Emma, lying on a lounge, replied as quietly as possible—“Ah! Madame, enough! enough!”
The other went on lecturing her, predicting they would end in the workhouse. But it was Bovary’s fault. Luckily he had promised to destroy that power of attorney.
“ What?”
“ Ah! he swore he would,” went on the good woman.
Emma opened the window, called Charles, and the poor fellow was obliged to confess the promise torn from him by his mother.
Emma disappeared, then came back quickly, and majestically handed her a thick piece of paper.
“ Thank you,” said the old woman. And she threw the power of attorney into the fire.
Emma began to laugh, a strident, piercing, continuous laugh; she had an attack of hysterics.
“ Oh, my God!” cried Charles. “Ah! you really are wrong! You come here and make scen
