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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +The Awakening +and Selected +Short Stories +by Kate Chopin + +With an Introduction by +Marilynne Robinson + + + +THE AWAKENING + + + + +I + + + +A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the +door, kept repeating over and over: + +"Allez vous-en! Allez vous-en! Sapristi! That's all right!" + +He could speak a little Spanish, and also a language which +nobody understood, unless it was the mocking-bird that hung on the +other side of the door, whistling his fluty notes out upon the +breeze with maddening persistence. + +Mr. Pontellier, unable to read his newspaper with any degree +of comfort, arose with an expression and an exclamation of disgust. + +He walked down the gallery and across the narrow "bridges" which +connected the Lebrun cottages one with the other. He had been +seated before the door of the main house. The parrot and the +mockingbird were the property of Madame Lebrun, and they had the +right to make all the noise they wished. Mr. Pontellier had the +privilege of quitting their society when they ceased to be +entertaining. + +He stopped before the door of his own cottage, which was the +fourth one from the main building and next to the last. Seating +himself in a wicker rocker which was there, he once more applied +himself to the task of reading the newspaper. The day was Sunday; +the paper was a day old. The Sunday papers had not yet reached +Grand Isle. He was already acquainted with the market reports, +and he glanced restlessly over the editorials and bits of news which +he had not had time to read before quitting New Orleans the day before. + +Mr. Pontellier wore eye-glasses. He was a man of forty, of +medium height and rather slender build; he stooped a little. His +hair was brown and straight, parted on one side. His beard was +neatly and closely trimmed. + +Once in a while he withdrew his glance from the newspaper and +looked about him. There was more noise than ever over at the +house. The main building was called "the house," to distinguish it +from the cottages. The chattering and whistling birds were still +at it. Two young girls, the Farival twins, were playing a duet +from "Zampa" upon the piano. Madame Lebrun was bustling in and +out, giving orders in a high key to a yard-boy whenever she got +inside the house, and directions in an equally high voice to a +dining-room servant whenever she got outside. She was a fresh, +pretty woman, clad always in white with elbow sleeves. Her +starched skirts crinkled as she came and went. Farther down, +before one of the cottages, a lady in black was walking demurely up +and down, telling her beads. A good many persons of the pension +had gone over to the Cheniere Caminada in Beaudelet's +lugger to hear mass. Some young people were out under the +wateroaks playing croquet. Mr. Pontellier's two children were there +sturdy little fellows of four and five. A quadroon nurse followed +them about with a faraway, meditative air. + +Mr. Pontellier finally lit a cigar and began to smoke, letting +the paper drag idly from his hand. He fixed his gaze upon a white +sunshade that was advancing at snail's pace from the beach. He +could see it plainly between the gaunt trunks of the water-oaks and +across the stretch of yellow camomile. The gulf looked far away, +melting hazily into the blue of the horizon. The sunshade +continued to approach slowly. Beneath its pink-lined shelter were +his wife, Mrs. Pontellier, and young Robert Lebrun. When they +reached the cottage, the two seated themselves with some appearance +of fatigue upon the upper step of the porch, facing each other, +each leaning against a supporting post. + +"What folly! to bathe at such an hour in such heat!" exclaimed +Mr. Pontellier. He himself had taken a plunge at daylight. That +was why the morning seemed long to him. + +"You are burnt beyond recognition," he added, looking at his +wife as one looks at a valuable piece of personal property which +has suffered some damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely +hands, and surveyed them critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves +above the wrists. Looking at them reminded her of her rings, which +she had given to her husband before leaving for the beach. She +silently reached out to him, and he, understanding, took the rings +from his vest pocket and dropped them into her open palm. She +slipped them upon her fingers; then clasping her knees, she looked +across at Robert and began to laugh. The rings sparkled upon her +fingers. He sent back an answering smile. + +"What is it?" asked Pontellier, looking lazily and amused from +one to the other. It was some utter nonsense; some adventure out +there in the water, and they both tried to relate it at once. It +did not seem half so amusing when told. They realized this, and so +did Mr. Pontellier. He yawned and stretched himself. Then he got +up, saying he had half a mind to go over to Klein's hotel and play +a game of billiards. + +"Come go along, Lebrun," he proposed to Robert. But Robert +admitted quite frankly that he preferred to stay where he was and +talk to Mrs. Pontellier. + +"Well, send him about his business when he bores you, Edna," +instructed her husband as he prepared to leave. + +"Here, take the umbrella," she exclaimed, holding it out to +him. He accepted the sunshade, and lifting it over his head +descended the steps and walked away. + +"Coming back to dinner?" his wife called after him. He halted +a moment and shrugged his shoulders. He felt in his vest pocket; +there was a ten-dollar bill there. He did not know; perhaps he +would return for the early dinner and perhaps he would not. +It all depended upon the company which he found over at Klein's +and the size of "the game." He did not say this, but she understood it, +and laughed, nodding good-by to him. + +Both children wanted to follow their father when they saw him +starting out. He kissed them and promised to bring them back +bonbons and peanuts. + + + + +II + + + +Mrs. Pontellier's eyes were quick and bright; they were a +yellowish brown, about the color of her hair. She had a way of +turning them swiftly upon an object and holding them there as if +lost in some inward maze of contemplation or thought. + +Her eyebrows were a shade darker than her hair. They were +thick and almost horizontal, emphasizing the depth of her eyes. +She was rather handsome than beautiful. Her face was captivating +by reason of a certain frankness of expression and a contradictory +subtle play of features. Her manner was engaging. + +Robert rolled a cigarette. He smoked cigarettes because he +could not afford cigars, he said. He had a cigar in his pocket +which Mr. Pontellier had presented him with, and he was saving it +for his after-dinner smoke. + +This seemed quite proper and natural on his part. In coloring +he was not unlike his companion. A clean-shaved face made the +resemblance more pronounced than it would otherwise have been. +There rested no shadow of care upon his open countenance. His eyes +gathered in and reflected the light and languor of the summer day. + +Mrs. Pontellier reached over for a palm-leaf fan that lay on +the porch and began to fan herself, while Robert sent between his +lips light puffs from his cigarette. They chatted incessantly: +about the things around them; their amusing adventure out in the +water-it had again assumed its entertaining aspect; about the wind, the trees, +the people who had gone to the Cheniere; about the children playing croquet +under the oaks, and the Farival twins, who were now performing the overture +to "The Poet and the Peasant." + +Robert talked a good deal about himself. He was very young, +and did not know any better. Mrs. Pontellier talked a little about +herself for the same reason. Each was interested in what the other +said. Robert spoke of his intention to go to Mexico in the autumn, +where fortune awaited him. He was always intending to go to +Mexico, but some way never got there. Meanwhile he held on to his +modest position in a mercantile house in New Orleans, where an +equal familiarity with English, French and Spanish gave him no +small value as a clerk and correspondent. + +He was spending his summer vacation, as he always did, with +his mother at Grand Isle. In former times, before Robert could +remember, "the house" had been a summer luxury of the Lebruns. +Now, flanked by its dozen or more cottages, which were always +filled with exclusive visitors from the "Quartier Francais," +it enabled Madame Lebrun to maintain the easy and comfortable +existence which appeared to be her birthright. + +Mrs. Pontellier talked about her father's Mississippi +plantation and her girlhood home in the old Kentucky bluegrass +country. She was an American woman, with a small infusion of +French which seemed to have been lost in dilution. She read a +letter from her sister, who was away in the East, and who had +engaged herself to be married. Robert was interested, and wanted +to know what manner of girls the sisters were, what the father was +like, and how long the mother had been dead. + +When Mrs. Pontellier folded the letter it was time for her to +dress for the early dinner. + +"I see Leonce isn't coming back," she said, with a glance in +the direction whence her husband had disappeared. Robert supposed +he was not, as there were a good many New Orleans club men over at Klein's. + +When Mrs. Pontellier left him to enter her room, the young man +descended the steps and strolled over toward the croquet players, +where, during the half-hour before dinner, he amused himself with +the little Pontellier children, who were very fond of him. + + + + +III + + + +It was eleven o'clock that night when Mr. Pontellier returned +from Klein's hotel. He was in an excellent humor, in high spirits, +and very talkative. His entrance awoke his wife, who was in bed +and fast asleep when he came in. He talked to her while he +undressed, telling her anecdotes and bits of news and gossip that +he had gathered during the day. From his trousers pockets he took +a fistful of crumpled bank notes and a good deal of silver coin, +which he piled on the bureau indiscriminately with keys, knife, +handkerchief, and whatever else happened to be in his pockets. She +was overcome with sleep, and answered him with little half +utterances. + +He thought it very discouraging that his wife, who was the +sole object of his existence, evinced so little interest in things +which concerned him, and valued so little his conversation. + +Mr. Pontellier had forgotten the bonbons and peanuts for the +boys. Notwithstanding he loved them very much, and went into the +adjoining room where they slept to take a look at them and make +sure that they were resting comfortably. The result of his +investigation was far from satisfactory. He turned and shifted the +youngsters about in bed. One of them began to kick and talk about +a basket full of crabs. + + + +Mr. Pontellier returned to his wife with the information that +Raoul had a high fever and needed looking after. Then he lit a +cigar and went and sat near the open door +to smoke it. + +Mrs. Pontellier was quite sure Raoul had no fever. He had +gone to bed perfectly well, she said, and nothing had ailed him all +day. Mr. Pontellier was too well acquainted with fever symptoms to +be mistaken. He assured her the child was consuming at that moment +in the next room. + +He reproached his wife with her inattention, her habitual +neglect of the children. If it was not a mother's place to look +after children, whose on earth was it? He himself had his hands +full with his brokerage business. He could not be in two places at +once; making a living for his family on the street, and staying at +home to see that no harm befell them. He talked in a monotonous, +insistent way. + +Mrs. Pontellier sprang out of bed and went into the next room. +She soon came back and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning her head +down on the pillow. She said nothing, and refused to answer her +husband when he questioned her. When his cigar was smoked out he +went to bed, and in half a minute he was fast asleep. + +Mrs. Pontellier was by that time thoroughly awake. She began +to cry a little, and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her peignoir. +Blowing out the candle, which her husband had left burning, +she slipped her bare feet into a pair of satin mules +at the foot of the bed and went out on the porch, where she sat +down in the wicker chair and began to rock gently to and fro. + +It was then past midnight. The cottages were all dark. +A single faint light gleamed out from the hallway of the house. +There was no sound abroad except the hooting of an old owl in the +top of a water-oak, and the everlasting voice of the sea, that was +not uplifted at that soft hour. It broke like a mournful lullaby +upon the night. + +The tears came so fast to Mrs. Pontellier's eyes that the +damp sleeve of her peignoir no longer served to dry them. +She was holding the back of her chair with one hand; her loose sleeve +had slipped almost to the shoulder of her uplifted arm. Turning, +she thrust her face, steaming and wet, into the bend of her arm, +and she went on crying there, not caring any longer to dry her face, +her eyes, her arms. She could not have told why she was crying. +Such experiences as the foregoing were not uncommon in her married life. +They seemed never before to have weighed much against the abundance +of her husband's kindness and a uniform devotion which had come to +be tacit and self-understood. + +An indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some +unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with +a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across +her soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a +mood. She did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, +lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path +which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to +herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, +round arms and nipping at her bare insteps. + +The little stinging, buzzing imps succeeded in dispelling a +mood which might have held her there in the darkness half a night +longer. + +The following morning Mr. Pontellier was up in good time to +take the rockaway which was to convey him to the steamer at the +wharf. He was returning to the city to his business, and they +would not see him again at the Island till the coming Saturday. He +had regained his composure, which seemed to have been somewhat +impaired the night before. He was eager to be gone, as he looked +forward to a lively week in Carondelet Street. + +Mr. Pontellier gave his wife half of the money which he had +brought away from Klein's hotel the evening before. She liked +money as well as most women, and, accepted it with no little +satisfaction. + +"It will buy a handsome wedding present for Sister Janet!" she +exclaimed, smoothing out the bills as she counted them one by one. + +"Oh! we'll treat Sister Janet better than that, my dear," he +laughed, as he prepared to kiss her good-by. + +The boys were tumbling about, clinging to his legs, imploring +that numerous things be brought back to them. Mr. Pontellier was +a great favorite, and ladies, men, children, even nurses, were +always on hand to say goodby to him. His wife stood smiling and +waving, the boys shouting, as he disappeared in the old rockaway +down the sandy road. + +A few days later a box arrived for Mrs. Pontellier from +New Orleans. It was from her husband. It was filled with +friandises, with luscious and toothsome bits--the finest of +fruits, pates, a rare bottle or two, delicious syrups, and +bonbons in abundance. + +Mrs. Pontellier was always very generous with the contents of +such a box; she was quite used to receiving them when away from +home. The pates and fruit were brought to the dining-room; the +bonbons were passed around. And the ladies, selecting with dainty +and discriminating fingers and a little greedily, all declared that +Mr. Pontellier was the best husband in the world. Mrs. Pontellier +was forced to admit that she knew of none better. + + + + +IV + + + +It would have been a difficult matter for Mr. Pontellier to +define to his own satisfaction or any one else's wherein his wife +failed in her duty toward their children. It was something which +he felt rather than perceived, and he never voiced the feeling +without subsequent regret and ample atonement. + +If one of the little Pontellier boys took a tumble whilst at +play, he was not apt to rush crying to his mother's arms for comfort; +he would more likely pick himself up, wipe the water out of his eves +and the sand out of his mouth, and go on playing. Tots as they were, +they pulled together and stood their ground in childish battles with +doubled fists and uplifted voices, which usually prevailed against +the other mother-tots. The quadroon nurse was looked upon as a +huge encumbrance, only good to button up waists and panties +and to brush and part hair; since it seemed to be a law of society +that hair must be parted and brushed. + +In short, Mrs. Pontellier was not a mother-woman. The +motherwomen seemed to prevail that summer at Grand Isle. It was easy to +know them, fluttering about with extended, protecting wings when +any harm, real or imaginary, threatened their precious brood. They +were women who idolized their children, worshiped their husbands, +and esteemed it a holy privilege to efface themselves as +individuals and grow wings as ministering angels. + +Many of them were delicious in the role; one of them was the +embodiment of every womanly grace and charm. If her husband did +not adore her, he was a brute, deserving of death by slow torture. +Her name was Adele Ratignolle. There are no words to describe her +save the old ones that have served so often to picture the bygone +heroine of romance and the fair lady of our dreams. There was +nothing subtle or hidden about her charms; her beauty was all +there, flaming and apparent: the spun-gold hair that comb nor +confining pin could restrain; the blue eyes that were like nothing +but sapphires; two lips that pouted, that were so red one could +only think of cherries or some other delicious crimson fruit in +looking at them. She was growing a little stout, but it did not +seem to detract an iota from the grace of every step, pose, +gesture. One would not have wanted her white neck a mite less full +or her beautiful arms more slender. Never were hands more +exquisite than hers, and it was a joy to look at them when she +threaded her needle or adjusted her gold thimble to her taper +middle finger as she sewed away on the little night-drawers +or fashioned a bodice or a bib. + +Madame Ratignolle was very fond of Mrs. Pontellier, and often +she took her sewing and went over to sit with her in the afternoons. +She was sitting there the afternoon of the day the box arrived from +New Orleans. She had possession of the rocker, and she was busily +engaged in sewing upon a diminutive pair of night-drawers. + +She had brought the pattern of the drawers for Mrs. Pontellier +to cut out--a marvel of construction, fashioned to enclose a baby's +body so effectually that only two small eyes might look out from +the garment, like an Eskimo's. They were designed for winter wear, +when