Madame Bovary Page #9

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as soft and faint as the last

echo of a symphony...

fading away.

Bring me Berthe.

You're not feeling worse?

How pale you are! You're sweating!

I'm scared.

That's enough!

It was blowing so strong that

day...

that it blew her petticoats...

far away.

The blind man!

Farewell! Farewell!

Pray, my son.

But I'm suffering!

God is great!

We must accept His will.

I hate your God!

The spirit of rebellion is still

within you.

Fate's the one to blame.

One evening, Berthe came to

fetch him for dinner.

He was sitting under the arbour.

She gently pushed him.

He fell to the ground. He was

dead.

12 francs and 75 centimes were

left after sale...

and that paid for Berthe's trip to

her grandmother's.

The old lady died that year.

Old Rouault being paralysed, an

aunt took her in.

She is poor and has sent her to

work...

in a cotton mill.

Homais' practice grows like

wildfire.

Authority respects him and

public opinion protects him.

He has just received the Legion

of Honour.

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