Emma was not asleep, she was pretending to be asleep; and, while [Charles] was dozing off beside her, she was roused by other dreams.|
Behind four galloping horses, she had been carried seven days into a new land, whence they would never return. On they go, on they go, close-embracing, wordlessly. Often, from a mountain-top, they suddenly glimpsed some splendid city of domes, bridges, ships, groves of lemon-trees and cathedrals of white marble, their elegant spires topped with the nests of storks. They moved at a walking pace, over the great flagstones, and on the ground there were bouquets of flowers, offered by women dressed in red bodices. You could hear bells, mules braying, with the murmur of guitars and the noise of fountains, whose drifting spray cooled piles of fruit, arranged in pyramids at the foot of pale statues, that smiled beneath dancing waters. And they came, one evening, to a fishing-village, where brown nets were drying in the wind, along the cliff by the huts. It was there they would settle down for all time: they would live in a low house with a flat roof, in the shade of a palm-tree, at the head of a gulf, on the edge of the sea. They would cruise in a gondola, they would swing in a hammock; and their existence would be easy and free like their silken garments, warm and starry as the soft nights they would contemplate. . . .
— Madame Bovary, page 182.