treacherous drafts came down chimneys and insidious currents +of deadly cold found their way through key-holes. + +Mrs. Pontellier's mind was quite at rest concerning the +present material needs of her children, and she could not see the +use of anticipating and making winter night garments the subject of +her summer meditations. But she did not want to appear unamiable +and uninterested, so she had brought forth newspapers, which she +spread upon the floor of the gallery, and under Madame Ratignolle's +directions she had cut a pattern of the impervious garment. + +Robert was there, seated as he had been the Sunday before, and +Mrs. Pontellier also occupied her former position on the upper +step, leaning listlessly against the post. Beside her was a box of +bonbons, which she held out at intervals to Madame Ratignolle. + +That lady seemed at a loss to make a selection, but finally +settled upon a stick of nougat, wondering if it were not too rich; +whether it could possibly hurt her. Madame Ratignolle had been +married seven years. About every two years she had a baby. At +that time she had three babies, and was beginning to think of a +fourth one. She was always talking about her "condition." Her +"condition" was in no way apparent, and no one would have known a +thing about it but for her persistence in making it the subject of +conversation. + +Robert started to reassure her, asserting that he had known a +lady who had subsisted upon nougat during the entire--but seeing +the color mount into Mrs. Pontellier's face he checked himself and +changed the subject. + +Mrs. Pontellier, though she had married a Creole, was not +thoroughly at home in the society of Creoles; never before had she +been thrown so intimately among them. There were only Creoles that +summer at Lebrun's. They all knew each other, and felt like one +large family, among whom existed the most amicable relations. A +characteristic which distinguished them and which impressed Mrs. +Pontellier most forcibly was their entire absence of prudery. +Their freedom of expression was at first incomprehensible to her, +though she had no difficulty in reconciling it with a lofty +chastity which in the Creole woman seems to be inborn and +unmistakable. + +Never would Edna Pontellier forget the shock with which she +heard Madame Ratignolle relating to old Monsieur Farival the +harrowing story of one of her accouchements, withholding no +intimate detail. She was growing accustomed to like shocks, but +she could not keep the mounting color back from her cheeks. +Oftener than once her coming had interrupted the droll story with +which Robert was entertaining some amused group of married women. + +A book had gone the rounds of the pension. When it came +her turn to read it, she did so with profound astonishment. She +felt moved to read the book in secret and solitude, though none of +the others had done so,--to hide it from view at the sound of +approaching footsteps. It was openly criticised and freely +discussed at table. Mrs. Pontellier gave over being astonished, +and concluded that wonders would never cease. + + + + +V + + + +They formed a congenial group sitting there that summer +afternoon--Madame Ratignolle sewing away, often stopping to relate +a story or incident with much expressive gesture of her perfect +hands; Robert and Mrs. Pontellier sitting idle, exchanging +occasional words, glances or smiles which indicated a certain +advanced stage of intimacy and camaraderie. + +He had lived in her shadow during the past month. No one +thought anything of it. Many had predicted that Robert would +devote himself to Mrs. Pontellier when he arrived. Since the age +of fifteen, which was eleven years before, Robert each summer at +Grand Isle had constituted himself the devoted attendant of some +fair dame or damsel. Sometimes it was a young girl, again a widow; +but as often as not it was some interesting married woman. + +For two consecutive seasons he lived in the sunlight of +Mademoiselle Duvigne's presence. But she died between summers; +then Robert posed as an inconsolable, prostrating himself at the +feet of Madame Ratignolle for whatever crumbs of sympathy and +comfort she might be pleased to vouchsafe. + +Mrs. Pontellier liked to sit and gaze at her fair companion as +she might look upon a faultless Madonna. + +"Could any one fathom the cruelty beneath that fair exterior?" +murmured Robert. "She knew that I adored her once, and she let me +adore her. It was `Robert, come; go; stand up; sit down; do this; +do that; see if the baby sleeps; my thimble, please, that I left +God knows where. Come and read Daudet to me while I sew.'" + +"Par exemple! I never had to ask. You were always there +under my feet, like a troublesome cat." + +"You mean like an adoring dog. And just as soon as Ratignolle +appeared on the scene, then it WAS like a dog. `Passez! Adieu! +Allez vous-en!'" + +"Perhaps I feared to make Alphonse jealous," she interjoined, with +excessive naivete. That made them all laugh. The right hand +jealous of the left! The heart jealous of the soul! But for that +matter, the Creole husband is never jealous; with him the gangrene +passion is one which has become dwarfed by disuse. + +Meanwhile Robert, addressing Mrs Pontellier, continued to tell +of his one time hopeless passion for Madame Ratignolle; of +sleepless nights, of consuming flames till the very sea sizzled +when he took his daily plunge. While the lady at the needle kept +up a little running, contemptuous comment: + +"Blagueur--farceur--gros bete, va!" + +He never assumed this seriocomic tone when alone with Mrs. +Pontellier. She never knew precisely what to make of it; at that +moment it was impossible for her to guess how much of it was jest +and what proportion was earnest. It was understood that he had +often spoken words of love to Madame Ratignolle, without any +thought of being taken seriously. Mrs. Pontellier was glad he had +not assumed a similar role toward herself. It would have been +unacceptable and annoying. + +Mrs. Pontellier had brought her sketching materials, which she +sometimes dabbled with in an unprofessional way. She liked the +dabbling. She felt in it satisfaction of a kind which no other +employment afforded her. + +She had long wished to try herself on Madame Ratignolle. +Never had that lady seemed a more tempting subject than at that +moment, seated there like some sensuous Madonna, with the gleam of +the fading day enriching her splendid color. + +Robert crossed over and seated himself upon the step below +Mrs. Pontellier, that he might watch her work. She handled her +brushes with a certain ease and freedom which came, not from long +and close acquaintance with them, but from a natural aptitude. +Robert followed her work with close attention, giving forth little +ejaculatory expressions of appreciation in French, which he addressed to +Madame Ratignolle. + +"Mais ce n'est pas mal! Elle s'y connait, elle a de la force, oui." + +During his oblivious attention he once quietly rested his head +against Mrs. Pontellier's arm. As gently she repulsed him. Once +again he repeated the offense. She could not but believe it to be +thoughtlessness on his part; yet that was no reason she should +submit to it. She did not remonstrate, except again to repulse him +quietly but firmly. He offered no apology. + The picture completed bore no resemblance to Madame Ratignolle. +She was greatly disappointed to find that it did not look like her. +But it was a fair enough piece of work, and in many respects +satisfying. + +Mrs. Pontellier evidently did not think so. After surveying +the sketch critically she drew a broad smudge of paint across its +surface, and crumpled the paper between her hands. + +The youngsters came tumbling up the steps, the quadroon +following at the respectful distance which they required her to +observe. Mrs. Pontellier made them carry her paints and things +into the house. She sought to detain them for a little talk and +some pleasantry. But they were greatly in earnest. They had only +come to investigate the contents of the bonbon box. They accepted +without murmuring what she chose to give them, each holding out two +chubby hands scoop-like, in the vain hope that they might be +filled; and then away they went. + +The sun was low in the west, and the breeze soft and +languorous that came up from the south, charged with the seductive +odor of the sea. Children freshly befurbelowed, were gathering for +their games under the oaks. Their voices were high and +penetrating. + +Madame Ratignolle folded her sewing, placing thimble, +scissors, and thread all neatly together in the roll, which she +pinned securely. She complained of faintness. Mrs. Pontellier +flew for the cologne water and a fan. She bathed Madame Ratignolle's +face with cologne, while Robert plied the fan with unnecessary vigor. + +The spell was soon over, and Mrs. Pontellier could not help +wondering if there were not a little imagination responsible for +its origin, for the rose tint had never faded from her friend's face. + +She stood watching the fair woman walk down the long line of +galleries with the grace and majesty which queens are sometimes +supposed to possess. Her little ones ran to meet her. Two of them +clung about her white skirts, the third she took from its nurse and +with a thousand endearments bore it along in her own fond, +encircling arms. Though, as everybody well knew, the doctor had +forbidden her to lift so much as a pin! + +"Are you going bathing?" asked Robert of Mrs. Pontellier. It +was not so much a question as a reminder. + +"Oh, no," she answered, with a tone of indecision. "I'm +tired; I think not." Her glance wandered from his face away toward +the Gulf, whose sonorous murmur reached her like a loving but +imperative entreaty. + +"Oh, come!" he insisted. "You mustn't miss your bath. Come +on. The water must be delicious; it will not hurt you. Come." + +He reached up for her big, rough straw hat that hung on a peg +outside the door, and put it on her head. They descended the +steps, and walked away together toward the beach. The sun was low +in the west and the breeze was soft and warm. + + + + +VI + + + +Edna Pontellier could not have told why, wishing to go to the +beach with Robert, she should in the first place have declined, and +in the second place have followed in obedience to one of the two +contradictory impulses which impelled her. + +A certain light was beginning to dawn dimly within her,--the +light which, showing the way, forbids it. + +At that early period it served but to bewilder her. It moved +her to dreams, to thoughtfulness, to the shadowy anguish which had +overcome her the midnight when she had abandoned herself to tears. + +In short, Mrs. Pontellier was beginning to realize her +position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her +relations as an individual to the world within and about her. This +may seem like a ponderous weight of wisdom to descend upon the soul +of a young woman of twenty-eight--perhaps more wisdom than the Holy +Ghost is usually pleased to vouchsafe to any woman. + +But the beginning of things, of a world especially, is +necessarily vague, tangled, chaotic, and exceedingly disturbing. +How few of us ever emerge from such beginning! How many souls +perish in its tumult! + +The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, +clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in +abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward +contemplation. + +The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea +is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace. + + + + + +VII + + + +Mrs. Pontellier was not a woman given to confidences, a +characteristic hitherto contrary to her nature. Even as a child +she had lived her own small life all within herself. At a very +early period she had apprehended instinctively the dual life--that +outward existence which conforms, the inward life which questions. + +That summer at Grand Isle she began to loosen a little the +mantle of reserve that had always enveloped her. There may have +been--there must have been--influences, both subtle and apparent, +working in their several ways to induce her to do this; but the +most obvious was the influence of Adele Ratignolle. The excessive +physical charm of the Creole had first attracted her, for Edna had +a sensuous susceptibility to beauty. Then the candor of the +woman's whole existence, which every one might read, and which +formed so striking a contrast to her own habitual reserve--this +might have furnished a link. Who can tell what metals the gods use +in forging the subtle bond which we call sympathy, which we might +as well call love. + +The two women went away one morning to the beach together, +arm in arm, under the huge white sunshade. Edna had prevailed upon +Madame Ratignolle to leave the children behind, though she could +not induce her to relinquish a diminutive roll of needlework, which +Adele begged to be allowed to slip into the depths of her pocket. +In some unaccountable way they had escaped from Robert. + +The walk to the beach was no inconsiderable one, consisting as +it did of a long, sandy path, upon which a sporadic and tangled growth +that bordered it on either side made frequent and unexpected inroads. +There were acres of yellow camomile reaching out on either hand. +Further away still, vegetable gardens abounded, with frequent +small plantations of orange or lemon trees intervening. +The dark green clusters glistened from afar in the sun. + +The women were both of goodly height, Madame Ratignolle +possessing the more feminine and matronly figure. The charm of +Edna Pontellier's physique stole insensibly upon you. The lines of +her body were long, clean and symmetrical; it was a body which +occasionally fell into splendid poses; there was no suggestion of +the trim, stereotyped fashion-plate about it. A casual and +indiscriminating observer, in passing, might not cast a second +glance upon the figure. But with more feeling and discernment he +would have recognized the noble beauty of its modeling, and the +graceful severity of poise and movement, which made Edna Pontellier +different from the crowd. + +She wore a cool muslin that morning--white, with a waving +vertical line of brown running through it; also a white linen +collar and the big straw hat which she had taken from the peg +outside the door. The hat rested any way on her yellow-brown hair, +that waved a little, was heavy, and clung close to her head. + +Madame Ratignolle, more careful of her complexion, had twined +a gauze veil about her head. She wore dogskin gloves, with +gauntlets that protected her wrists. She was dressed in pure +white, with a fluffiness of ruffles that became her. The draperies +and fluttering things which she wore suited her rich, luxuriant +beauty as a greater severity of line could not have done. + +There were a number of bath-houses along the beach, of rough +but solid construction, built with small, protecting galleries +facing the water. Each house consisted of two compartments, and +each family at Lebrun's possessed a compartment for itself, fitted +out with all the essential paraphernalia of the bath and whatever +other conveniences the owners might desire. The two women had no +intention of bathing; they had just strolled down to the beach for +a walk and to be alone and near the water. The Pontellier and +Ratignolle compartments adjoined one another under the same roof. + +Mrs. Pontellier had brought down her key through force of +habit. Unlocking the door of her bath-room she went inside, and +soon emerged, bringing a rug, which she spread upon the floor of +the gallery, and two huge hair pillows covered with crash, which +she placed against the front of the building. + +The two seated themselves there in the shade of the porch, +side by side, with their backs against the pillows and their feet +extended. Madame Ratignolle removed her veil, wiped her face with +a rather delicate handkerchief, and fanned herself with the fan +which she always carried suspended somewhere about her person by a +long, narrow ribbon. Edna removed her collar and opened her dress +at the throat. She took the fan from Madame Ratignolle and began +to fan both herself and her companion. It was very warm, and for +a while they did nothing but exchange remarks about the heat, the +sun, the glare. But there was a breeze blowing, a choppy, stiff +wind that whipped the water into froth. It fluttered the skirts of +the two women and kept them for a while engaged in adjusting, +readjusting, tucking in, securing hair-pins and hat-pins. A few +persons were sporting some distance away in the water. The beach +was very still of human sound at that hour. The lady in black was +reading her morning devotions on the porch of a neighboring +bathhouse. Two young lovers were exchanging their hearts' yearnings +beneath the children's tent, which they had found unoccupied. + +Edna Pontellier, casting her eyes about, had finally kept them +at rest upon the sea. The day was clear and carried the gaze out +as far as the blue sky went; there were a few white clouds +suspended idly over the horizon. A lateen sail was visible in the +direction of Cat Island, and others to the south seemed almost +motionless in the far distance. + +"Of whom--of what are you thinking?" asked Adele of her +companion, whose countenance she had been watching with a little +amused attention, arrested by the absorbed expression which seemed +to have seized and fixed every feature into a statuesque repose. + +"Nothing," returned Mrs. Pontellier, with a start, adding at +once: "How stupid! But it seems to me it is the reply we make +instinctively to such a question. Let me see," she went on, +throwing back her head and narrowing her fine eyes till they shone +like two vivid points of light. "Let me see. I was really not +conscious of thinking of anything; but perhaps I can retrace my +thoughts." + +"Oh! never mind!" laughed Madame Ratignolle. "I am not quite +so exacting. I will let you off this time. It is really too hot +to think, especially to think about thinking." + +"But for the fun of it," persisted Edna. "First of all, the +sight of the water stretching so far away, those motionless sails +against the blue sky, made a delicious picture that I just wanted +to sit and look at. The hot wind beating in my face made me +think--without any connection that I can trace of a summer day in +Kentucky, of a meadow that seemed as big as the ocean to the very +little girl walking through the grass, which was higher than her +waist. She threw out her arms as if swimming when she walked, +beating the tall grass as one strikes out in the water. Oh, I see +the connection now!" + +"Where were you going that day in Kentucky, walking through +the grass?" + +"I don't remember now. I was just walking diagonally across +a big field. My sun-bonnet obstructed the view. I could see only +the stretch of green before me, and I felt as if I must walk on +forever, without coming to the end of it. I don't remember whether +I was frightened or pleased. I must have been entertained. + +"Likely as not it was Sunday," she laughed; "and I was running +away from prayers, from the Presbyterian service, read in a spirit +of gloom by my father that chills me yet to think of." + +"And have you been running away from prayers ever since, ma +chere?" asked Madame