“You are taking a shameless advantage of my distress, sir! I am to be pitied—not to be sold.”
And she went out.
The notary remained quite stupefied, his eyes fixed on his fine embroidered slippers. They were a love gift, and the sight of them at last consoled him. Besides, he reflected that such an adventure might have carried him too far.
“What a wretch! what a scoundrel! what an infamy!” she said to herself, as she fled with nervous steps beneath the aspens of the path. The disappointment of her failure increased the indignation of her outraged modesty; it seemed to her that Providence pursued her implacably, and, strengthening herself in her pride, she had never felt so much esteem for herself nor so much contempt for others. A spirit of warfare transformed her. She would have liked to strike all men, to spit in their faces, to crush them, and she walked rapidly straight on, pale, quivering, maddened, searching the empty horizon with tear-dimmed eyes, and as it were rejoicing in the hate that was choking her.
When she saw her house a numbness came over her. She could not go on; and yet she must. Besides, whither could she flee?
Félicité was waiting for her at the door. “Well?”
“No!” said Emma.
And for a quarter of an hour the two of them went over the various persons in Yonville who might perhaps be inclined to help her. But each time that Félicité named someone Emma replied—
“Impossible! they will not!”
“And the master’ll soon be in.”