The fracture was a simple one， without anykind of complication. Charles could not have hoped for an easier case. Thencalling to mind the devices of his masters at the bedsides of patients， hecomforted the sufferer with all sorts of kindly remarks， those Caresses of thesurgeon that are like the oil they put on bistouries. In order to make some splintsa bundle of laths was brought up from the cart-house. Charles selected one， cutit into two pieces and planed it with a fragment of windowpane， while theservant tore up sheets to make bandages， and Mademoiselle Emma tried to sewsome pads. As she was a long time before she found her work-case， her fathergrew impatient； she did not answer， but as she sewed she pricked her fingers，which she then put to her mouth to suck them. Charles was surprised at thewhiteness of her nails. They were shiny， delicate at the tips， more polishedthan the ivory of Dieppe， and almond-shaped. Yet her hand was not beautiful，perhaps not white enough， and a little hard at the knuckles； besides， it wastoo long， with no soft inflections in the outlines. Her real beauty was in hereyes. Although brown， they seemed black because of the lashes， and her lookcame at you frankly， with a candid boldness.
The bandaging over， the doctor was invited byMonsieur Rouault himself to “pick a bit” before he left.
Charles went down into the room on the groundfloor. Knives and forks and silver goblets were laid for two on a little tableat the foot of a huge bed that had a canopy of printed cotton with figuresrepresenting Turks. There was an odour of iris-root and damp sheets thatescaped from a large oak chest opposite the window. On the floor in cornerswere sacks of flour stuck upright in rows. These were the overflow from theneighbouring granary， to which three stone steps led. By way of decoration forthe apartment， hanging to a nail in the middle of the wall， whose green paintscaled off from the effects of the saltpetre， was a crayon head of Minerva ingold frame， underneath which was written in Gothic letters “To dear Papa.”
First they spoke of the patient， then of theweather， of the great cold， of the wolves that infested the fields at night.Mademoiselle Rouault did not at all like the country， especially now that shehad to look after the farm almost alone. As the room was chilly， she shiveredas she ate. This showed something of her full lips， that she had a habit ofbiting when silent.
Her neck stood out from a white turned-downcollar. Her hair， whose two black folds seemed each of a single piece， sosmooth were they， was parted in the middle by a delicate line that curvedslightly with the curve of the head； and， just showing the tip of the ear， itwas joined behind in a thick chignon， with a wavy movement at the temples thatthe country doctor saw now for the first time in his life. The upper part ofher cheek was rose-coloured. She had， like a man， thrust in between two buttonsof her bodice a tortoise-shell eyeglass.
When Charles， after bidding farewell to oldRouault， returned to the room before leaving， he found her standing， herforehead against the window， looking into the garden， where the beanprops hadbeen knocked down by the wind. She turned round.
“Are you looking for anything？” she asked.
“My whip， if you please，” he answered.
He began rummaging on the bed， behind thedoors， under the chairs. It had fallen to the floor， between the sacks and thewall. Mademoiselle Emma saw it， and bent over the flour sacks. Charles out ofpoliteness made a dash also， and as he stretched out his arm， at the samemoment felt his breast brush against the back of the young girl bending beneathhim. She drew herself up， scarlet， and looked at him over her shoulder as shehanded him his whip.
Instead of returning to the Bertaux in threedays as he had promised， he went back the very next day， then regularly twice aweek， without counting the visits he paid now and then as if by accident.
Everything， moreover， went well； the patientprogressed favourably； and when， at the end of forty-six days， old Rouault wasseen trying to walk alone in his “den，” Monsieur Bovary began to be looked upon as a man of great capacity.Old Rouault said that he could not have been curédbetter by the first doctor of Yvetot， or even of Rouen.
As to Charles， he did not stop to ask himselfwhy it was a pleasure to him to go to the Bertaux. Had he done so， he would， nodoubt， have attributed his zeal to the importance of the case， or perhaps tothe money he hoped to make by it. Was it for this， however， that his visits tothe farm formed a delightful exception to the meagre occupations of his life？On these days he rose early， set off at a gallop， urging on his horse， then gotdown to wipe his boots in the grass and put on black gloves before entering. Heliked going into the courtyard， and noticing the gate turn against hisshoulder， the cock crow on the wall， the lads run to meet him. He liked thegranary and the stables； he liked old Rouault， who pressed his hand and calledhim his saviour； he like the small wooden shoes of Mademoiselle Emma on thescoured flags of the kitchen-her high heels made her a little taller； and whenshe walked in front of him， the wooden soles springing up quickly struck with asharp sound against the leather of her boots.
She always accompanied him to the first stepof the stairs. When his horse had not yet been brought round she stayed there. Theyhad said “Good-bye”； there wasno more talking. The open air wrapped her round， playing with the soft down onthe back of her neck， or blew to and fro on her hips the apron-strings， thatfluttered like streamers. Once， during a thaw the bark of the trees in the yardwas oozing， the snow on the roofs of the outbuildings was melting； she stood onthe threshold， and went to fetch her sunshade and opened it. The sunshade ofsilk of the colour of pigeons' breasts， through whichthe sun shone， lighted up with shifting hues the white skin of her face. Shesmiled under the tender warmth， and drops of water could be heard falling oneby one on the stretched silk.
During the first period of Charles's visits to the Bertaux， Madame Bovary junior never failed to inquireafter the invalid， and she had even chosen in the book that she kept on asystem of double entry a clean blank page for Monsieur Rouault. But when sheheard he had a daughter， she began to make inquiries， and she learnt theMademoiselle Rouault， brought up at the Ursuline Convent， had received what iscalled “a good education”； andso knew dancing， geography， drawing， how to embroider and play the piano. Thatwas the last straw.
“So it is for this，”she said to herself， “that his face beams when he goesto see her， and that he puts on his new waistcoat at the risk of spoiling itwith the rain. Ah！ that woman！ that woman！”
And she detested her instinctively. At firstshe solaced herself by allusions that Charles did not understand， then bycasual observations that he let pass for fear of a storm， finally by openapostrophes to which he knew not what to answer. “Whydid he go back to the Bertaux now that Monsieur Rouault was curéd and that these folks hadn't paid yet？ Ah！it was because a young lady was there， some one who know how to talk， toembroider， to be witty. That was what he cared about； he wanted town misses.” And she went on-
“The daughter of old Rouault a town miss！ Getout！ Their grandfather was a shepherd， and they have a cousin who was almosthad up at the assizes for a nasty blow in a quarrel. It is not worth whilemaking such a fuss， or showing herself at church on Sundays in a silk gown likea countess. Besides， the poor old chap， if it hadn'tbeen for the colza last year， would have had much ado to pay up his arrears.”
For very weariness Charles left off going to the Bertaux. Hélo？se made him swear， his hand on theprayer-book， that he would go there no more after much sobbing and many kisses，in a great outburst of love. He obeyed then， but the strength of his desireprotested against the servility of his conduct； and he thought， with a kind ofnaive hypocrisy， that his interdict to see her gave him a sort of right to loveher. And then the widow was thin； she had long teeth； wore in all weathers alittle black shawl， the edge of which hung down between her shoulder-blades；her bony figure was sheathed in her clothes as if they were a scabbard； theywere too short， and displayed her ankles with the laces of her large bootscrossed over grey stockings.