Ratignolle, amused. + +"No! oh, no!" Edna hastened to say. "I was a little +unthinking child in those days, just following a misleading impulse +without question. On the contrary, during one period of my life +religion took a firm hold upon me; after I was twelve and +until-until--why, I suppose until now, though I never thought much about +it--just driven along by habit. But do you know," she broke off, +turning her quick eyes upon Madame Ratignolle and leaning forward +a little so as to bring her face quite close to that of her companion, +"sometimes I feel this summer as if I were walking through the green +meadow again; idly, aimlessly, unthinking and unguided." + +Madame Ratignolle laid her hand over that of Mrs. Pontellier, +which was near her. Seeing that the hand was not withdrawn, she +clasped it firmly and warmly. She even stroked it a little, fondly, +with the other hand, murmuring in an undertone, "Pauvre cherie." + +The action was at first a little confusing to Edna, but she +soon lent herself readily to the Creole's gentle caress. She was +not accustomed to an outward and spoken expression of affection, +either in herself or in others. She and her younger sister, Janet, +had quarreled a good deal through force of unfortunate habit. Her +older sister, Margaret, was matronly and dignified, probably from +having assumed matronly and housewifely responsibilities too early +in life, their mother having died when they were quite young, +Margaret was not effusive; she was practical. Edna had had an +occasional girl friend, but whether accidentally or not, they +seemed to have been all of one type--the self-contained. She never +realized that the reserve of her own character had much, perhaps +everything, to do with this. Her most intimate friend at school +had been one of rather exceptional intellectual gifts, who wrote +fine-sounding essays, which Edna admired and strove to imitate; and +with her she talked and glowed over the English classics, and +sometimes held religious and political controversies. + +Edna often wondered at one propensity which sometimes had +inwardly disturbed her without causing any outward show or +manifestation on her part. At a very early age--perhaps it was +when she traversed the ocean of waving grass--she remembered that +she had been passionately enamored of a dignified and sad-eyed +cavalry officer who visited her father in Kentucky. She could not +leave his presence when he was there, nor remove her eyes from his face, +which was something like Napoleon's, with a lock of black hair failing +across the forehead. But the cavalry officer melted imperceptibly out +of her existence. + +At another time her affections were deeply engaged by a young +gentleman who visited a lady on a neighboring plantation. It was +after they went to Mississippi to live. The young man was engaged +to be married to the young lady, and they sometimes called upon +Margaret, driving over of afternoons in a buggy. Edna was a little +miss, just merging into her teens; and the realization that she +herself was nothing, nothing, nothing to the engaged young man was +a bitter affliction to her. But he, too, went the way of dreams. + +She was a grown young woman when she was overtaken by what she +supposed to be the climax of her fate. It was when the face and +figure of a great tragedian began to haunt her imagination and stir +her senses. The persistence of the infatuation lent it an aspect +of genuineness. The hopelessness of it colored it with the lofty +tones of a great passion. + +The picture of the tragedian stood enframed upon her desk. +Any one may possess the portrait of a tragedian without exciting +suspicion or comment. (This was a sinister reflection which she +cherished.) In the presence of others she expressed admiration for +his exalted gifts, as she handed the photograph around and dwelt +upon the fidelity of the likeness. When alone she sometimes picked +it up and kissed the cold glass passionately. + +Her marriage to Leonce Pontellier was purely an accident, in +this respect resembling many other marriages which masquerade as +the decrees of Fate. It was in the midst of her secret great +passion that she met him. He fell in love, as men are in the habit +of doing, and pressed his suit with an earnestness and an ardor which +left nothing to be desired. He pleased her; his absolute devotion +flattered her. She fancied there was a sympathy of thought and taste +between them, in which fancy she was mistaken. Add to this the violent +opposition of her father and her sister Margaret to her marriage with +a Catholic, and we need seek no further for the motives which led her +to accept Monsieur Pontellier. for her husband. + +The acme of bliss, which would have been a marriage with the +tragedian, was not for her in this world. As the devoted wife of +a man who worshiped her, she felt she would take her place with a +certain dignity in the world of reality, closing the portals +forever behind her upon the realm of romance and dreams. + +But it was not long before the tragedian had gone to join the +cavalry officer and the engaged young man and a few others; and +Edna found herself face to face with the realities. She grew fond +of her husband, realizing with some unaccountable satisfaction that +no trace of passion or excessive and fictitious warmth colored her +affection, thereby threatening its dissolution. + +She was fond of her children in an uneven, impulsive way. She +would sometimes gather them passionately to her heart; she would +sometimes forget them. The year before they had spent part of the +summer with their grandmother Pontellier in Iberville. Feeling +secure regarding their happiness and welfare, she did not miss them +except with an occasional intense longing. Their absence was a +sort of relief, though she did not admit this, even to herself. It +seemed to free her of a responsibility which she had blindly +assumed and for which Fate had not fitted her. + +Edna did not reveal so much as all this to Madame Ratignolle +that summer day when they sat with faces turned to the sea. But a +good part of it escaped her. She had put her head down on Madame +Ratignolle's shoulder. She was flushed and felt intoxicated with +the sound of her own voice and the unaccustomed taste of candor. +It muddled her like wine, or like a first breath of freedom. + +There was the sound of approaching voices. It was Robert, +surrounded by a troop of children, searching for them. The two +little Pontelliers were with him, and he carried Madame +Ratignolle's little girl in his arms. There were other children +beside, and two nurse-maids followed, looking disagreeable and +resigned. + +The women at once rose and began to shake out their draperies +and relax their muscles. Mrs. Pontellier threw the cushions and +rug into the bath-house. The children all scampered off to the +awning, and they stood there in a line, gazing upon the intruding +lovers, still exchanging their vows and sighs. The lovers got up, +with only a silent protest, and walked slowly away somewhere else. + +The children possessed themselves of the tent, and Mrs. +Pontellier went over to join them. + +Madame Ratignolle begged Robert to accompany her to the house; +she complained of cramp in her limbs and stiffness of the joints. +She leaned draggingly upon his arm as they walked. + + + + +VIII + + + +"Do me a favor, Robert," spoke the pretty woman at his side, +almost as soon as she and Robert had started their slow, homeward +way. She looked up in his face, leaning on his arm beneath the +encircling shadow of the umbrella which he had lifted. + +"Granted; as many as you like," he returned, glancing down +into her eyes that were full of thoughtfulness and some +speculation. + +"I only ask for one; let Mrs. Pontellier alone." + +"Tiens!" he exclaimed, with a sudden, boyish laugh. +"Voila que Madame Ratignolle est jalouse!" + +"Nonsense! I'm in earnest; I mean what I say. Let Mrs. +Pontellier alone." + +"Why?" he asked; himself growing serious at his companion's +solicitation. + +"She is not one of us; she is not like us. She might make the +unfortunate blunder of taking you seriously." + +His face flushed with annoyance, and taking off his soft hat +he began to beat it impatiently against his leg as he walked. "Why +shouldn't she take me seriously?" he demanded sharply. "Am I a +comedian, a clown, a jack-in-the-box? Why shouldn't she? You +Creoles! I have no patience with you! Am I always to be regarded as +a feature of an amusing programme? I hope Mrs. Pontellier does take +me seriously. I hope she has discernment enough to find in me +something besides the blagueur. If I thought there was any doubt--" + +"Oh, enough, Robert!" she broke into his heated outburst. +"You are not thinking of what you are saying. You speak with about +as little reflection as we might expect from one of those children +down there playing in the sand. If your attentions to any married +women here were ever offered with any intention of being +convincing, you would not be the gentleman we all know you to be, +and you would be unfit to associate with the wives and daughters of +the people who trust you." + +Madame Ratignolle had spoken what she believed to be the law +and the gospel. The young man shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + +"Oh! well! That isn't it," slamming his hat down vehemently +upon his head. "You ought to feel that such things are not +flattering to say to a fellow." + +"Should our whole intercourse consist of an exchange of +compliments? Ma foi!" + +"It isn't pleasant to have a woman tell you--" he went on, +unheedingly, but breaking off suddenly: "Now if I were like +Arobin-you remember Alcee Arobin and that story of the consul's wife at +Biloxi?" And he related the story of Alcee Arobin and the consul's +wife; and another about the tenor of the French Opera, who received +letters which should never have been written; and still other stories, +grave and gay, till Mrs. Pontellier and her possible propensity for +taking young men seriously was apparently forgotten. + +Madame Ratignolle, when they had regained her cottage, went in +to take the hour's rest which she considered helpful. Before +leaving her, Robert begged her pardon for the impatience--he called +it rudeness--with which he had received her well-meant caution. + +"You made one mistake, Adele," he said, with a light smile; +"there is no earthly possibility of Mrs. Pontellier ever taking me +seriously. You should have warned me against taking myself +seriously. Your advice might then have carried some weight and +given me subject for some reflection. Au revoir. But you look +tired," he added, solicitously. "Would you like a cup of bouillon? +Shall I stir you a toddy? Let me mix you a toddy with a drop of +Angostura." + +She acceded to the suggestion of bouillon, which was grateful +and acceptable. He went himself to the kitchen, which was a +building apart from the cottages and lying to the rear of the +house. And he himself brought her the golden-brown bouillon, in a +dainty Sevres cup, with a flaky cracker or two on the saucer. + +She thrust a bare, white arm from the curtain which shielded +her open door, and received the cup from his hands. She told him +he was a bon garcon, and she meant it. Robert thanked her and +turned away toward "the house." + +The lovers were just entering the grounds of the pension. +They were leaning toward each other as the wateroaks bent from the +sea. There was not a particle of earth beneath their feet. Their +heads might have been turned upside-down, so absolutely did they +tread upon blue ether. The lady in black, creeping behind them, +looked a trifle paler and more jaded than usual. There was no sign +of Mrs. Pontellier and the children. Robert scanned the distance +for any such apparition. They would doubtless remain away till the +dinner hour. The young man ascended to his mother's room. It was +situated at the top of the house, made up of odd angles and a queer, +sloping ceiling. Two broad dormer windows looked out toward the Gulf, +and as far across it as a man's eye might reach. The furnishings +of the room were light, cool, and practical. + +Madame Lebrun was busily engaged at the sewing-machine. A +little black girl sat on the floor, and with her hands worked the +treadle of the machine. The Creole woman does not take any chances +which may be avoided of imperiling her health. + +Robert went over and seated himself on the broad sill of one +of the dormer windows. He took a book from his pocket and began +energetically to read it, judging by the precision and frequency +with which he turned the leaves. The sewing-machine made a +resounding clatter in the room; it was of a ponderous, by-gone +make. In the lulls, Robert and his mother exchanged bits of +desultory conversation. + +"Where is Mrs. Pontellier?" + +"Down at the beach with the children." + +"I promised to lend her the Goncourt. Don't forget to take it +down when you go; it's there on the bookshelf over the small +table." Clatter, clatter, clatter, bang! for the next five or eight +minutes. + +"Where is Victor going with the rockaway?" + +"The rockaway? Victor?" + +"Yes; down there in front. He seems to be getting ready to +drive away somewhere." + +"Call him." Clatter, clatter! + +Robert uttered a shrill, piercing whistle which might have +been heard back at the wharf. + +"He won't look up." + +Madame Lebrun flew to the window. She called "Victor!" She +waved a handkerchief and called again. The young fellow below got +into the vehicle and started the horse off at a gallop. + +Madame Lebrun went back to the machine, crimson with +annoyance. Victor was the younger son and brother--a tete +montee, with a temper which invited violence and a will which no +ax could break. + +"Whenever you say the word I'm ready to thrash any amount of +reason into him that he's able to hold." + +"If your father had only lived!" Clatter, clatter, clatter, +clatter, bang! It was a fixed belief with Madame Lebrun that the +conduct of the universe and all things pertaining thereto would +have been manifestly of a more intelligent and higher order had not +Monsieur Lebrun been removed to other spheres during the early +years of their married life. + +"What do you hear from Montel?" Montel was a middleaged +gentleman whose vain ambition and desire for the past twenty years +had been to fill the void which Monsieur Lebrun's taking off had +left in the Lebrun household. Clatter, clatter, bang, clatter! + +"I have a letter somewhere," looking in the machine drawer +and finding the letter in the bottom of the workbasket. +"He says to tell you he will be in Vera Cruz the beginning of +next month,"-- clatter, clatter!--"and if you still have +the intention of joining him"--bang! clatter, clatter, bang! + +"Why didn't you tell me so before, mother? You know I +wanted--"Clatter, clatter, clatter! + +"Do you see Mrs. Pontellier starting back with the children? +She will be in late to luncheon again. She never starts to get +ready for luncheon till the last minute." Clatter, clatter! +"Where are you going?" + +"Where did you say the Goncourt was?" + + + + +IX + + + +Every light in the hall was ablaze; every lamp turned as high +as it could be without smoking the chimney or threatening explosion. +The lamps were fixed at intervals against the wall, encircling the whole room. +Some one had gathered orange and lemon branches, and with these fashioned +graceful festoons between. The dark green of the branches stood out +and glistened against the white muslin curtains which draped the windows, +and which puffed, floated, and flapped at the capricious will of a stiff +breeze that swept up from the Gulf. + +It was Saturday night a few weeks after the intimate +conversation held between Robert and Madame Ratignolle on their way +from the beach. An unusual number of husbands, fathers, and +friends had come down to stay over Sunday; and they were being +suitably entertained by their families, with the material help of +Madame Lebrun. The dining tables had all been removed to one end +of the hall, and the chairs ranged about in rows and in clusters. +Each little family group had had its say and exchanged its domestic +gossip earlier in the evening. There was now an apparent +disposition to relax; to widen the circle of confidences and give +a more general tone to the conversation. + +Many of the children had been permitted to sit up beyond their +usual bedtime. A small band of them were lying on their stomachs +on the floor looking at the colored sheets of the comic papers +which Mr. Pontellier had brought down. The little Pontellier boys +were permitting them to do so, and making their authority felt. + +Music, dancing, and a recitation or two were the +entertainments furnished, or rather, offered. But there was nothing +systematic about the programme, no appearance of prearrangement nor +even premeditation. + +At an early hour in the evening the Farival twins were +prevailed upon to play the piano. They were girls of fourteen, +always clad in the Virgin's colors, blue and white, having been +dedicated to the Blessed Virgin at their baptism. They played a +duet from "Zampa," and at the earnest solicitation of every one +present followed it with the overture to "The Poet and the +Peasant." + +"Allez vous-en! Sapristi!" shrieked the parrot outside the +door. He was the only being present who possessed sufficient +candor to admit that he was not listening to these gracious +performances for the first time that summer. Old Monsieur Farival, +grandfather of the twins, grew indignant over the interruption, +and insisted upon having the bird removed and consigned +to regions of darkness. Victor Lebrun objected; +and his decrees were as immutable as those of Fate. +The parrot fortunately offered no further interruption +to the entertainment, the whole venom of his nature +apparently having been cherished up and hurled against +the twins in that one impetuous outburst. + +Later a young brother and sister gave recitations, which every +one present had heard many times at winter evening entertainments +in the city. + +A little girl performed a skirt dance in the center of the +floor. The mother played her accompaniments and at the same time +watched her daughter with greedy admiration and nervous +apprehension. She need have had no apprehension. The child was +mistress of the situation. She had been properly dressed for the +occasion in black tulle and black silk tights. Her little neck and +arms were bare, and her hair, artificially crimped, stood out like +fluffy black plumes over her head. Her poses were full of grace, +and her little black-shod toes twinkled as they shot out and upward +with a rapidity and suddenness which were bewildering. + +But there was no reason why every one should not dance. +Madame Ratignolle could not, so it was she who gaily consented to +play for the others. She played very well, keeping excellent waltz +time and infusing an expression into the strains which was indeed +inspiring. She was keeping up her music on account of the +children, she said; because she and her husband both considered it +a means of brightening the home and making it attractive. + +Almost every one danced but the twins, who could not be +induced to separate during the brief period when one or the other +should be whirling around the room in the arms of a man. They +might have danced together, but they did not think