“I don’t know, doctor, and I don’t even know where she can have procured the arsenious acid.”
Justin, who was just bringing in a pile of plates, began to tremble.
“What’s the matter?” said the chemist.
At this question the young man dropped the whole lot on the ground with a crash.
“Imbecile!” cried Homais, “awkward lout! block-head! confounded ass!”
But suddenly controlling himself—
“I wished, doctor, to make an analysis, and primo I delicately introduced a tube—”
“You would have done better,” said the physician, “to introduce your fingers into her throat.”
His colleague was silent, having just before privately received a severe lecture about his emetic, so that this good Canivet, so arrogant and so verbose at the time of the clubfoot, was to-day very modest. He smiled without ceasing in an approving manner.
Homais dilated in Amphytrionic pride, and the affecting thought of Bovary vaguely contributed to his pleasure by a kind of egotistic reflex upon himself. Then the presence of the doctor transported him. He displayed his erudition, cited pell-mell cantharides, upas, the manchineel, vipers.