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Updated: May 13, 2025
Vaucorbeil snatched a leaf from his note-book and wrote a few lines on it, which Marescot's clerk hastened to deliver. The séance was over. The patients went away. Bouvard and Pécuchet, on the whole, had not succeeded. Was this due to the temperature, or to the smell of tobacco, or to the Abbé Jeufroy's umbrella, which had a lining of copper, a metal unfavourable to the emission of the fluid?
In this manner it is possible for crimes to be suggested, and virtuous people may see themselves ferocious beasts, and involuntarily become cannibals." Glances were cast towards Bouvard and Pécuchet. Their scientific pursuits were fraught with dangers to society. Marescot's clerk reappeared in the garden flourishing a letter from Madame Vaucorbeil.
Two years more of such farming, and their fortune would be spent on it! The only remedy was to sell out. To do that, it was necessary to consult a notary. The step was a disagreeable one: Pécuchet took it on himself. In M. Marescot's opinion, it was better not to put up any posters. He would speak about the farm to respectable clients, and would let them make proposals.
They went to Marescot to ask him to raise money for them, either by the sale of the Ecalles meadow, or by a mortgage on their farm, or by giving up their house on the condition of getting a life annuity and keeping the usufruct. In Marescot's opinion this would be an impracticable course; but a better means might be devised, and they should be informed about it.
Pécuchet turned away his eyes to avoid hers; and Bouvard, his gaze resting on the walls, pondered meanwhile on his projected improvements. Eight days after he came back in a towering rage. "The damned traitress!" "Who, pray?" "Madame Bordin." And he related how he had been so infatuated as to offer to make her his wife, but all had come to an end a quarter of an hour since at Marescot's office.
She went off on Marescot's arm. The count distributed his pamphlets, requesting them to hand them round to other people. Vaucorbeil was leaving, when Pécuchet stopped him. "You are forgetting me, doctor." His yellow physiognomy was pitiable, with his moustaches and his black hair, which was hanging down under a silk handkerchief badly fastened. "Purge yourself," said the doctor.
As he was going out, Marescot's clerk and three men brought from Beljambe a large walnut table. "Monsieur" was much obliged to him for it. It had been conveyed in perfect order. Bouvard in this way learned about the new fashion of table-turning. He joked about it with the clerk.
Often had he surprised her before the Ecalles, in Marescot's company, having a gossip with Germaine. So many manoeuvres for a little bit of land! "She is avaricious! That's the explanation." So they ruminated over their disappointments by the fireside in the breakfast parlour, Pécuchet swallowing his medicines and Bouvard puffing at his pipe; and they began a discussion about women.
There were present as spectators the mayor, the tax-collector, the captain, other residents and their wives, Madame Vaucorbeil, Madame Bordin, of course, besides Mademoiselle Laverrière, Madame Marescot's former schoolmistress, a rather squint-eyed lady with her hair falling over her shoulders in the corkscrew fashion of 1830.
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