of it. + +The children were sent to bed. Some went submissively; +others with shrieks and protests as they were dragged away. +They had been permitted to sit up till after the ice-cream, +which naturally marked the limit of human indulgence. + +The ice-cream was passed around with cake--gold and silver +cake arranged on platters in alternate slices; it had been made and +frozen during the afternoon back of the kitchen by two black women, +under the supervision of Victor. It was pronounced a great +success--excellent if it had only contained a little less vanilla +or a little more sugar, if it had been frozen a degree harder, and +if the salt might have been kept out of portions of it. Victor was +proud of his achievement, and went about recommending it and urging +every one to partake of it to excess. + +After Mrs. Pontellier had danced twice with her husband, once +with Robert, and once with Monsieur Ratignolle, who was thin and +tall and swayed like a reed in the wind when he danced, she went +out on the gallery and seated herself on the low window-sill, where +she commanded a view of all that went on in the hall and could look +out toward the Gulf. There was a soft effulgence in the east. The +moon was coming up, and its mystic shimmer was casting a million +lights across the distant, restless water. + +"Would you like to hear Mademoiselle Reisz play?" asked +Robert, coming out on the porch where she was. Of course Edna +would like to hear Mademoiselle Reisz play; but she feared it would +be useless to entreat her. + +"I'll ask her," he said. "I'll tell her that you want to hear +her. She likes you. She will come." He turned and hurried away to +one of the far cottages, where Mademoiselle Reisz was shuffling +away. She was dragging a chair in and out of her room, and at +intervals objecting to the crying of a baby, which a nurse in the +adjoining cottage was endeavoring to put to sleep. She was a +disagreeable little woman, no longer young, who had quarreled with +almost every one, owing to a temper which was self-assertive and a +disposition to trample upon the rights of others. Robert prevailed +upon her without any too great difficulty. + +She entered the hall with him during a lull in the dance. She +made an awkward, imperious little bow as she went in. She was a +homely woman, with a small weazened face and body and eyes that +glowed. She had absolutely no taste in dress, and wore a batch of +rusty black lace with a bunch of artificial violets pinned to the +side of her hair. + +"Ask Mrs. Pontellier what she would like to hear me play," she +requested of Robert. She sat perfectly still before the piano, not +touching the keys, while Robert carried her message to Edna at the +window. A general air of surprise and genuine satisfaction fell +upon every one as they saw the pianist enter. There was a settling +down, and a prevailing air of expectancy everywhere. Edna was a +trifle embarrassed at being thus signaled out for the imperious +little woman's favor. She would not dare to choose, and begged +that Mademoiselle Reisz would please herself in her selections. + +Edna was what she herself called very fond of music. Musical +strains, well rendered, had a way of evoking pictures in her mind. +She sometimes liked to sit in the room of mornings when Madame +Ratignolle played or practiced. One piece which that lady played +Edna had entitled "Solitude." It was a short, plaintive, minor +strain. The name of the piece was something else, but she called +it "Solitude." When she heard it there came before her imagination +the figure of a man standing beside a desolate rock on the +seashore. He was naked. His attitude was one of hopeless +resignation as he looked toward a distant bird winging its flight +away from him. + +Another piece called to her mind a dainty young woman clad in +an Empire gown, taking mincing dancing steps as she came down a +long avenue between tall hedges. Again, another reminded her of +children at play, and still another of nothing on earth but a +demure lady stroking a cat. + +The very first chords which Mademoiselle Reisz struck upon the +piano sent a keen tremor down Mrs. Pontellier's spinal column. It +was not the first time she had heard an artist at the piano. +Perhaps it was the first time she was ready, perhaps the first time +her being was tempered to take an impress of the abiding truth. + +She waited for the material pictures which she thought would +gather and blaze before her imagination. She waited in vain. She +saw no pictures of solitude, of hope, of longing, or of despair. +But the very passions themselves were aroused within her soul, +swaying it, lashing it, as the waves daily beat upon her splendid +body. She trembled, she was choking, and the tears blinded her. + +Mademoiselle had finished. She arose, and bowing her stiff, +lofty bow, she went away, stopping for neither, thanks nor +applause. As she passed along the gallery she patted Edna upon the +shoulder. + +"Well, how did you like my music?" she asked. The young woman +was unable to answer; she pressed the hand of the pianist +convulsively. Mademoiselle Reisz perceived her agitation and even +her tears. She patted her again upon the shoulder as she said: + +"You are the only one worth playing for. Those others? Bah!" +and she went shuffling and sidling on down the gallery toward her +room. + +But she was mistaken about "those others." Her playing had +aroused a fever of enthusiasm. "What passion!" "What an artist!" +"I have always said no one could play Chopin like Mademoiselle +Reisz!" "That last prelude! Bon Dieu! It shakes a man!" + +It was growing late, and there was a general disposition to +disband. But some one, perhaps it was Robert, thought of a bath at +that mystic hour and under that mystic moon. + + + + +X + + + +At all events Robert proposed it, and there was not a +dissenting voice. There was not one but was ready to follow when +he led the way. He did not lead the way, however, he directed the +way; and he himself loitered behind with the lovers, who had +betrayed a disposition to linger and hold themselves apart. He +walked between them, whether with malicious or mischievous intent +was not wholly clear, even to himself. + +The Pontelliers and Ratignolles walked ahead; the women +leaning upon the arms of their husbands. Edna could hear Robert's +voice behind them, and could sometimes hear what he said. She +wondered why he did not join them. It was unlike him not to. Of +late he had sometimes held away from her for an entire day, +redoubling his devotion upon the next and the next, as though to +make up for hours that had been lost. She missed him the days when +some pretext served to take him away from her, just as one misses +the sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sun +when it was shining. + +The people walked in little groups toward the beach. They +talked and laughed; some of them sang. There was a band playing +down at Klein's hotel, and the strains reached them faintly, +tempered by the distance. There were strange, rare odors abroad-- +a tangle of the sea smell and of weeds and damp, new-plowed earth, +mingled with the heavy perfume of a field of white blossoms +somewhere near. But the night sat lightly upon the sea and the +land. There was no weight of darkness; there were no shadows. The +white light of the moon had fallen upon the world like the mystery +and the softness of sleep. + +Most of them walked into the water as though into a native element. +The sea was quiet now, and swelled lazily in broad billows that melted +into one another and did not break except upon the beach in little +foamy crests that coiled back like slow, white serpents. + +Edna had attempted all summer to learn to swim. She had +received instructions from both the men and women; in some +instances from the children. Robert had pursued a system of +lessons almost daily; and he was nearly at the point of +discouragement in realizing the futility of his efforts. A certain +ungovernable dread hung about her when in the water, unless there +was a hand near by that might reach out and reassure her. + +But that night she was like the little tottering, stumbling, +clutching child, who of a sudden realizes its powers, and walks for +the first time alone, boldly and with over-confidence. She could +have shouted for joy. She did shout for joy, as with a sweeping +stroke or two she lifted her body to the surface of the water. + +A feeling of exultation overtook her, as if some power of +significant import had been given her to control the working of her +body and her soul. She grew daring and reckless, overestimating +her strength. She wanted to swim far out, where no woman had swum +before. + +Her unlooked-for achievement was the subject of wonder, +applause, and admiration. Each one congratulated himself that his +special teachings had accomplished this desired end. + +"How easy it is!" she thought. "It is nothing," she said +aloud; "why did I not discover before that it was nothing. Think +of the time I have lost splashing about like a baby!" She would not +join the groups in their sports and bouts, but intoxicated with her +newly conquered power, she swam out alone. + +She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of +space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and +melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As +she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which +to lose herself. + +Once she turned and looked toward the shore, toward the people +she had left there. She had not gone any great distance that is, +what would have been a great distance for an experienced swimmer. +But to her unaccustomed vision the stretch of water behind her +assumed the aspect of a barrier which her unaided strength +would never be able to overcome. + +A quick vision of death smote her soul, and for a second of +time appalled and enfeebled her senses. But by an effort she +rallied her staggering faculties and managed to regain the land. + +She made no mention of her encounter with death and her flash +of terror, except to say to her husband, "I thought I should have +perished out there alone." + +"You were not so very far, my dear; I was watching you", he +told her. + +Edna went at once to the bath-house, and she had put on her +dry clothes and was ready to return home before the others had left +the water. She started to walk away alone. They all called to her +and shouted to her. She waved a dissenting hand, and went on, +paying no further heed to their renewed cries which sought to +detain her. + +"Sometimes I am tempted to think that Mrs. Pontellier is +capricious," said Madame Lebrun, who was amusing herself immensely +and feared that Edna's abrupt departure might put an end to the +pleasure. + +"I know she is," assented Mr. Pontellier; "sometimes, not +often." + +Edna had not traversed a quarter of the distance on her way +home before she was overtaken by Robert. + +"Did you think I was afraid?" she asked him, without a shade +of annoyance. + +"No; I knew you weren't afraid." + +"Then why did you come? Why didn't you stay out there with the +others?" + +"I never thought of it." + +"Thought of what?" + +"Of anything. What difference does it make?" + +"I'm very tired," she uttered, complainingly. + +"I know you are." + +"You don't know anything about it. Why should you know? I +never was so exhausted in my life. But it isn't unpleasant. A +thousand emotions have swept through me to-night. I don't +comprehend half of them. Don't mind what I'm saying; I am just +thinking aloud. I wonder if I shall ever be stirred again as +Mademoiselle Reisz's playing moved me to-night. I wonder if any +night on earth will ever again be like this one. It is like a +night in a dream. The people about me are like some uncanny, +half-human beings. There must be spirits abroad to-night." + +"There are," whispered Robert, "Didn't you know this was +the twenty-eighth of August?" + +"The twenty-eighth of August?" + +"Yes. On the twenty-eighth of August, at the hour of +midnight, and if the moon is shining--the moon must be shining--a +spirit that has haunted these shores for ages rises up from the +Gulf. With its own penetrating vision the spirit seeks some one +mortal worthy to hold him company, worthy of being exalted for a +few hours into realms of the semi-celestials. His search has +always hitherto been fruitless, and he has sunk back, disheartened, +into the sea. But to-night he found Mrs. Pontellier. Perhaps he +will never wholly release her from the spell. Perhaps she will +never again suffer a poor, unworthy earthling to walk in the shadow +of her divine presence." + +"Don't banter me," she said, wounded at what appeared to be +his flippancy. He did not mind the entreaty, but the tone with its +delicate note of pathos was like a reproach. He could not explain; +he could not tell her that he had penetrated her mood and +understood. He said nothing except to offer her his arm, for, by +her own admission, she was exhausted. She had been walking alone +with her arms hanging limp, letting her white skirts trail along +the dewy path. She took his arm, but she did not lean upon it. +She let her hand lie listlessly, as though her thoughts were +elsewhere--somewhere in advance of her body, and she was striving +to overtake them. + +Robert assisted her into the hammock which swung from the post +before her door out to the trunk of a tree. + +"Will you stay out here and wait for Mr. Pontellier?" he +asked. + +"I'll stay out here. Good-night." + +"Shall I get you a pillow?" + +"There's one here," she said, feeling about, for they were in +the shadow. + +"It must be soiled; the children have been tumbling it about." + +"No matter." And having discovered the pillow, she adjusted it +beneath her head. She extended herself in the hammock with a deep +breath of relief. She was not a supercilious or an over-dainty +woman. She was not much given to reclining in the hammock, and +when she did so it was with no cat-like suggestion of voluptuous +ease, but with a beneficent repose which seemed to invade her whole +body. + +"Shall I stay with you till Mr. Pontellier comes?" asked +Robert, seating himself on the outer edge of one of the steps and +taking hold of the hammock rope which was fastened to the post. + +"If you wish. Don't swing the hammock. Will you get my white +shawl which I left on the window-sill over at the house?" + +"Are you chilly?" + +"No; but I shall be presently." + +"Presently?" he laughed. "Do you know what time it is? +How long are you going to stay out here?" + +"I don't know. Will you get the shawl?" + +"Of course I will," he said, rising. He went over to the +house, walking along the grass. She watched his figure pass in and +out of the strips of moonlight. It was past midnight. It was very +quiet. + +When he returned with the shawl she took it and kept it in her +hand. She did not put it around her. + +"Did you say I should stay till Mr. Pontellier came back?" + +"I said you might if you wished to." + +He seated himself again and rolled a cigarette, which he +smoked in silence. Neither did Mrs. Pontellier speak. +No multitude of words could have been more significant than those +moments of silence, or more pregnant with the first-felt throbbings +of desire. + +When the voices of the bathers were heard approaching, Robert +said good-night. She did not answer him. He thought she was +asleep. Again she watched his figure pass in and out of the strips +of moonlight as he walked away. + + + + + +XI + + + + + +"What are you doing out here, Edna? I thought I should find +you in bed," said her husband, when he discovered her lying there. +He had walked up with Madame Lebrun and left her at the house. His +wife did not reply. + +"Are you asleep?" he asked, bending down close to look at her. + +"No." Her eyes gleamed bright and intense, with no sleepy +shadows, as they looked into his. + +"Do you know it is past one o'clock? Come on," and he mounted +the steps and went into their room. + +"Edna!" called Mr. Pontellier from within, after a few moments +had gone by. + +"Don't wait for me," she answered. He thrust his head through +the door. + +"You will take cold out there," he said, irritably. "What +folly is this? Why don't you come in?" + +"It isn't cold; I have my shawl." + +"The mosquitoes will devour you." + +"There are no mosquitoes." + +She heard him moving about the room; every sound indicating +impatience and irritation. Another time she would have gone in at +his request. She would, through habit, have yielded to his desire; +not with any sense of submission or obedience to his compelling wishes, but unthinkingly, +as we walk, move, sit, stand, go through the daily treadmill of the +life which has been portioned out to us. + +"Edna, dear, are you not coming in soon?" he asked again, this +time fondly, with a note of entreaty. + +"No; I am going to stay out here." + +"This is more than folly," he blurted out. "I can't permit +you to stay out there all night. You must come in the house +instantly." + +With a writhing motion she settled herself more securely in +the hammock. She perceived that her will had blazed up, stubborn +and resistant. She could not at that moment have done other than +denied and resisted. She wondered if her husband had ever spoken +to her like that before, and if she had submitted to his command. +Of course she had; she remembered that she had. But she could not +realize why or how she should have yielded, feeling as she then +did. + +"Leonce, go to bed, " she said I mean to stay out here. I +don't wish to go in, and I don't intend to. Don't speak to me like +that again; I shall not answer you." + +Mr. Pontellier had prepared for bed, but he slipped on an +extra garment. He opened a bottle of wine, of which he kept a +small and select supply in a buffet of his own. He drank a glass +of the wine and went out on the gallery and offered a glass to his +wife. She did not wish any. He drew up the rocker, hoisted his +slippered feet on the rail, and proceeded to smoke a cigar. He +smoked two cigars; then he went inside and drank another glass of +wine. Mrs. Pontellier again declined to accept a glass when it was +offered to her. Mr. Pontellier once more seated himself with +elevated feet, and after a reasonable interval of time smoked some +more cigars. + +Edna began to feel like one who awakens gradually out of a +dream, a delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel again the +realities pressing into her soul. The physical need for sleep +began to overtake her; the exuberance which had sustained and +exalted her spirit left her helpless and yielding to the conditions +which crowded her in. + +The stillest hour of the night had come, the hour before dawn, +when the world seems to hold its breath. The moon hung low, and +had turned from silver to copper in the sleeping sky. The old owl +no longer hooted, and the water-oaks had ceased to moan as they +bent their heads. + +Edna arose, cramped from lying so long and still in the +hammock. She tottered up the steps, clutching feebly at the post +before passing into the house. + +"Are you coming in, Leonce?" she asked, turning her face +toward her husband. + +"Yes, dear," he answered, with a glance following a misty puff +of smoke. "Just as soon as I have finished my cigar. + + + + +XII + + + +She slept but a few hours. They were troubled and feverish +hours, disturbed with dreams that were intangible, that eluded her, +leaving only an impression upon her half-awakened senses of +something unattainable. She was up and dressed in the cool of the +early morning. The air was invigorating and steadied somewhat her +faculties. However, she was not seeking refreshment or help from +any source, either external or from within. She was blindly +following whatever impulse moved her, as if she had placed herself +in alien hands for direction, and freed her soul of responsibility. + +Most of the people at that early hour were still in bed and +asleep. A few, who intended to go over to the Cheniere for +mass, were moving about. The lovers, who had laid their plans the +night before, were already strolling toward the wharf. The lady in +black, with her Sunday prayer-book, velvet and gold-clasped, +and her Sunday silver beads, was following them at no great distance. +Old Monsieur Farival was up, and was more than half inclined to do +anything that suggested itself. He put on his big straw hat, +and taking his umbrella from the stand in the hall, followed +the lady in black, never overtaking her. + +The little negro girl who worked Madame Lebrun's sewing-machine +was sweeping the galleries with long, absent-minded strokes +of the broom. Edna sent her up into the house to awaken Robert. + +"Tell him I am going to the Cheniere. The boat is ready; +tell him to hurry." + +He had soon joined her. She had never sent for him before. +She had never asked for him. She had never seemed to want him +before. She did not appear conscious that she had done anything +unusual in commanding his presence. He was apparently equally +unconscious of anything extraordinary in the situation. But his +face was suffused with a quiet glow when he met her. + +They went together back to the kitchen to drink coffee. There +was no time to wait for any nicety of service. They stood outside +the window and the cook passed them their coffee and a roll, which +they drank and ate from the window-sill. Edna said it tasted good. + +She had not thought of coffee nor of anything. He told her he had +often noticed that she lacked forethought. + +"Wasn't it enough to think of going to the Cheniere and +waking you up?" she laughed. "Do I have to think of +everything?