which sometimes went on playing when the other instruments were mute; and you could hear the jingle of the 'louis d'or' as they were poured out on to the card-tables. Then the whole band would strike up anew, the cornet would sound a rousing note, once more the dancers' feet would move in time to the music, skirts would puff out and lightly touch one another as they passed, hands met and parted, and the same pair of eyes, drooping low before you, would return again and fix themselves on yours.

A few men (some fifteen or so), of ages varying from twenty-five to forty, who were scattered about among the dancers or standing chatting in the doorways, were distinguished from the general run by a sort of family likeness which one could not help observing despite the disparities of age, dress and feature.

Their clothes seemed better cut and made of better stuff, and their hair, brought forward in waves towards the temples, seemed lustrous with more delicate pomade. They had the sort of complexion rich people nearly always have- the clear, pale tint that dainty white china, shimmering satin, and beautiful polished furniture, bring out into stronger relief, a tint kept fresh by a well-chosen diet of dainty foods. Their cravats were low enough to give free play to their necks; their flowing whiskers fell on the broad lapels of their coats; they wiped their lips on perfumed handkerchiefs adorned with large monograms. Those who were getting on in years looked like young men, while the young men had a certain suggestion of maturity about them. Their air of calm indifference betokened the serenity of passions that daily found appeasement; yet all their fine and gentle ways did not hide that sort of autocratic manner that comes of dealing with things spirited but not too intractable, things that provoke one's prowess or titillate one's vanity- the handling of a thoroughbred, or the conquest of a beautiful wanton.

Three paces away from Emma, a fine gentleman in a blue coat was comparing notes about Italy with a pale young woman who was wearing some magnificent pearls. They discussed the size of the pillars in St. Peter's, they talked of Tivoli, Vesuvius, Castellamare, the Cassini, the roses at Genoa, the Coliseum by moonlight. With her other ear, Emma was listening to a conversation full of words that were quite unintelligible to her. A group of people were standing round a very young man who, the week before, had beaten 'Miss Arabella' and 'Romulus', and won a cool two thousand by jumping a ditch in England. One complained that his racers were out of condition, another of a printer's error that had made nonsense of his horse's name.

The air in the ballroom felt close; the lamps were growing dim. The guests began to flock into the billiard-room. A footman got up on a chair and broke a couple of window-panes. Hearing the crash of glass, Madame Bovary looked round and saw the faces of a number of peasants who were outside in the garden peering in through the windows. Then she thought of les Bertaux. She saw the farm, and the muddy pond, her father in his blouse out in the orchard, and again she saw herself in the dairy, skimming the cream off the milk-pans with her finger.

But the memories of her past life, which till then had always been so clear and definite, vanished so completely in the splendours of the moment that she could hardly persuade herself they were not a dream. There she was. No doubt about that! But everything save the ball, the future no less than the past, was enveloped in a shadow. She was just then eating a maraschino ice from a silver-gilt cup which she was holding in her left hand, and she half closed her eyes as she put the spoon between her lips.

Hard by, a lady dropped her fan. A gentleman was passing.

'Would you be kind enough,' said she, 'to pick up my fan? It has fallen behind the sofa here.'

The gentleman bowed, and as he made as though to reach down for the fan, Emma noticed the young woman's hand toss something white and triangular into his hat. The gentleman, having recovered the fan, presented it to the lady, with much deference. She nodded her thanks and began smelling at her bouquet.

After supper, at which the wines of Spain and the Rhineland flowed freely, with abundance of 'potage a la bisque', and 'potage au lait d'amandes', puddings 'a la Trafalgar' and all manner of cold meats in aspic that trembled in their dishes, the carriages began to drive off one after another. By drawing aside a corner of the lace curtain you could see the light of their lamps gliding away into the darkness. The seats began to empty; there were still a few people playing cards, the musicians were cooling the tips of their fingers on their tongues. Charles was half-asleep with his back against a door.

It was three in the morning when the cotillon began. Emma had never learnt to waltz. But everybody was waltzing, Mademoiselle d'Andervilliers herself and the Marquise. Only the guests who were staying the night at the chateau were still there, about a dozen in all.

However, one of the waltzers, familiarly known as the Vicomte, whose low-cut waistcoat fitted him like a glove, came a second time to invite Madame Bovary to join in the dance, vowing that he would guide her and that she would acquit herself admirably.

They began slowly, and then increased their speed. They turned, and everything about them turned- lamps, furniture, wainscoting, and the floor like a disc on a pivot. As they swung past the doors, Emma's dress blew up to her drawers. Their legs intertwined. He looked down at her, she raised her eyes to his; a feeling of dizziness began to come over her and she stopped. Then off they went again, more swiftly than ever; the Vicomte, waltzing her along, raced with her out of sight to the far end of the gallery, where, gasping for breath, she nearly fell and, for a moment, dropped her head upon his breast. And then, still turning, but more gently now, he conducted her to her seat. She leaned back against the wall and covered her eyes with her hands.

When she opened them again, she saw in the middle of the room a lady seated on a stool with three gentlemen kneeling at her feet. She chose the Vicomte, and the violins began again. Everyone's eyes were upon them. They passed and repassed, she gliding motionless as a statue, her chin bowed down, he always in the same pose, his figure arched, his elbow rounded, his chin well forward. Ah, she could waltz, she could! They went on and on and wore down all their rivals.

