Bovarywassearchingatthebottomofhispurseforacentime，andwithoutappearingtounderstandalltherewasofhumiliationforhiminthemerepresenceofthisman，whostoodtherelikeapersonifiedreproachtohisincurableincapacity。
“Hallo!you’veaprettybouquet，“hesaid，noticingLeon’svioletsonthechimney。
“Yes，“sherepliedindifferently；“it’sabouquetIboughtjustnowfromabeggar。“
Charlespickeduptheflowers，andfresheninghiseyes，redwithtears，againstthem，smeltthemdelicately。
Shetookthemquicklyfromhishandandputtheminaglassofwater。