--as Leonce says when he's in a bad humor. +I don't blame him; he'd never be in a bad humor if it weren't for me." + +They took a short cut across the sands. At a distance they +could see the curious procession moving toward the wharf--the +lovers, shoulder to shoulder, creeping; the lady in black, gaining +steadily upon them; old Monsieur Farival, losing ground inch by +inch, and a young barefooted Spanish girl, with a red kerchief on +her head and a basket on her arm, bringing up the rear. + +Robert knew the girl, and he talked to her a little in the boat. +No one present understood what they said. Her name was Mariequita. +She had a round, sly, piquant face and pretty black eyes. +Her hands were small, and she kept them folded over the +handle of her basket. Her feet were broad and coarse. +She did not strive to hide them. Edna looked at her feet, +and noticed the sand and slime between her brown toes. + +Beaudelet grumbled because Mariequita was there, taking up so +much room. In reality he was annoyed at having old Monsieur Farival, +who considered himself the better sailor of the two. But he +he would not quarrel with so old a man as Monsieur Farival, so he +quarreled with Mariequita. The girl was deprecatory at one moment, +appealing to Robert. She was saucy the next, moving her head up +and down, making "eyes" at Robert and making "mouths" at Beaudelet. + +The lovers were all alone. They saw nothing, they heard +nothing. The lady in black was counting her beads for the third +time. Old Monsieur Farival talked incessantly of what he knew +about handling a boat, and of what Beaudelet did not know on the +same subject. + +Edna liked it all. She looked Mariequita up and down, from +her ugly brown toes to her pretty black eyes, and +back again. + +"Why does she look at me like that?" inquired the girl of Robert. + +"Maybe she thinks you are pretty. Shall I ask her?" + +"No. Is she your sweetheart?" + +"She's a married lady, and has two children." + +"Oh! well! Francisco ran away with Sylvano's wife, who had +four children. They took all his money and one of the children and +stole his boat." + +"Shut up!" + +"Does she understand?" + +"Oh, hush!" + +"Are those two married over there--leaning on each other?" + +"Of course not," laughed Robert. + +"Of course not," echoed Mariequita, with a serious, +confirmatory bob of the head. + +The sun was high up and beginning to bite. The swift breeze +seemed to Edna to bury the sting of it into the pores of her face +and hands. Robert held his umbrella over her. As they went +cutting sidewise through the water, the sails bellied taut, with +the wind filling and overflowing them. Old Monsieur Farival +laughed sardonically at something as he looked at the sails, and +Beaudelet swore at the old man under his breath. + +Sailing across the bay to the Cheniere Caminada, Edna felt +as if she were being borne away from some anchorage which had held +her fast, whose chains had been loosening--had snapped the night +before when the mystic spirit was abroad, leaving her free to drift +whithersoever she chose to set her sails. Robert spoke to her +incessantly; he no longer noticed Mariequita. The girl had shrimps +in her bamboo basket. They were covered with Spanish moss. She +beat the moss down impatiently, and muttered to herself sullenly. + +"Let us go to Grande Terre to-morrow?" said Robert in a low +voice. + +"What shall we do there?" + +"Climb up the hill to the old fort and look at the little +wriggling gold snakes, and watch the lizards sun themselves." + +She gazed away toward Grande Terre and thought she would like +to be alone there with Robert, in the sun, listening to the ocean's +roar and watching the slimy lizards writhe in and out among the +ruins of the old fort. + +"And the next day or the next we can sail to the Bayou +Brulow," he went on. + +"What shall we do there?" + +"Anything--cast bait for fish." + +"No; we'll go back to Grande Terre. Let the fish alone." + +"We'll go wherever you like," he said. "I'll have Tonie come +over and help me patch and trim my boat. We shall not need Beaudelet +nor any one. Are you afraid of the pirogue?" + +"Oh, no." + +"Then I'll take you some night in the pirogue when the moon +shines. Maybe your Gulf spirit will whisper to you in which of +these islands the treasures are hidden--direct you to the very +spot, perhaps." + +"And in a day we should be rich!" she laughed. "I'd give it +all to you, the pirate gold and every bit of treasure we could dig +up. I think you would know how to spend it. Pirate gold isn't a +thing to be hoarded or utilized. It is something to squander and +throw to the four winds, for the fun of seeing the golden specks +fly." + +"We'd share it, and scatter it together," he said. His face +flushed. + +They all went together up to the quaint little Gothic church +of Our Lady of Lourdes, gleaming all brown and yellow with paint in +the sun's glare. + +Only Beaudelet remained behind, tinkering at his boat, and +Mariequita walked away with her basket of shrimps, casting a look +of childish ill humor and reproach at Robert from the corner of her +eye. + + + + +XIII + + + +A feeling of oppression and drowsiness overcame Edna during +the service. Her head began to ache, and the lights on the altar +swayed before her eyes. Another time she might have made an effort +to regain her composure; but her one thought was to quit the +stifling atmosphere of the church and reach the open air. She +arose, climbing over Robert's feet with a muttered apology. Old +Monsieur Farival, flurried, curious, stood up, but upon seeing that +Robert had followed Mrs. Pontellier, he sank back into his seat. +He whispered an anxious inquiry of the lady in black, who did not notice +him or reply, but kept her eyes fastened upon the pages of her velvet +prayer-book. + +"I felt giddy and almost overcome," Edna said, lifting her +hands instinctively to her head and pushing her straw hat up from +her forehead. "I couldn't have stayed through the service." They +were outside in the shadow of the church. Robert was full of +solicitude. + +"It was folly to have thought of going in the first place, let +alone staying. Come over to Madame Antoine's; you can rest there." +He took her arm and led her away, looking anxiously and +continuously down into her face. + +How still it was, with only the voice of the sea whispering +through the reeds that grew in the salt-water pools! The long line +of little gray, weather-beaten houses nestled peacefully among the +orange trees. It must always have been God's day on that low, +drowsy island, Edna thought. They stopped, leaning over a jagged +fence made of sea-drift, to ask for water. A youth, a mild-faced +Acadian, was drawing water from the cistern, which was nothing more +than a rusty buoy, with an opening on one side, sunk in the ground. +The water which the youth handed to them in a tin pail was not cold +to taste, but it was cool to her heated face, and it greatly +revived and refreshed her. + +Madame Antoine's cot was at the far end of the village. She +welcomed them with all the native hospitality, as she would have +opened her door to let the sunlight in. She was fat, and walked +heavily and clumsily across the floor. She could speak no English, +but when Robert made her understand that the lady who accompanied +him was ill and desired to rest, she was all eagerness to make Edna +feel at home and to dispose of her comfortably. + +The whole place was immaculately clean, and the big, +four-posted bed, snow-white, invited one to repose. It stood in a small +side room which looked out across a narrow grass plot toward the +shed, where there was a disabled boat lying keel upward. + +Madame Antoine had not gone to mass. Her son Tonie had, +but she supposed he would soon be back, and she invited Robert +to be seated and wait for him. But he went and sat outside the +door and smoked. Madame Antoine busied herself in the large front +room preparing dinner. She was boiling mullets over a few red +coals in the huge fireplace. + +Edna, left alone in the little side room, loosened her +clothes, removing the greater part of them. She bathed her face, +her neck and arms in the basin that stood between the windows. She +took off her shoes and stockings and stretched herself in the very +center of the high, white bed. How luxurious it felt to rest thus +in a strange, quaint bed, with its sweet country odor of laurel +lingering about the sheets and mattress! She stretched her strong +limbs that ached a little. She ran her fingers through her +loosened hair for a while. She looked at her round arms as she +held them straight up and rubbed them one after the other, +observing closely, as if it were something she saw for the first +time, the fine, firm quality and texture of her flesh. She clasped +her hands easily above her head, and it was thus she fell asleep. + +She slept lightly at first, half awake and drowsily attentive +to the things about her. She could hear Madame Antoine's heavy, +scraping tread as she walked back and forth on the sanded floor. +Some chickens were clucking outside the windows, scratching for +bits of gravel in the grass. Later she half heard the voices of +Robert and Tonie talking under the shed. She did not stir. Even +her eyelids rested numb and heavily over her sleepy eyes. The +voices went on--Tonie's slow, Acadian drawl, Robert's quick, soft, +smooth French. She understood French imperfectly unless directly +addressed, and the voices were only part of the other drowsy, +muffled sounds lulling her senses. + +When Edna awoke it was with the conviction that she had slept +long and soundly. The voices were hushed under the shed. Madame +Antoine's step was no longer to be heard in the adjoining room. +Even the chickens had gone elsewhere to scratch and cluck. The +mosquito bar was drawn over her; the old woman had come in while +she slept and let down the bar. Edna arose quietly from the bed, +and looking between the curtains of the window, she saw by the +slanting rays of the sun that the afternoon was far advanced. +Robert was out there under the shed, reclining in the shade against +the sloping keel of the overturned boat. He was reading from a +book. Tonie was no longer with him. She wondered what had become +of the rest of the party. She peeped out at him two or three times +as she stood washing herself in the little basin between the +windows. + +Madame Antoine had laid some coarse, clean towels upon a +chair, and had placed a box of poudre de riz within easy reach. +Edna dabbed the powder upon her nose and cheeks as she looked at +herself closely in the little distorted mirror which hung on the +wall above the basin. Her eyes were bright and wide awake and her +face glowed. + +When she had completed her toilet she walked into the +adjoining room. She was very hungry. No one was there. But there +was a cloth spread upon the table that stood against the wall, and +a cover was laid for one, with a crusty brown loaf and a bottle of +wine beside the plate. Edna bit a piece from the brown loaf, +tearing it with her strong, white teeth. She poured some of the +wine into the glass and drank it down. Then she went softly out of +doors, and plucking an orange from the low-hanging bough of a tree, +threw it at Robert, who did not know she was awake and up. + +An illumination broke over his whole face when he saw her and +joined her under the orange tree. + +"How many years have I slept?" she inquired. "The whole +island seems changed. A new race of beings must have sprung up, +leaving only you and me as past relics. How many ages ago did +Madame Antoine and Tonie die? and when did our people from Grand +Isle disappear from the earth?" + +He familiarly adjusted a ruffle upon her shoulder. + +"You have slept precisely one hundred years. I was left here +to guard your slumbers; and for one hundred years I have been out +under the shed reading a book. The only evil I couldn't prevent +was to keep a broiled fowl from drying up." + +"If it has turned to stone, still will I eat it," said Edna, +moving with him into the house. "But really, what has become of +Monsieur Farival and the others?" + +"Gone hours ago. When they found that you were sleeping they +thought it best not to awake you. Any way, I wouldn't have let +them. What was I here for?" + +"I wonder if Leonce will be uneasy!" she speculated, as she +seated herself at table. + +"Of course not; he knows you are with me," Robert replied, as +he busied himself among sundry pans and covered dishes which had +been left standing on the hearth. + +"Where are Madame Antoine and her son?" asked Edna. + +"Gone to Vespers, and to visit some friends, I believe. I am +to take you back in Tonie's boat whenever you are ready to go." + +He stirred the smoldering ashes till the broiled fowl began to +sizzle afresh. He served her with no mean repast, dripping the +coffee anew and sharing it with her. Madame Antoine had cooked +little else than the mullets, but while Edna slept Robert had +foraged the island. He was childishly gratified to discover her +appetite, and to see the relish with which she ate the food which +he had procured for her. + +"Shall we go right away?" she asked, after draining her glass +and brushing together the crumbs of the crusty loaf. + +"The sun isn't as low as it will be in two hours," he +answered. + +"The sun will be gone in two hours." + +"Well, let it go; who cares!" + +They waited a good while under the orange trees, till Madame +Antoine came back, panting, waddling, with a thousand apologies to +explain her absence. Tonie did not dare to return. He was shy, +and would not willingly face any woman except his mother. + +It was very pleasant to stay there under the orange trees, +while the sun dipped lower and lower, turning the western sky to +flaming copper and gold. The shadows lengthened and crept out +like stealthy, grotesque monsters across the grass. + +Edna and Robert both sat upon the ground--that is, he lay upon +the ground beside her, occasionally picking at the hem of her +muslin gown. + +Madame Antoine seated her fat body, broad and squat, upon a +bench beside the door. She had been talking all the afternoon, and +had wound herself up to the storytelling pitch. + +And what stories she told them! But twice in her life she had +left the Cheniere Caminada, and then for the briefest span. +All her years she had squatted and waddled there upon the island, +gathering legends of the Baratarians and the sea. The night came +on, with the moon to lighten it. Edna could hear the whispering +voices of dead men and the click of muffled gold. + +When she and Robert stepped into Tonie's boat, with the red +lateen sail, misty spirit forms were prowling in the shadows and +among the reeds, and upon the water were phantom ships, speeding to +cover. + + + + +XIV + + + +The youngest boy, Etienne, had been very naughty, Madame +Ratignolle said, as she delivered him into the hands of his mother. +He had been unwilling to go to bed and had made a scene; whereupon +she had taken charge of him and pacified him as well as she could. +Raoul had been in bed and asleep for two hours. + +The youngster was in his long white nightgown, that kept +tripping him up as Madame Ratignolle led him along by the hand. +With the other chubby fist he rubbed his eyes, which were heavy +with sleep and ill humor. Edna took him in her arms, and seating +herself in the rocker, began to coddle and caress him, calling him +all manner of tender names, soothing him to sleep. + +It was not more than nine o'clock. No one had yet gone to bed +but the children. + +Leonce had been very uneasy at first, Madame Ratignolle said, +and had wanted to start at once for the Cheniere. But +Monsieur Farival had assured him that his wife was only overcome +with sleep and fatigue, that Tonie would bring her safely back +later in the day; and he had thus been dissuaded from crossing the +bay. He had gone over to Klein's, looking up some cotton broker +whom he wished to see in regard to securities, exchanges, stocks, +bonds, or something of the sort, Madame Ratignolle did not remember +what. He said he would not remain away late. She herself was +suffering from heat and oppression, she said. She carried a bottle +of salts and a large fan. She would not consent to remain with +Edna, for Monsieur Ratignolle was alone, and he detested above all +things to be left alone. + +When Etienne had fallen asleep Edna bore him into the back +room, and Robert went and lifted the mosquito bar that she might +lay the child comfortably in his bed. The quadroon had vanished. +When they emerged from the cottage Robert bade Edna good-night. + +"Do you know we have been together the whole livelong day, +Robert--since early this morning?" she said at parting. + +"All but the hundred years when you were sleeping. +Goodnight." + +He pressed her hand and went away in the direction of the +beach. He did not join any of the others, but walked alone toward +the Gulf. + +Edna stayed outside, awaiting her husband's return. She had +no desire to sleep or to retire; nor did she feel like going over +to sit with the Ratignolles, or to join Madame Lebrun and a group +whose animated