Then there was a little more conversation, and after saying goodnight or rather good-morning, the guests of the chateau went off to bed.

Charles dragged himself upstairs, clinging to the banisters. His legs felt like dropping off. For five mortal hours he had been standing by the card-tables, watching people play whist, and unable to make head or tail of it. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that he heaved a sigh of satisfaction as he pulled off his boots.

Emma wrapped a shawl round her shoulders, opened the window and sat with her head in her hand.

The night was dark. A few drops of rain were falling. She breathed in the damp wind that blew cool against her eyelids. The dance music was still thrumming in her ears, and she tried to keep awake in order to prolong the illusion of a luxurious existence to which she would soon have to say farewell.

Dawn began to break. Long she gazed at the windows of the chateau, trying to guess which were the rooms of the people who had impressed her the night before. She would have liked to know all about their lives, to have entered into them and mingled with them. But she was shivering with cold. She undressed and snuggled down between the sheets, close up to Charles, who was sound asleep.

There was a numerous company at 'dejeuner', which was all over in ten minutes. To the doctor's surprise, no liqueurs were served. After that, Mademoiselle d'Andervilliers collected some pieces of bread and put them into a basket to give to the swans on the lake, and they took a stroll through the greenhouse, where queer-looking plants, bristling with hairs, reared themselves in pyramids under hanging vases whence, as from swarming serpents' nests, long green trailers, intertwisted one with another, hung down over the sides. The orangery, which was at the far end, led by a covered way to the outbuildings of the chateau. The Marquis, to amuse the young woman, took her to see the stables. Above the basket-shaped racks there were china tablets giving the names of the respective horses in black letters. The animals got quite excited when anyone passed by and gave them the familiar greeting. The floor of the harness-room was polished like the 'parquet' of a salon. The carriage harness was hung up in the centre on two revolving pillars, and the bits, whips, spurs and curbs were suspended in rows all along the walls.

Meanwhile Charles went to ask one of the men to put his horse to. The trap was brought round, their various belongings were stowed away. Then, having taken a courteous leave of the Marquis and Marquise, the Bovarys turned their horse's head towards Tostes and home. Emma sat in silence, staring absently at the revolving wheels. Charles, perched on the extreme edge of the seat, was driving with his arms wide apart, and between the shafts, that were much too wide for her, the little mare went jogging patiently along. The reins hung loose on her crupper and were bathed in foamy sweat. The trunk, tied on behind, bumped rhythmically against the back of the trap.

They had reached the high ground about Thibourville when, all of a sudden, a party of gentlemen, laughing and smoking cigars, cantered merrily past them. Emma thought she recognized the Vicomte. She turned round to have another look, but they had already reached the horizon, and all she could see were a few heads bobbing up and down to the varying cadence of trot and gallop.

About three-quarters of a mile farther on they had to stop to mend a broken trace with string.

But Charles, giving a final glance at the harness, noticed something lying on the ground between his horse's legs. He stooped down and picked up a cigar-case lined with green silk, with a coat of arms in the centre, like the blazon on a carriage door, and a couple of cigars inside it.

'They'll come in for this evening after dinner.'

'You smoke, then?' she asked.

'Sometimes, when there's anything to smoke.'

He pocketed his find and whipped up his nag.

When they got home, the dinner wasn't ready. Madame flew into a rage. Nastasie answered back.

'You shall go,' said Emma. 'Such rudeness! I won't have you here!' Dinner consisted of some onion soup with a little bit of veal and sorrel.

'Ah, it's nice to be home again!' exclaimed Charles, cheerfully rubbing his hands, as he sat down opposite Emma.

They could hear Nastasie sobbing her heart out. He was rather fond of the poor girl. She had kept him company many an evening after his first wife died, when he had nothing to do. She was his first patient, the first person he ever got to know in the place.

'Have you really given her the sack?' he said at last.

'Yes. Who's going to stop me?' she replied.

Then they went into the kitchen to warm themselves while the bedroom was being got ready. Charles began to smoke. He pouted out his lips, kept on spitting and drew his head back every time he puffed.

'Here, you'll be sick in a minute!' she said scornfully.

He put the cigar down, and made for the pump, to get himself a drink of water. Quick as lightning, Emma caught up the cigar-case and threw it into the back of the cupboard.

What a day, next day! It seemed endless. She walked about her little garden, up and down, up and down, stopping to gaze at the flower-beds, at the espalier, at the plaster 'cure'; looking with bewilderment at all these things of days gone by, things that she knew so well. How far away the ball seemed already! What power was it that was sundering so widely the morning of two days ago and the evening of this very day? Her journey to la Vaubyessard had made a gap in her life, like those great chasms that a storm will sometimes cleave in the mountains in a single night. However, she accepted her fate. She folded up her beautiful dress and laid it reverently away in the chest of drawers, not forgetting her satin shoes, whereof the soles were yellowed with the wax of the polished floor. Her heart was like the soles of those shoes. Wealth and luxury had rubbed against it and left upon it something that would never wear away.

And so the memory of this ball grew to be something like an occupation for Emma. Every time Wednesday came round she would sigh as she awoke and say to herself, 'A week ago today... a fortnight ago... three weeks ago, I was 'there!'' Little by little the faces of the people grew blurred in her memory, she forgot the tune of the quadrilles; the servants' liveries, the look of the rooms came back less plainly to her vision; some of the details faded away, but the void in her heart remained.

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