Monsieur Homais, as usual, came at half-past six during dinner.

“Well,” said he, “so we’ve sent off our young friend!”

“So it seems,” replied the doctor. Then turning on his chair; “Any news at home?”

“Nothing much. Only my wife was a little moved this afternoon. You know women⁠—a nothing upsets them, especially my wife. And we should be wrong to object to that, since their nervous organization is much more malleable than ours.”

“Poor Léon!” said Charles. “How will he live at Paris? Will he get used to it?”

Madame Bovary sighed.

“Get along!” said the chemist, smacking his lips. “The outings at restaurants, the masked balls, the champagne⁠—all that’ll be jolly enough, I assure you.”

“I don’t think he’ll go wrong,” objected Bovary.