voices reached her as they sat in conversation +before the house. She let her mind wander back over her stay at +Grand Isle; and she tried to discover wherein this summer had been +different from any and every other summer of her life. She could +only realize that she herself--her present self--was in some way +different from the other self. That she was seeing with different +eyes and making the acquaintance of new conditions in herself that +colored and changed her environment, she did not yet suspect. + +She wondered why Robert had gone away and left her. It did +not occur to her to think he might have grown tired of being with +her the livelong day. She was not tired, and she felt that he was +not. She regretted that he had gone. It was so much more natural +to have him stay when he was not absolutely required to leave her. + +As Edna waited for her husband she sang low a little song that +Robert had sung as they crossed the bay. It began with "Ah! +Si tu savais," and every verse ended with "si tu savais." + +Robert's voice was not pretentious. It was musical and true. +The voice, the notes, the whole refrain haunted her memory. + + + + +XV + + + +When Edna entered the dining-room one evening a little late, +as was her habit, an unusually animated conversation seemed to be +going on. Several persons were talking at once, and Victor's voice +was predominating, even over that of his mother. Edna had returned +late from her bath, had dressed in some haste, and her face was +flushed. Her head, set off by her dainty white gown, suggested a +rich, rare blossom. She took her seat at table between old +Monsieur Farival and Madame Ratignolle. + +As she seated herself and was about to begin to eat her soup, +which had been served when she entered the room, several persons +informed her simultaneously that Robert was going to Mexico. +She laid her spoon down and looked about her bewildered. +He had been with her, reading to her all the morning, +and had never even mentioned such a place as Mexico. +She had not seen him during the afternoon; she had heard +some one say he was at the house, upstairs with his mother. +This she had thought nothing of, though she was surprised +when he did not join her later in the afternoon, +when she went down to the beach. + +She looked across at him, where he sat beside Madame Lebrun, +who presided. Edna's face was a blank picture of bewilderment, +which she never thought of disguising. He lifted his eyebrows with +the pretext of a smile as he returned her glance. He looked +embarrassed and uneasy. "When is he going?" she asked of everybody +in general, as if Robert were not there to answer for himself. + +"To-night!" "This very evening!" "Did you ever!" +"What possesses him!" were some of the replies she gathered, +uttered simultaneously in French and English. + +"Impossible!" she exclaimed. "How can a person start off from +Grand Isle to Mexico at a moment's notice, as if he were going over +to Klein's or to the wharf or down to the beach?" + +"I said all along I was going to Mexico; I've been saying so +for years!" cried Robert, in an excited and irritable tone, with +the air of a man defending himself against a swarm of stinging +insects. + +Madame Lebrun knocked on the table with her knife handle. + +"Please let Robert explain why he is going, and why he is +going to-night," she called out. "Really, this table is getting to +be more and more like Bedlam every day, with everybody talking at +once. Sometimes--I hope God will forgive me--but positively, +sometimes I wish Victor would lose the power of speech." + +Victor laughed sardonically as he thanked his mother for her +holy wish, of which he failed to see the benefit to anybody, except +that it might afford her a more ample opportunity and license to +talk herself. + +Monsieur Farival thought that Victor should have been taken +out in mid-ocean in his earliest youth and drowned. Victor thought +there would be more logic in thus disposing of old people with an +established claim for making themselves universally obnoxious. +Madame Lebrun grew a trifle hysterical; Robert called his brother +some sharp, hard names. + +"There's nothing much to explain, mother," he said; though he +explained, nevertheless--looking chiefly at Edna--that he could +only meet the gentleman whom he intended to join at Vera Cruz by +taking such and such a steamer, which left New Orleans on such a +day; that Beaudelet was going out with his lugger-load of +vegetables that night, which gave him an opportunity of reaching +the city and making his vessel in time. + +"But when did you make up your mind to all this?" demanded +Monsieur Farival. + +"This afternoon," returned Robert, with a shade of annoyance. + +"At what time this afternoon?" persisted the old gentleman, +with nagging determination, as if he were cross-questioning a +criminal in a court of justice. + +"At four o'clock this afternoon, Monsieur Farival," Robert +replied, in a high voice and with a lofty air, which reminded Edna +of some gentleman on the stage. + +She had forced herself to eat most of her soup, and now she +was picking the flaky bits of a court bouillon with her fork. + +The lovers were profiting by the general conversation on +Mexico to speak in whispers of matters which they rightly +considered were interesting to no one but themselves. The lady in +black had once received a pair of prayer-beads of curious +workmanship from Mexico, with very special indulgence attached to +them, but she had never been able to ascertain whether the +indulgence extended outside the Mexican border. Father Fochel of +the Cathedral had attempted to explain it; but he had not done so +to her satisfaction. And she begged that Robert would interest +himself, and discover, if possible, whether she was entitled to +the indulgence accompanying the remarkably curious Mexican prayer-beads. + +Madame Ratignolle hoped that Robert would exercise extreme +caution in dealing with the Mexicans, who, she considered, were a +treacherous people, unscrupulous and revengeful. She trusted she +did them no injustice in thus condemning them as a race. She had +known personally but one Mexican, who made and sold excellent +tamales, and whom she would have trusted implicitly, so softspoken +was he. One day he was arrested for stabbing his wife. She never +knew whether he had been hanged or not. + +Victor had grown hilarious, and was attempting to tell an +anecdote about a Mexican girl who served chocolate one winter in a +restaurant in Dauphine Street. No one would listen to him but old +Monsieur Farival, who went into convulsions over the droll story. + +Edna wondered if they had all gone mad, to be talking and +clamoring at that rate. She herself could think of nothing to say +about Mexico or the Mexicans. + +"At what time do you leave?" she asked Robert. + +"At ten," he told her. "Beaudelet wants to wait for the moon." + +"Are you all ready to go?" + +"Quite ready. I shall only take a hand-bag, and shall pack my +trunk in the city." + +He turned to answer some question put to him by his mother, +and Edna, having finished her black coffee, left the table. + +She went directly to her room. The little cottage was close +and stuffy after leaving the outer air. But she did not mind; +there appeared to be a hundred different things demanding her +attention indoors. She began to set the toilet-stand to rights, +grumbling at the negligence of the quadroon, who was in the +adjoining room putting the children to bed. She gathered together +stray garments that were hanging on the backs of chairs, and put +each where it belonged in closet or bureau drawer. She changed her +gown for a more comfortable and commodious wrapper. She rearranged +her hair, combing and brushing it with unusual energy. Then she went in +and assisted the quadroon in getting the boys to bed. + +They were very playful and inclined to talk--to do anything +but lie quiet and go to sleep. Edna sent the quadroon away to her +supper and told her she need not return. Then she sat and told the +children a story. Instead of soothing it excited them, and added +to their wakefulness. She left them in heated argument, +speculating about the conclusion of the tale which their mother +promised to finish the following night. + +The little black girl came in to say that Madame Lebrun would +like to have Mrs. Pontellier go and sit with them over at the house +till Mr. Robert went away. Edna returned answer that she had +already undressed, that she did not feel quite well, but perhaps +she would go over to the house later. She started to dress again, +and got as far advanced as to remove her peignoir. But +changing her mind once more she resumed the peignoir, and went +outside and sat down before her door. She was overheated and +irritable, and fanned herself energetically for a while. Madame +Ratignolle came down to discover what was the matter. + +"All that noise and confusion at the table must have upset +me," replied Edna, "and moreover, I hate shocks and surprises. +The idea of Robert starting off in such a ridiculously sudden +and dramatic way! As if it were a matter of life and death! +Never saying a word about it all morning when he was with me." + +"Yes," agreed Madame Ratignolle. "I think it was showing us +all--you especially--very little consideration. It wouldn't have +surprised me in any of the others; those Lebruns are all given to +heroics. But I must say I should never have expected such a thing +from Robert. Are you not coming down? Come on, dear; it doesn't +look friendly." + +"No," said Edna, a little sullenly. "I can't go to the +trouble of dressing again; I don't feel like it." + +"You needn't dress; you look all right; fasten a belt around +your waist. Just look at me!" + +"No," persisted Edna; "but you go on. Madame Lebrun might be +offended if we both stayed away." + +Madame Ratignolle kissed Edna good-night, and went away, being +in truth rather desirous of joining in the general and animated +conversation which was still in progress concerning Mexico and the +Mexicans. + +Somewhat later Robert came up, carrying his hand-bag. + +"Aren't you feeling well?" he asked. + +"Oh, well enough. Are you going right away?" + +He lit a match and looked at his watch. "In twenty minutes," +he said. The sudden and brief flare of the match emphasized the +darkness for a while. He sat down upon a stool which the children +had left out on the porch. + +"Get a chair," said Edna. + +"This will do," he replied. He put on his soft hat and +nervously took it off again, and wiping his face with his +handkerchief, complained of the heat. + +"Take the fan," said Edna, offering it to him. + +"Oh, no! Thank you. It does no good; you have to stop fanning +some time, and feel all the more uncomfortable afterward." + +"That's one of the ridiculous things which men always say. I +have never known one to speak otherwise of fanning. How long will +you be gone?" + +"Forever, perhaps. I don't know. It depends upon a good many things." + +"Well, in case it shouldn't be forever, how long will it be?" + +"I don't know." + +"This seems to me perfectly preposterous and uncalled for. I +don't like it. I don't understand your motive for silence and +mystery, never saying a word to me about it this morning." He +remained silent, not offering to defend himself. He only said, +after a moment: + +"Don't part from me in any ill humor. I never knew you to be +out of patience with me before." + +"I don't want to part in any ill humor," she said. "But can't +you understand? I've grown used to seeing you, to having you with +me all the time, and your action seems unfriendly, even unkind. +You don't even offer an excuse for it. Why, I was planning to be together, +thinking of how pleasant it would be to see you in the city next winter." + +"So was I," he blurted. "Perhaps that's the--" He stood up +suddenly and held out his hand. "Good-by, my dear Mrs. Pontellier; +good-by. You won't--I hope you won't completely forget me." +She clung to his hand, striving to detain him. + +"Write to me when you get there, won't you, Robert?" she entreated. + +"I will, thank you. Good-by." + +How unlike Robert! The merest acquaintance would have said +something more emphatic than "I will, thank you; good-by," to such +a request. + +He had evidently already taken leave of the people over at the +house, for he descended the steps and went to join Beaudelet, who +was out there with an oar across his shoulder waiting for Robert. +They walked away in the darkness. She could only hear Beaudelet's +voice; Robert had apparently not even spoken a word of greeting to +his companion. + +Edna bit her handkerchief convulsively, striving to hold back +and to hide, even from herself as she would have hidden from +another, the emotion which was troubling--tearing--her. Her eyes +were brimming with tears. + +For the first time she recognized the symptoms of infatuation +which she had felt incipiently as a child, as a girl in her +earliest teens, and later as a young woman. The recognition did +not lessen the reality, the poignancy of the revelation by any +suggestion or promise of instability. The past was nothing to her; +offered no lesson which she was willing to heed. The future was a +mystery which she never attempted to penetrate. The present alone +was significant; was hers, to torture her as it was doing then with +the biting conviction that she had lost that which she had held, +that she had been denied that which her impassioned, newly awakened +being demanded. + + + + +XVI + + + +"Do you miss your friend greatly?" asked Mademoiselle Reisz +one morning as she came creeping up behind Edna, who had just left +her cottage on her way to the beach. She spent much of her time in +the water since she had acquired finally the art of swimming. As +their stay at Grand Isle drew near its close, she felt that she +could not give too much time to a diversion which afforded her the +only real pleasurable moments that she knew. When Mademoiselle +Reisz came and touched her upon the shoulder and spoke to her, the +woman seemed to echo the thought which was ever in Edna's mind; or, +better, the feeling which constantly possessed her. + +Robert's going had some way taken the brightness, the color, +the meaning out of everything. The conditions of her life were in +no way changed, but her whole existence was dulled, like a faded +garment which seems to be no longer worth wearing. She sought him +everywhere--in others whom she induced to talk about him. She went +up in the mornings to Madame Lebrun's room, braving the clatter of +the old sewing-machine. She sat there and chatted at intervals as +Robert had done. She gazed around the room at the pictures and +photographs hanging upon the wall, and discovered in some corner an +old family album, which she examined with the keenest interest, +appealing to Madame Lebrun for enlightenment concerning the many +figures and faces which she discovered between its pages. + +There was a picture of Madame Lebrun with Robert as a baby, +seated in her lap, a round-faced infant with a fist in his mouth. +The eyes alone in the baby suggested the man. And that was he also +in kilts, at the age of five, wearing long curls and holding a whip +in his hand. It made Edna laugh, and she laughed, too, at the portrait +in his first long trousers; while another interested her, taken when he +left for college, looking thin, long-faced, with eyes full of fire, +ambition and great intentions. But there was no recent picture, +none which suggested the Robert who had gone away five days ago, +leaving a void and wilderness behind him. + +"Oh, Robert stopped having his pictures taken when he had to +pay for them himself! He found wiser use for his money, he says," +explained Madame Lebrun. She had a letter from him, written before +he left New Orleans. Edna wished to see the letter, and Madame +Lebrun told her to look for it either on the table or the dresser, +or perhaps it was on the mantelpiece. + +The letter was on the bookshelf. It possessed the greatest +interest and attraction for Edna; the envelope, its size and shape, +the post-mark, the handwriting. She examined every detail of the +outside before opening it. There were only a few lines, setting +forth that he would leave the city that afternoon, that he had +packed his trunk in good shape, that he was well, and sent her his +love and begged to be affectionately remembered to all. There was +no special message to Edna except a postscript saying that if Mrs. +Pontellier desired to finish the book which he had been reading to +her, his mother would find it in his room, among other books there +on the table. Edna experienced a pang of jealousy because he had +written to his mother rather than to her. + +Every one seemed to take for granted that she missed him. +Even her husband, when he came down the Saturday following Robert's +departure, expressed regret that he had gone. + +"How do you get on without him, Edna?" he asked. + +"It's very dull without him," she admitted. Mr. Pontellier +had seen Robert in the city, and Edna asked him a dozen questions +or more. Where had they met? On Carondelet Street, in the morning. +They had gone "in" and had a drink and a cigar together. What had +they talked about? Chiefly about his prospects in Mexico, which +Mr. Pontellier thought were promising. How did he look? How did +he seem--grave, or gay, or how? Quite cheerful, and wholly +taken up with the idea of his trip, which Mr. Pontellier found +altogether natural in a young fellow about to seek fortune +and adventure in a strange, queer country. + +Edna tapped her foot impatiently, and wondered why the +children persisted in playing in the sun when they might be under +the trees. She went down and led them out of the sun, scolding the +quadroon for not being more attentive. + +It did not strike her as in the least grotesque that she +should be making of Robert the object of conversation and leading +her husband to speak of him. The sentiment which she entertained +for Robert in no way resembled that which she felt for her husband, +or had ever felt, or ever expected to feel. She had all her life +long been accustomed to harbor thoughts and emotions which never +voiced themselves. They had never taken the form of struggles. +They belonged to her and were her own, and she entertained the +conviction that she had a right to them and that they concerned no +one but herself. Edna had once told Madame Ratignolle that she +would never sacrifice herself for her children, or for any one. +Then had followed a rather heated argument; the two women did not +appear to understand each other or to be talking the same language. +Edna tried to appease her friend, to explain. + +"I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I +would give my life for my children; but I wouldn't give myself. I +can't make it more clear; it's only something which I am beginning +to comprehend, which is revealing itself to me." + +"I don't know what you would call the essential, or what you +mean by the unessential," said Madame Ratignolle, cheerfully; "but +a woman who would give her life for her children could do no more +than that--your Bible tells you so. I'm sure I couldn't do more +than that." + +"Oh, yes you could!" laughed Edna. + +She was not surprised at Mademoiselle Reisz's question the +morning that lady, following her to the beach, tapped her on the +shoulder and asked if she did