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They
went
at
last
.
Felicite
came
back
.
Emma
had
sent
her
out
to
watch
for
Bovary
in
order
to
keep
him
off
,
and
they
hurriedly
installed
the
man
in
possession
under
the
roof
,
where
he
swore
he
would
remain
.
During
the
evening
Charles
seemed
to
her
careworn
.
Emma
watched
him
with
a
look
of
anguish
,
fancying
she
saw
an
accusation
in
every
line
of
his
face
.
Then
,
when
her
eyes
wandered
over
the
chimney-piece
ornamented
with
Chinese
screens
,
over
the
large
curtains
,
the
armchairs
,
all
those
things
,
in
a
word
,
that
had
,
softened
the
bitterness
of
her
life
,
remorse
seized
her
or
rather
an
immense
regret
,
that
,
far
from
crushing
,
irritated
her
passion
.
Charles
placidly
poked
the
fire
,
both
his
feet
on
the
fire-dogs
.
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Once
the
man
,
no
doubt
bored
in
his
hiding-place
,
made
a
slight
noise
.
"
Is
anyone
walking
upstairs
?
"
said
Charles
.
"
No
,
"
she
replied
;
"
it
is
a
window
that
has
been
left
open
,
and
is
rattling
in
the
wind
.
"
The
next
day
,
Sunday
,
she
went
to
Rouen
to
call
on
all
the
brokers
whose
names
she
knew
.
They
were
at
their
country-places
or
on
journeys
.
She
was
not
discouraged
;
and
those
whom
she
did
manage
to
see
she
asked
for
money
,
declaring
she
must
have
some
,
and
that
she
would
pay
it
back
.
Some
laughed
in
her
face
;
all
refused
.
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At
two
o'clock
she
hurried
to
Leon
,
and
knocked
at
the
door
.
No
one
answered
.
At
length
he
appeared
.
"
What
brings
you
here
?
"
"
Do
I
disturb
you
?
"