Geoffrey sits on a ferry, crossing the English Channel. There is a “rattarattarattarata” (74) as the furniture onboard rattles. A translation error on a garbage can reminds Geoffrey of a time when Flaubert’s work was advertised under the name “Faubert” (74). Geoffrey thinks about the small details of life in France that he appreciates, comparing his list to those of other people. He likes the serious, single-minded pharmacies and “the spirit of Homais” (76). He drinks another whisky and admits that he has three stories to tell: one about Flaubert, one about Ellen, and one about himself.

He begins to consider how Flaubert’s legacy has been posthumously treated. Flaubert seemed intent on remaining absent from his own works; Geoffrey posits that “Flaubert’s planned invisibility” (80) can be read as either classical or modern. Lost in thought, Geoffrey decides that he needs to “take a turn on deck” (81).

Geoffrey wonders whether the details of the past can ever truly be known for sure, asking whether “fat people were fatter […] And were mad people madder?” (82). He complains that “nowadays we aren’t allowed to use the word mad” (83) but admits to doing it anyway. Like words, Geoffrey wonders whether the colors Flaubert saw still exist today.