not greatly miss her young friend. + +"Oh, good morning, Mademoiselle; is it you? Why, of course I +miss Robert. Are you going down to bathe?" + +"Why should I go down to bathe at the very end of the season +when I haven't been in the surf all summer," replied the woman, +disagreeably. + +"I beg your pardon," offered Edna, in some embarrassment, for +she should have remembered that Mademoiselle Reisz's avoidance of +the water had furnished a theme for much pleasantry. Some among +them thought it was on account of her false hair, or the dread of +getting the violets wet, while others attributed it to the natural +aversion for water sometimes believed to accompany the artistic +temperament. Mademoiselle offered Edna some chocolates in a paper +bag, which she took from her pocket, by way of showing that she +bore no ill feeling. She habitually ate chocolates for their +sustaining quality; they contained much nutriment in small compass, +she said. They saved her from starvation, as Madame Lebrun's table +was utterly impossible; and no one save so impertinent a woman as +Madame Lebrun could think of offering such food to people and +requiring them to pay for it. + + "She must feel very lonely without her son," said Edna, +desiring to change the subject. "Her favorite son, too. It must +have been quite hard to let him go." + +Mademoiselle laughed maliciously. + +"Her favorite son! Oh, dear! Who could have been imposing such +a tale upon you? Aline Lebrun lives for Victor, and for Victor +alone. She has spoiled him into the worthless creature he is. She +worships him and the ground he walks on. Robert is very well in a +way, to give up all the money he can earn to the family, and keep +the barest pittance for himself. Favorite son, indeed! I miss the +poor fellow myself, my dear. I liked to see him and to hear him +about the place the only Lebrun who is worth a pinch of salt. +He comes to see me often in the city. I like to play to +him. That Victor! hanging would be too good for him. +It's a wonder Robert hasn't beaten him to death long ago." + +"I thought he had great patience with his brother," offered +Edna, glad to be talking about Robert, no matter what was said. + +"Oh! he thrashed him well enough a year or two ago," said +Mademoiselle. "It was about a Spanish girl, whom Victor considered +that he had some sort of claim upon. He met Robert one day talking +to the girl, or walking with her, or bathing with her, or carrying +her basket--I don't remember what;--and he became so insulting and +abusive that Robert gave him a thrashing on the spot that has kept +him comparatively in order for a good while. It's about time he +was getting another." + +"Was her name Mariequita?" asked Edna. + +"Mariequita--yes, that was it; Mariequita. I had forgotten. +Oh, she's a sly one, and a bad one, that Mariequita!" + +Edna looked down at Mademoiselle Reisz and wondered how she +could have listened to her venom so long. For some reason she felt +depressed, almost unhappy. She had not intended to go into the +water; but she donned her bathing suit, and left Mademoiselle +alone, seated under the shade of the children's tent. The water +was growing cooler as the season advanced. Edna plunged and swam +about with an abandon that thrilled and invigorated her. She +remained a long time in the water, half hoping that Mademoiselle +Reisz would not wait for her. + +But Mademoiselle waited. She was very amiable during the walk +back, and raved much over Edna's appearance in her bathing suit. +She talked about music. She hoped that Edna would go to see her in +the city, and wrote her address with the stub of a pencil on a +piece of card which she found in her pocket. + +"When do you leave?" asked Edna. + +"Next Monday; and you?" + +"The following week," answered Edna, adding, "It has been +a pleasant summer, hasn't it, Mademoiselle?" + +"Well," agreed Mademoiselle Reisz, with a shrug, "rather pleasant, +if it hadn't been for the mosquitoes and the Farival twins." + + + + +XVII + + + +The Pontelliers possessed a very charming home on Esplanade +Street in New Orleans. It was a large, double cottage, with a +broad front veranda, whose round, fluted columns supported the +sloping roof. The house was painted a dazzling white; the outside +shutters, or jalousies, were green. In the yard, which was kept +scrupulously neat, were flowers and plants of every description +which flourishes in South Louisiana. Within doors the appointments +were perfect after the conventional type. The softest carpets and +rugs covered the floors; rich and tasteful draperies hung at doors +and windows. There were paintings, selected with judgment and +discrimination, upon the walls. The cut glass, the silver, the +heavy damask which daily appeared upon the table were the envy of +many women whose husbands were less generous than Mr. Pontellier. + +Mr. Pontellier was very fond of walking about his house +examining its various appointments and details, to see that nothing +was amiss. He greatly valued his possessions, chiefly because they +were his, and derived genuine pleasure from contemplating a +painting, a statuette, a rare lace curtain--no matter what--after +he had bought it and placed it among his household gods. + +On Tuesday afternoons--Tuesday being Mrs. Pontellier's +reception day--there was a constant stream of callers--women who +came in carriages or in the street cars, or walked when the air was +soft and distance permitted. A light-colored mulatto boy, +in dress coat and bearing a diminutive silver tray +for the reception of cards, admitted them. A maid, +in white fluted cap, offered the callers liqueur, coffee, +or chocolate, as they might desire. Mrs. Pontellier, attired in a +handsome reception gown, remained in the drawing-room the entire +afternoon receiving her visitors. Men sometimes called in the +evening with their wives. + +This had been the programme which Mrs. Pontellier had +religiously followed since her marriage, six years before. Certain +evenings during the week she and her husband attended the opera or +sometimes the play. + +Mr. Pontellier left his home in the mornings between nine and +ten o'clock, and rarely returned before half-past six or seven in +the evening--dinner being served at half-past seven. + +He and his wife seated themselves at table one Tuesday +evening, a few weeks after their return from Grand Isle. They were +alone together. The boys were being put to bed; the patter of +their bare, escaping feet could be heard occasionally, as well as +the pursuing voice of the quadroon, lifted in mild protest and +entreaty. Mrs. Pontellier did not wear her usual Tuesday reception +gown; she was in ordinary house dress. Mr. Pontellier, who was +observant about such things, noticed it, as he served the soup and +handed it to the boy in waiting. + +"Tired out, Edna? Whom did you have? Many callers?" he asked. +He tasted his soup and began to season it with pepper, salt, +vinegar, mustard--everything within reach. + +"There were a good many," replied Edna, who was eating her +soup with evident satisfaction. "I found their cards when I got +home; I was out." + +"Out!" exclaimed her husband, with something like genuine +consternation in his voice as he laid down the vinegar cruet and +looked at her through his glasses. "Why, what could have taken you +out on Tuesday? What did you have to do?" + +"Nothing. I simply felt like going out, and I went out." + +"Well, I hope you left some suitable excuse," said her husband, +somewhat appeased, as he added a dash of cayenne pepper to the soup. + +"No, I left no excuse. I told Joe to say I was out, that was all." + +"Why, my dear, I should think you'd understand by this time +that people don't do such things; we've got to observe les +convenances if we ever expect to get on and keep up with the +procession. If you felt that you had to leave home this afternoon, +you should have left some suitable explanation for your absence. + +"This soup is really impossible; it's strange that woman +hasn't learned yet to make a decent soup. Any free-lunch stand in +town serves a better one. Was Mrs. Belthrop here?" + +"Bring the tray with the cards, Joe. I don't remember who was here." + +The boy retired and returned after a moment, bringing the tiny +silver tray, which was covered with ladies' visiting cards. He +handed it to Mrs. Pontellier. + +"Give it to Mr. Pontellier," she said. + +Joe offered the tray to Mr. Pontellier, and removed the soup. + +Mr. Pontellier scanned the names of his wife's callers, +reading some of them aloud, with comments as he read. + +"`The Misses Delasidas.' I worked a big deal in futures for +their father this morning; nice girls; it's time they were getting +married. `Mrs. Belthrop.' I tell you what it is, Edna; you can't +afford to snub Mrs. Belthrop. Why, Belthrop could buy and sell us +ten times over. His business is worth a good, round sum to me. +You'd better write her a note. `Mrs. James Highcamp.' Hugh! the +less you have to do with Mrs. Highcamp, the better. `Madame +Laforce.' Came all the way from Carrolton, too, poor old soul. +'Miss Wiggs,' `Mrs. Eleanor Boltons.'" He pushed the cards aside. + +"Mercy!" exclaimed Edna, who had been fuming. "Why are you +taking the thing so seriously and making such a fuss over it?" + +"I'm not making any fuss over it. But it's just such seeming trifles +that we've got to take seriously; such things count." + +The fish was scorched. Mr. Pontellier would not touch it. +Edna said she did not mind a little scorched taste. The roast was +in some way not to his fancy, and he did not like the manner in +which the vegetables were served. + +"It seems to me," he said, "we spend money enough in this +house to procure at least one meal a day which a man could eat and +retain his self-respect." + +"You used to think the cook was a treasure," returned Edna, +indifferently. + +"Perhaps she was when she first came; but cooks are only +human. They need looking after, like any other class of persons +that you employ. Suppose I didn't look after the clerks in my +office, just let them run things their own way; they'd soon make a +nice mess of me and my business." + +"Where are you going?" asked Edna, seeing that her husband +arose from table without having eaten a morsel except a taste of +the highly-seasoned soup. + +"I'm going to get my dinner at the club. Good night." He went +into the hall, took his hat and stick from the stand, and left the +house. + +She was somewhat familiar with such scenes. They had often +made her very unhappy. On a few previous occasions she had been +completely deprived of any desire to finish her dinner. Sometimes +she had gone into the kitchen to administer a tardy rebuke to the +cook. Once she went to her room and studied the cookbook during an +entire evening, finally writing out a menu for the week, which left +her harassed with a feeling that, after all, she had accomplished +no good that was worth the name. + +But that evening Edna finished her dinner alone, with forced +deliberation. Her face was flushed and her eyes flamed with some +inward fire that lighted them. After finishing her dinner she went +to her room, having instructed the boy to tell any other callers +that she was indisposed. + +It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in +the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went +and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle +of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night +seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky +and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking +herself and finding herself in just such sweet, half-darkness which +met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her +from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and +sounded mournful notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She +turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro down its +whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in +her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled +into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off +her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying +there, she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her +small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the +little glittering circlet. + +In a sweeping passion she seized a glass vase from the table +and flung it upon the tiles of the hearth. She wanted to destroy +something. The crash and clatter were what she wanted to hear. + +A maid, alarmed at the din of breaking glass, entered the room +to discover what was the matter. + +"A vase fell upon the hearth," said Edna. "Never mind; leave +it till morning." + +"Oh! you might get some of the glass in your feet, ma'am," +insisted the young woman, picking up bits of the broken vase that +were scattered upon the carpet. "And here's your ring, ma'am, +under the chair." + +Edna held out her hand, and taking the ring, slipped it upon +her finger. + + + + +XVIII + + + +The following morning Mr. Pontellier, upon leaving for his +office, asked Edna if she would not meet him in town in order to +look at some new fixtures for the library. + +"I hardly think we need new fixtures, Leonce. Don't let us +get anything new; you are too extravagant. I don't believe you +ever think of saving or putting by." + +"The way to become rich is to make money, my dear Edna, not to +save it," he said. He regretted that she did not feel inclined to +go with him and select new fixtures. He kissed her good-by, and +told her she was not looking well and must take care of herself. +She was unusually pale and very quiet. + +She stood on the front veranda as he quitted the house, and +absently picked a few sprays of jessamine that grew upon a trellis +near by. She inhaled the odor of the blossoms and thrust them into +the bosom of her white morning gown. The boys were dragging along +the banquette a small "express wagon," which they had filled with +blocks and sticks. The quadroon was following them with little +quick steps, having assumed a fictitious animation and alacrity for +the occasion. A fruit vender was crying his wares in the street. + +Edna looked straight before her with a self-absorbed +expression upon her face. She felt no interest in anything about +her. The street, the children, the fruit vender, the flowers +growing there under her eyes, were all part and parcel of an alien +world which had suddenly become antagonistic. + +She went back into the house. She had thought of speaking to +the cook concerning her blunders of the previous night; but Mr. +Pontellier had saved her that disagreeable mission, for which +she was so poorly fitted. Mr. Pontellier's arguments were usually +convincing with those whom he employed. He left home feeling quite sure +that he and Edna would sit down that evening, and possibly a few +subsequent evenings, to a dinner deserving of the name. + +Edna spent an hour or two in looking over some of her old +sketches. She could see their shortcomings and defects, which were +glaring in her eyes. She tried to work a little, but found she was +not in the humor. Finally she gathered together a few of the +sketches--those which she considered the least discreditable; and +she carried them with her when, a little later, she dressed and +left the house. She looked handsome and distinguished in her +street gown. The tan of the seashore had left her face, and her +forehead was smooth, white, and polished beneath her heavy, +yellow-brown hair. There were a few freckles on her face, and a small, +dark mole near the under lip and one on the temple, half-hidden in +her hair. + +As Edna walked along the street she was thinking of Robert. +She was still under the spell of her infatuation. She had tried to +forget him, realizing the inutility of remembering. But the +thought of him was like an obsession, ever pressing itself upon +her. It was not that she dwelt upon details of their acquaintance, +or recalled in any special or peculiar way his personality; it was +his being, his existence, which dominated her thought, fading +sometimes as if it would melt into the mist of the forgotten, +reviving again with an intensity which filled her with an +incomprehensible longing. + +Edna was on her way to Madame Ratignolle's. Their intimacy, +begun at Grand Isle, had not declined, and they had seen each other +with some frequency since their return to the city. The +Ratignolles lived at no great distance from Edna's home, on the +corner of a side street, where Monsieur Ratignolle owned and +conducted a drug store which enjoyed a steady and prosperous trade. +His father had been in the business before him, and Monsieur +Ratignolle stood well in the community and bore an enviable +reputation for integrity and clearheadedness. His family +lived in commodious apartments over the store, having an entrance +on the side within the porte cochere. There was something +which Edna thought very French, very foreign, about their whole +manner of living. In the large and pleasant salon which extended +across the width of the house, the Ratignolles entertained their +friends once a fortnight with a soiree musicale, sometimes +diversified by card-playing. There was a friend who played upon +the 'cello. One brought his flute and another his violin, while +there were some who sang and a number who performed upon the piano +with various degrees of taste and agility. The Ratignolles' soirees +musicales were widely known, and it was considered a privilege +to be invited to them. + +Edna found her friend engaged in assorting the clothes which +had returned that morning from the laundry. She at once abandoned +her occupation upon seeing Edna, who had been ushered without +ceremony into her presence. + +"`Cite can do it as well as I; it is really her business," she +explained to Edna, who apologized for interrupting her. And she +summoned a young black woman, whom she instructed, in French, to be +very careful in checking off the list which she handed her. She +told her to notice particularly if a fine linen handkerchief of +Monsieur Ratignolle's, which was missing last week, had been +returned; and to be sure to set to one side such pieces as required +mending and darning. + +Then placing an arm around Edna's waist, she led her to the +front of the house, to the salon, where it was cool and sweet with +the odor of great roses that stood upon the hearth in jars. + +Madame Ratignolle looked more beautiful than ever there at +home, in a neglige which left her arms almost wholly bare and +exposed the rich, melting curves of her white throat. + +"Perhaps I shall be able to paint your picture some day," said +Edna with a smile when they were seated. She produced the roll of +sketches and started to unfold them. "I believe I ought to work again. +I feel as if I wanted to be doing something. What do you think of them? +Do you think it worth while to take it up again and study some more? +I might study for a while with Laidpore." + +She knew that Madame Ratignolle's opinion in such a matter +would be next to valueless, that she herself had not alone decided, +but determined; but she sought the words of praise and +encouragement that would help her to put heart into her venture. + +"Your talent is immense, dear!" + +"Nonsense!" protested Edna, well pleased. + +"Immense, I tell you," persisted Madame Ratignolle, surveying +the sketches one by one, at close