rls, and the
smooth beard of Madame Castillon's lover, as well as by the air of a
conquering hero which the fellow assumed, while his own hair was pasted
to his skull like a soaked wig, his torso wrapped in a greatcoat
resembled a bolster, two of his front teeth were out, and his
physiognomy had a harsh expression. He thought that Heaven had dealt
unkindly with him, and felt that he was one of the disinherited;
moreover, his friend no longer cared for him.

Bouvard deserted him every evening. Since his wife was dead, there was
nothing to prevent him from taking another, who, by this time, might be
coddling him up and looking after his house. And now he was getting too
old to think of it.

But Bouvard examined himself in the glass. His cheeks had kept their
colour; his hair curled just the same as of yore; not a tooth was loose;
and, at the idea that he had still the power to please, he felt a return
of youthfulness. Madame Bordin rose in his memory. She had made advances
to him, first on the occasion of the burning of the stacks, next at the
dinner which they gave, then in the museum at the recital, and lastly,
without resenting any want of attention on his part, she had called
three Sundays in succession. He paid her a return visit, and repeated
it, making up his mind to woo and win her.

Since the day when Pecuchet had watched the little servant-maid drawing
water, he had frequently talked to her, and whether she was sweeping the
corridor or spreading out the linen, or taking up the saucepans, he
could never grow tired of looking at her--surprised himself at his
emotions, as in the days of adolescence. He had fevers and languors on
account of her, and he was stung by the picture left in his memory of
Madame Castillon straining Gorju to her breast.

[Illustration: HE WAS ABOUT TO CLASP HER IN HIS ARMS]

He questioned Bouvard as to the way libertines set about seducing women.

"They make them presents; they bring them to restaurants for supper."

"Very good. But after that?"

"Some of them pretend to faint, in order that you may carry them over to
a sofa; others let their handkerchiefs fall on the ground. The best of
them plainly make an appointment with you." And Bouvard launched forth
into descriptions which inflamed Pecuchet's imagination, like engravings
of voluptuous scenes.

"The first rule is not to believe what they say. I have known those who,
under the appearance of saints, were regular Messalinas. A