ly.

"And at once resuming its course, it passed by Saint-Sever, by the Quai
des Curandiers, the Quai aux Meules, once more over the bridge, by the
Place du Champ de Mars, and behind the hospital gardens, where old men
in black coats were walking in the sun along the terrace all green with
ivy. It went up the Boulevard Bouvreuil, along the Boulevard Cauchoise,
then the whole of Mont-Riboudet to the Deville hills.

"It came back; and then, without any fixed plan or direction, wandered
about at hazard. The cab was seen at Saint-Pol, at Lescure, at Mont
Gargan, at La Rouge-Marc and Place du Gaillardbois; in the Rue
Maladrerie, Rue Dinanderie, before Saint-Romain, Saint-Vivien,
Saint-Maclou, Saint-Nicaise--in front of the Customs, at the 'Vieille
Tour,' the 'Trois Pipes,' and the Monumental Cemetery. From time to
time, the coachman on his box cast despairing eyes at the
public-houses. He could not understand what furious desire for
locomotion urged these individuals never to wish to stop. He tried to
now and then, and at once exclamations of anger burst forth behind
him. Then he lashed his perspiring jades afresh, but indifferent to
their jolting, running up against things here and there, not caring if
he did, demoralised, and almost weeping with thirst, fatigue, and
depression.

"And on the harbour in the midst of the drays and casks and in the
streets at the corners, the good folk opened large wonder-stricken eyes
at this sight, so extraordinary in the provinces, a cab with blinds
drawn, and which appeared thus constantly shut more closely than a tomb,
and tossing about like a vessel.

"Once, in the middle of the day, in the open country, just as the sun
beat most fiercely against the old plated lanterns, a bared hand passed
beneath the small blinds of yellow canvas, and threw out some scraps of
paper that scattered in the wind, and farther off alighted like white
butterflies on a field of red clover all in bloom.

"At about six o'clock, the carriage stopped in a back street of the
Beauvoisine Quarter, and a woman got out, who walked with her veil down,
and without turning her head.

"On reaching the inn, Madame Bovary was surprised not to see the
diligence. Hivert, who had waited for her fifty-three minutes, had at
last started.

"Nothing, however, could prevent her setting out; she had promised to
return that evening. Moreover, Charles expected her, and in her heart
she felt already that cowardly docility that