He went out only to give an order to the coachman, with Monsieur Canivet, who did not care either to have Emma die under his hands.
The chemist rejoined them on the Place. He could not by temperament keep away from celebrities, so he begged Monsieur Lariviere to do him the signal honour of accepting some breakfast.
He sent quickly to the “Lion d’Or” for some pigeons; to the butcher’s for all the cutlets that were to be had; to Tuvache for cream; and to Lestiboudois for eggs; and the druggist himself aided in the preparations, while Madame Homais was saying as she pulled together the strings of her jacket—
“You must excuse us, sir, for in this poor place, when one hasn’t been told the night before—”
“Wine glasses!” whispered Homais.
“If only we were in town, we could fall back upon stuffed trotters.”
“Be quiet! Sit down, doctor!”
He thought fit, after the first few mouthfuls, to give some details as to the catastrophe.
“We first had a feeling of siccity in the pharynx, then intolerable pains at the epigastrium, super purgation, coma.”
“But how did she poison herself?”