During the journeys he made to see her, Léon had often dined at the chemist’s, and he felt obliged from politeness to invite him in turn.
“With pleasure!” Monsieur Homais replied; “besides, I must invigorate my mind, for I am getting rusty here. We’ll go to the theatre, to the restaurant; we’ll make a night of it.”
“Oh, my dear!” tenderly murmured Madame Homais, alarmed at the vague perils he was preparing to brave.
“Well, what? Do you think I’m not sufficiently ruining my health living here amid the continual emanations of the pharmacy? But there! that is the way with women! They are jealous of science, and then are opposed to our taking the most legitimate distractions. No matter! Count upon me. One of these days I shall turn up at Rouen, and we’ll go the pace together.”
The druggist would formerly have taken good care not to use such an expression, but he was cultivating a gay Parisian style, which he thought in the best taste; and, like his neighbour, Madame Bovary, he questioned the clerk curiously about the customs of the capital; he even talked slang to dazzle the bourgeois, saying “bender,” “crummy,” “dandy,” “macaroni,” “the cheese,” “cut my stick,” and “I’ll hook it,” for “I am going.”
So one Thursday Emma was surprised to meet Monsieur Homais in the kitchen of the Lion d’Or, wearing a traveller’s costume, that is to say, wrapped in an old cloak which no one knew he had, while he carried a valise in one hand and the foot-warmer of his establishment in the other. He had confided his intentions to no one, for fear of causing the public anxiety by his absence.