Madame Bovary Page #6

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your husband, for instance,|or the master of La Huchette.

What's his name? Monsieur Boulanger.

What are you saying?

His name just happened to come|to my mind.

This is impudent.|I hardly know Monsieur Boulanger.

I am a discreet man, Madame Bovary.|I am in the business of making money.

I leave matters of morals to the priests,|to the philosophers.

I ask only one question, what is the risk?

I'll make out a note.

I'm afraid it will have to be

for double the value|of the merchandise received.

Now, if I know from your lips

that you are going off|with the master of La Huchette,

then I shall not hesitate|to accept this note.

Even if you don't come back,|I'll have confidence

that someone will pay it.

Who do you mean? Charles?

- When are you leaving?|- Friday, a week.

- By what means of transportation?|- The mail coach in the evening.

The mail coach doesn't stop in Yonville.

- Rodolphe will arrange it.|- Excellent.

Your trunks will be waiting|in the front of my shop.

The coach can pick them up here,|and your husband be never the wiser.

Mama.

Madame Bovary?

I hope you like Italy.|I've never been there myself.

Wait! Wait!

There's a basket of fruit on the table there,|from La Huchette.

No, I didn't open it.

Emma.

Emma.

Emma.

Emma.

Emma.

- Emma.|- No!

What are you... Emma!

Emma!

The letter, the letter.

- Doctor, what is it?|- Please.

Emma.

Can you see this?

Can you see what I have here?|It's the letter.

I haven't read it.

Darling, please try to understand me.

Can you see what I'm doing?

Emma, can you see this? Can you see it?

Rodolphe.

Rodolphe.

Was it sickness?

If sickness, was it of the body|or of the soul?

The summer fled.

Autumn pursued it down|the empty spaces of half-forgetfulness.

And then, in the winter months,|Emma recovered.

She recovered, that is,|in the sense that she did not die.

But while Emma had given up all hope,|Charles had not.

Oh, you stupid dunce.

Look what you've done|to my beautiful frock.

I'm sorry.

Oh, my lovely gown|and now you've just ruined it.

- Charles Bovary.|- How could you be so stupid?

- Leon Dupuis. My apologies.|- Stupid idiot.

Same old Charles.|This is delightful, delightful.

The mustache, the clothes.|You see, it's an old friend of mine.

Well, what in the world|are you doing in Rouen?

I thought you were in Paris.

Oh, it's a long story.

But what are you doing in Rouen?|You never leave Yonville.

- Come, I writhe with curiosity.|- Emma... You can join us, can't you?

Of course.

Drink it, and then faint.

Look.

Leon. Leon Dupuis.

Charles, you knew he was in Rouen|all the time.

- No.|- You arranged it.

No, it was luck. It was absolute luck.

He won't even tell me why he left Paris.

Look at him, the man of the boulevards.

- Why did you leave Paris?|- No mystery.

There was a law firm here in Rouen,|a partnership.

Oh, the sacrifices one makes|on the doubtful altar of success.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Our own Leon, a lawyer.

Then I said that I did like the opera,|everything except the music.

Oh, no, it's all over. Here come the people.

I wish we hadn't missed the third act.

Oh, you know you couldn't have stood|another minute of it.

- That dreadful Lagardy.|- Precisely.

Why, in Paris,|Lagardy is regarded as quite...

Oh, really?

I was just beginning to like him.

Oh, darling, you're the most|wonderfully stubborn man alive.

I wouldn't know about that.

I only know I'm the happiest.

You should be happy.

Well, you didn't have to watch|Lagardy's third act performance.

In Paris, you know,|he's considered a has-been.

But here in the provinces,|I suppose we're still impressed

with his reputation with women.

His what? Oh, Leon, tell us.

Didn't you know?

Why, he's quite notorious.|Countesses, duchesses...

No.

I should have stayed for the third act.|No, I mean it.

Darling, you should have forced me|to stay.

I should have... Oh, no, I must be drunk.

Waiter? Bring me the bill, please.

You know, my head goes|around and around.

- Oh, here, Charles, let me...|- No, no, no.

You know, we could come back|tomorrow night to see the third act.

Darling, why don't we stay over|an extra day?

Oh, no, I can't.

All my patients are waiting for me|to get back so that they can die.

What a pity.

Do you know, that third act|does have some fascinating moments in it.

The great aria.

Oh, I can't bear it.|I want to see the third act.

Oh, you know,|I'll never understand a woman.

Well, you stay. You stay over until Sunday.

No, no, we have to go back.

No, you stay over at the Croix Rouge.|I'll go home. I hate Lagardy.

- Darling, be serious. May I?|- Yes, of course.

Make him take you. He likes Lagardy.

Oh, Charles, you are a darling.

- Monsieur Dupuis?|- No, no. Go away, please.

- Boy, what is it?|- Are you Monsieur Dupuis?

- Yes, yes, what is it?|- A note.

What are you doing in my room?|I sent you a note.

I don't find it satisfactory.

People from Yonville stay here.|Somebody may have seen you.

You'll treasure the memory|of our friendship in Yonville.

Please get out.

My woman of the world,|flirt with me in public, lead me along,

then in private, "Oh, no, go away, get out. "

I meant it. I meant what I said in that note.

You spoiled, ridiculous child.

A horrid little rendezvous|in a horrid little hotel.

Is this what you think I am?

The way you deceived Charles.|The way you tricked him.

The way I tricked him?

Can't you be ashamed?|Charles is your friend. He trusts you.

Charles. You know it isn't Charles.

What happened? You're dressed.|You intended to meet me.

Is this where I end up?|A dirty little hotel bedroom,

broken mirrors|and no curtains on the window.

Don't, Emma.

You know me, Leon.|This wasn't what I ever wanted.

Did I ever want anything cheap or ugly?

No, Emma. No.

Is it a crime to want things|to be beautiful?

I love you, Emma.

No, somebody saw you.|Somebody must have seen you.

Nobody saw me.

- Well?|- Where's Dr. Bovary? Isn't he home?

He was called away.|He won't be home until tomorrow.

- What happened?|- He's gone to Daudeville. His father died.

Poor Charles. What a pity. Hello, Berthe.

Myself, I felt sorrowful for the master.

What do you mean? That I don't?

I mean, with so much happening,|his wife away and his father and the bills.

The bills? What bills?

Something with this linen-draper fellow.|How should I know?

I signed those notes. You agreed,|my husband wasn't to know about it.

I'm pressed for money myself.

But you went to him.|You broke your word.

Don't be alarmed.|I only showed him a bill for 1,000 francs.

Poor man, if he knew the whole amount...

Monsieur Lheureux, this isn't the time.|He's upset.

His father and the funeral|and settling the estate.

- The estate? What's it worth?|- I don't know.

Find out. Sell it.

- How could I? It belongs to Charles.|- At least investigate it.

Do you know anyone|who could handle it for you?

I know a lawyer in Rouen.|He's quite successful.

Excellent.

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