gathered from his guide's talk
that Monsieur Rouault must be one of the well-to-do farmers. He had
broken his leg the evening before on his way home from a Twelfth-night
feast at a neighbor's. His wife had been dead for two years. There was
only his daughter, who helped him to keep house, with him.

The ruts were becoming deeper; they were approaching the Bertaux. The
little lad, slipping through a hole in the hedge, disappeared; then he
came back to the end of a courtyard to open the gate. The horse slipped
on the wet grass; Charles had to stoop to pass under the branches. The
watchdogs in their kennels barked, dragging at their chains. As he
entered the Bertaux the horse took fright and stumbled.

It was a substantial-looking farm. In the stables, over the top of the
open doors, one could see great cart-horses quietly feeding from new
racks. Right along the outbuildings extended a large dunghill, from
which manure liquid oozed, while amidst fowls and turkeys five or six
peacocks, a luxury in Chauchois farmyards, were foraging on the top of
it. The sheepfold was long, the barn high, with walls smooth as your
hand. Under the cart-shed were two large carts and four ploughs, with
their whips, shafts, and harnesses complete, whose fleeces of blue wool
were getting soiled by the fine dust that fell from the granaries. The
courtyard sloped upwards, planted with trees set out symmetrically, and
the chattering noise of a flock of geese was heard near the pond.

A young woman in a blue merino dress with three flounces came to the
threshold of the door to receive Monsieur Bovary, whom she led to the
kitchen, where a large fire was blazing. The servants' breakfast was
boiling beside it in small pots of all sizes. Some damp clothes were
drying inside the chimney-corner. The shovel, tongs, and the nozzle of
the bellows, all of colossal size, shone like polished steel, while
along the walls hung many pots and pans in which the clear flame of the
hearth, mingling with the first rays of the sun coming in through the
window, was mirrored fitfully.

Charles went up to the first floor to see the patient. He found him in
his bed, sweating under his bed-clothes, having thrown his cotton
nightcap far away from him. He was a fat little man of fifty, with white
skin and blue eyes, the fore part of his head was bald, and he wore
ear-rings. Near him on a chair stood a large decanter of brandy, whence
he poured himself out a little from time