ent all over the house to call him, and he was found at the
end of his own apartment in an easy chair, without fire or candle, his
cap drawn over his eyes. He was not unwell, but had given himself up to
his own broodings.

When the quarrel was over they recognised that a foundation was needed
for their studies--political economy.

They inquired into supply and demand, capital and rent, importation and
prohibition.

One night Pecuchet was awakened by the creaking of a boot in the
corridor. The evening before, according to custom, he had himself drawn
all the bolts; and he called out to Bouvard, who was fast asleep.

They remained motionless under the coverlets. The noise was not
repeated.

The servants, on being questioned, said they had heard nothing.

But, while walking through the garden, they remarked in the middle of a
flower-bed, near the gateway, the imprint of a boot-sole, and two of the
sticks used as supports for the trees were broken. Evidently some one
had climbed over.

It was necessary to give notice of it to the rural guard.

As he was not at the municipal building, Pecuchet thought of going to
the grocer's shop.

Who should they see in the back shop, beside Placquevent, in the midst
of the topers, but Gorju--Gorju, rigged out like a well-to-do citizen,
entertaining the company!

This meeting was taken as a matter of course.

So on they lapsed into a discussion about progress.

Bouvard had no doubt it existed in the domain of science. But in that of
literature it was not so manifest; and if comfort increases, the poetic
side of life disappears.

Pecuchet, in order to bring home conviction on the point, took a piece
of paper: "I trace across here an undulating line. Those who happen to
travel over it, whenever it sinks, can no longer see the horizon. It
rises again nevertheless, and, in spite of its windings, they reach the
top. This is an image of progress."

Madame Bordin entered at this point.

It was the 3rd of December, 1851. She had the newspaper in her hand.

They read very quickly, side by side, the news of the appeal to the
people, the dissolution of the Chamber, and the imprisonment of the
deputies.

Pecuchet turned pale. Bouvard gazed at the widow.

"What! have you nothing to say?"

"What do you wish me to do here?" (They had forgotten to offer her a
seat.) "I came here simply out of courtesy towards you, and you are
scarcely civil to-day."

And out she went, disgusted