And pursing her lips she slowly drew a long stitch of grey thread.
This work irritated Léon. It seemed to roughen the ends of her fingers. A gallant phrase came into his head, but he did not risk it.
“Then you are giving it up?” he went on.
“What?” she asked hurriedly. “Music? Ah! yes! Have I not my house to look after, my husband to attend to, a thousand things, in fact, many duties that must be considered first?”
She looked at the clock. Charles was late. Then, she affected anxiety. Two or three times she even repeated, “He is so good!”
The clerk was fond of Monsieur Bovary. But this tenderness on his behalf astonished him unpleasantly; nevertheless he took up on his praises, which he said everyone was singing, especially the chemist.
“Ah! he is a good fellow,” continued Emma.
“Certainly,” replied the clerk.
And he began talking of Madame Homais, whose very untidy appearance generally made them laugh.
“What does it matter?” interrupted Emma. “A good housewife does not trouble about her appearance.”