range, then holding them at arm's +length, narrowing her eyes, and dropping her head on one side. +"Surely, this Bavarian peasant is worthy of framing; and this +basket of apples! never have I seen anything more lifelike. One +might almost be tempted to reach out a hand and take one." + +Edna could not control a feeling which bordered upon +complacency at her friend's praise, even realizing, as she did, its +true worth. She retained a few of the sketches, and gave all the +rest to Madame Ratignolle, who appreciated the gift far beyond its +value and proudly exhibited the pictures to her husband when he +came up from the store a little later for his midday dinner. + +Mr. Ratignolle was one of those men who are called the salt of +the earth. His cheerfulness was unbounded, and it was matched by +his goodness of heart, his broad charity, and common sense. He and +his wife spoke English with an accent which was only discernible +through its un-English emphasis and a certain carefulness and +deliberation. Edna's husband spoke English with no accent +whatever. The Ratignolles understood each other perfectly. If +ever the fusion of two human beings into one has been accomplished +on this sphere it was surely in their union. + +As Edna seated herself at table with them she thought, "Better +a dinner of herbs," though it did not take her long to discover +that it was no dinner of herbs, but a delicious repast, +simple, choice, and in every way satisfying. + +Monsieur Ratignolle was delighted to see her, though he found +her looking not so well as at Grand Isle, and he advised a tonic. +He talked a good deal on various topics, a little politics, some +city news and neighborhood gossip. He spoke with an animation and +earnestness that gave an exaggerated importance to every syllable +he uttered. His wife was keenly interested in everything he said, +laying down her fork the better to listen, chiming in, taking the +words out of his mouth. + +Edna felt depressed rather than soothed after leaving them. +The little glimpse of domestic harmony which had been offered her, +gave her no regret, no longing. It was not a condition of life +which fitted her, and she could see in it but an appalling and +hopeless ennui. She was moved by a kind of commiseration for +Madame Ratignolle,--a pity for that colorless existence which never +uplifted its possessor beyond the region of blind contentment, in +which no moment of anguish ever visited her soul, in which she +would never have the taste of life's delirium. Edna vaguely +wondered what she meant by "life's delirium." It had crossed her +thought like some unsought, extraneous impression. + + + + +XIX + + + +Edna could not help but think that it was very foolish, very +childish, to have stamped upon her wedding ring and smashed the +crystal vase upon the tiles. She was visited by no more outbursts, +moving her to such futile expedients. She began to do as she liked +and to feel as she liked. She completely abandoned her Tuesdays at +home, and did not return the visits of those who had called upon her. +She made no ineffectual efforts to conduct her household en +bonne menagere, going and coming as it suited her fancy, and, +so far as she was able, lending herself to any passing caprice. + +Mr. Pontellier had been a rather courteous husband so long as +he met a certain tacit submissiveness in his wife. But her new and +unexpected line of conduct completely bewildered him. It shocked +him. Then her absolute disregard for her duties as a wife angered +him. When Mr. Pontellier became rude, Edna grew insolent. She had +resolved never to take another step backward. + +"It seems to me the utmost folly for a woman at the head of a +household, and the mother of children, to spend in an atelier days +which would be better employed contriving for the comfort of her +family." + +"I feel like painting," answered Edna. "Perhaps I shan't +always feel like it." + +"Then in God's name paint! but don't let the family go to the +devil. There's Madame Ratignolle; because she keeps up her music, +she doesn't let everything else go to chaos. And she's more of a +musician than you are a painter." + +"She isn't a musician, and I'm not a painter. It isn't on +account of painting that I let things go." + +"On account of what, then?" + +"Oh! I don't know. Let me alone; you bother me." + +It sometimes entered Mr. Pontellier's mind to wonder if his +wife were not growing a little unbalanced mentally. He could see +plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that +she was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious +self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the +world. + +Her husband let her alone as she requested, and went away to +his office. Edna went up to her atelier--a bright room in the top +of the house. She was working with great energy and interest, +without accomplishing anything, however, which satisfied her even +in the smallest degree. For a time she had the whole household +enrolled in the service of art. The boys posed for her. They thought +it amusing at first, but the occupation soon lost its attractiveness +when they discovered that it was not a game arranged especially for +their entertainment. The quadroon sat for hours before Edna's +palette, patient as a savage, while the house-maid took charge of +the children, and the drawing-room went undusted. But the +housemaid, too, served her term as model when Edna perceived that the +young woman's back and shoulders were molded on classic lines, and +that her hair, loosened from its confining cap, became an +inspiration. While Edna worked she sometimes sang low the little +air, "Ah! si tu savais!" + +It moved her with recollections. She could hear again the +ripple of the water, the flapping sail. She could see the glint of +the moon upon the bay, and could feel the soft, gusty beating of +the hot south wind. A subtle current of desire passed through her +body, weakening her hold upon the brushes and making her eyes burn. + +There were days when she was very happy without knowing why. +She was happy to be alive and breathing, when her whole being +seemed to be one with the sunlight, the color, the odors, the +luxuriant warmth of some perfect Southern day. She liked then to +wander alone into strange and unfamiliar places. She discovered +many a sunny, sleepy corner, fashioned to dream in. And she found +it good to dream and to be alone and unmolested. + +There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know +why,--when it did not seem worth while to be glad or sorry, to be alive +or dead; when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium and +humanity like worms struggling blindly toward inevitable +annihilation. She could not work on such a day, nor weave fancies +to stir her pulses and warm her blood. + + + + +XX + + + +It was during such a mood that Edna hunted up Mademoiselle +Reisz. She had not forgotten the rather disagreeable impression +left upon her by their last interview; but she nevertheless felt a +desire to see her--above all, to listen while she played upon the +piano. Quite early in the afternoon she started upon her quest for +the pianist. Unfortunately she had mislaid or lost Mademoiselle +Reisz's card, and looking up her address in the city directory, she +found that the woman lived on Bienville Street, some distance away. +The directory which fell into her hands was a year or more old, +however, and upon reaching the number indicated, Edna discovered +that the house was occupied by a respectable family of mulattoes +who had chambres garnies to let. They had been living there +for six months, and knew absolutely nothing of a Mademoiselle +Reisz. In fact, they knew nothing of any of their neighbors; their +lodgers were all people of the highest distinction, they assured +Edna. She did not linger to discuss class distinctions with Madame +Pouponne, but hastened to a neighboring grocery store, feeling sure +that Mademoiselle would have left her address with the proprietor. + +He knew Mademoiselle Reisz a good deal better than he wanted +to know her, he informed his questioner. In truth, he did not want +to know her at all, or anything concerning her--the most +disagreeable and unpopular woman who ever lived in Bienville +Street. He thanked heaven she had left the neighborhood, and was +equally thankful that he did not know where she had gone. + +Edna's desire to see Mademoiselle Reisz had increased tenfold +since these unlooked-for obstacles had arisen to thwart it. +She was wondering who could give her the information she sought, +when it suddenly occurred to her that Madame Lebrun would be +the one most likely to do so. She knew it was useless to ask +Madame Ratignolle, who was on the most distant terms with +the musician, and preferred to know nothing concerning her. +She had once been almost as emphatic in expressing herself +upon the subject as the corner grocer. + +Edna knew that Madame Lebrun had returned to the city, for it +was the middle of November. And she also knew where the Lebruns +lived, on Chartres Street. + +Their home from the outside looked like a prison, with iron +bars before the door and lower windows. The iron bars were a relic +of the old regime, and no one had ever thought of dislodging +them. At the side was a high fence enclosing the garden. A gate +or door opening upon the street was locked. Edna rang the bell at +this side garden gate, and stood upon the banquette, waiting to be +admitted. + +It was Victor who opened the gate for her. A black woman, +wiping her hands upon her apron, was close at his heels. Before +she saw them Edna could hear them in altercation, the +woman--plainly an anomaly--claiming the right to be allowed to perform her +duties, one of which was to answer the bell. + +Victor was surprised and delighted to see Mrs. Pontellier, and +he made no attempt to conceal either his astonishment or his +delight. He was a dark-browed, good-looking youngster of nineteen, +greatly resembling his mother, but with ten times her impetuosity. +He instructed the black woman to go at once and inform Madame +Lebrun that Mrs. Pontellier desired to see her. The woman grumbled +a refusal to do part of her duty when she had not been permitted to +do it all, and started back to her interrupted task of weeding the +garden. Whereupon Victor administered a rebuke in the form of a +volley of abuse, which, owing to its rapidity and incoherence, was +all but incomprehensible to Edna. Whatever it was, the rebuke was +convincing, for the woman dropped her hoe and went mumbling into +the house. + +Edna did not wish to enter. It was very pleasant there on the +side porch, where there were chairs, a wicker lounge, and a small +table. She seated herself, for she was tired from her long tramp; +and she began to rock gently and smooth out the folds of her silk +parasol. Victor drew up his chair beside her. He at once +explained that the black woman's offensive conduct was all due to +imperfect training, as he was not there to take her in hand. He +had only come up from the island the morning before, and expected +to return next day. He stayed all winter at the island; he lived +there, and kept the place in order and got things ready for the +summer visitors. + +But a man needed occasional relaxation, he informed Mrs. +Pontellier, and every now and again he drummed up a pretext to +bring him to the city. My! but he had had a time of it the evening +before! He wouldn't want his mother to know, and he began to talk +in a whisper. He was scintillant with recollections. Of course, +he couldn't think of telling Mrs. Pontellier all about it, she +being a woman and not comprehending such things. But it all began +with a girl peeping and smiling at him through the shutters as he +passed by. Oh! but she was a beauty! Certainly he smiled back, and +went up and talked to her. Mrs. Pontellier did not know him if she +supposed he was one to let an opportunity like that escape him. +Despite herself, the youngster amused her. She must have betrayed +in her look some degree of interest or entertainment. The boy grew +more daring, and Mrs. Pontellier might have found herself, in a +little while, listening to a highly colored story but for the +timely appearance of Madame Lebrun. + +That lady was still clad in white, according to her custom of the summer. +Her eyes beamed an effusive welcome. Would not Mrs. Pontellier go inside? +Would she partake of some refreshment? Why had she not been there before? +How was that dear Mr. Pontellier and how were those sweet children? +Had Mrs. Pontellier ever known such a warm November? + +Victor went and reclined on the wicker lounge behind his mother's chair, +where he commanded a view of Edna's face. He had taken her parasol +from her hands while he spoke to her, and he now lifted it and +twirled it above him as he lay on his back. When Madame Lebrun +complained that it was so dull coming back to the city; +that she saw so few people now; that even Victor, when he came +up from the island for a day or two, had so much to occupy him +and engage his time; then it was that the youth went into +contortions on the lounge and winked mischievously at Edna. +She somehow felt like a confederate in crime, and tried to look +severe and disapproving. + +There had been but two letters from Robert, with little in +them, they told her. Victor said it was really not worth while to +go inside for the letters, when his mother entreated him to go in +search of them. He remembered the contents, which in truth he +rattled off very glibly when put to the test. + +One letter was written from Vera Cruz and the other from the +City of Mexico. He had met Montel, who was doing everything toward +his advancement. So far, the financial situation was no +improvement over the one he had left in New Orleans, but of course +the prospects were vastly better. He wrote of the City of Mexico, +the buildings, the people and their habits, the conditions of life +which he found there. He sent his love to the family. He inclosed +a check to his mother, and hoped she would affectionately remember +him to all his friends. That was about the substance of the two +letters. Edna felt that if there had been a message for her, she +would have received it. The despondent frame of mind in which she +had left home began again to overtake her, and she remembered that +she wished to find Mademoiselle Reisz. + +Madame Lebrun knew where Mademoiselle Reisz lived. She gave +Edna the address, regretting that she would not consent to stay and +spend the remainder of the afternoon, and pay a visit to +Mademoiselle Reisz some other day. The afternoon was already well +advanced. + +Victor escorted her out upon the banquette, lifted her parasol, +and held it over her while he walked to the car with her. +He entreated her to bear in mind that the disclosures of +the afternoon were strictly confidential. She laughed +and bantered him a little, remembering too late that she +should have been dignified and reserved. + +"How handsome Mrs. Pontellier looked!" said Madame Lebrun +to her son. + +"Ravishing!" he admitted. "The city atmosphere has improved her. +Some way she doesn't seem like the same woman." + + + + +XXI + + + +Some people contended that the reason Mademoiselle Reisz +always chose apartments up under the roof was to discourage the +approach of beggars, peddlars and callers. There were plenty of +windows in her little front room. They were for the most part +dingy, but as they were nearly always open it did not make so much +difference. They often admitted into the room a good deal of smoke +and soot; but at the same time all the light and air that there was +came through them. From her windows could be seen the crescent of +the river, the masts of ships and the big chimneys of the +Mississippi steamers. A magnificent piano crowded the apartment. +In the next room she slept, and in the third and last she harbored +a gasoline stove on which she cooked her meals when disinclined to +descend to the neighboring restaurant. It was there also that she +ate, keeping her belongings in a rare old buffet, dingy and +battered from a hundred years of use. + +When Edna knocked at Mademoiselle Reisz's front room door and +entered, she discovered that person standing beside the window, +engaged in mending or patching an old prunella gaiter. The little +musician laughed all over when she saw Edna. Her laugh consisted +of a contortion of the face and all the muscles of the body. +She seemed strikingly homely, standing there in the afternoon light. +She still wore the shabby lace and the artificial bunch of violets +on the side of her head. + +"So you remembered me at last," said Mademoiselle. +"I had said to myself, `Ah, bah! she will never come.'" + +"Did you want me to come?" asked Edna with a smile. + +"I had not thought much about it," answered Mademoiselle. The +two had seated themselves on a little bumpy sofa which stood +against the wall. "I am glad, however, that you came. I have the +water boiling back there, and was just about to make some coffee. +You will drink a cup with me. And how is la belle dame? +Always handsome! always healthy! always contented!" She took Edna's +hand between her strong wiry fingers, holding it loosely without warmth, +and executing a sort of double theme upon the back and palm. + +"Yes," she went on; "I sometimes thought: `She will never +come. She promised as those women in society always do, without +meaning it. She will not come.' For I really don't believe you +like me, Mrs. Pontellier." + +"I don't know whether I like you or not," replied Edna, gazing +down at the little woman with a quizzical look. + +The candor of Mrs. Pontellier's admission greatly pleased +Mademoiselle Reisz. She expressed her gratification by repairing +forthwith to the region of the gasoline stove and rewarding her +guest with the promised cup of coffee. The coffee and the biscuit +accompanying it proved very acceptable to Edna, who had declined +refreshment at Madame Lebrun's and was now beginning to feel +hungry. Mademoiselle set the tray which she brought in upon a +small table near at hand, and seated herself once again on the +lumpy sofa. + +"I have had a letter from your friend," she remarked, as she +poured a little cream into Edna's cup and handed it to her. + +"My friend?" + +"Yes, your friend Robert. He wrote to me from the City of Mexico." + +"Wrote to YOU?" repeated Edna in amazement, stirring her coffee absently. + +"Yes, to me. Why not? Don't stir all the warmth out of your +coffee; drink it. Though the letter might as well have been sent +to you; it was nothing but Mrs. Pontellier from beginning to end." + +"Let me see it," requested the young woman, entreatingly. + +"No; a letter concerns no one but the person who writes it and +the one to whom it is written." + +"Haven't you just said it concerned me from beginning to end?" + +"It was written about you, not to you. `Have you seen Mrs. +Pontellier? How is she looking?' he asks. `As Mrs. Pontellier +says,' or `as Mrs. Pontellier once said.' `If Mrs. Pontellier +should call upon you, play for her that Impromptu of Chopin's, my +favorite. I heard it here a day or two ago, but not as you play +it. I should like to know how it affects her,' and so on, as if he +supposed we were constantly in each other's society." + +"Let me see the letter." + +"Oh, no." + +"Have you answered it?" + +"No." + +"Let me see the letter." + +"No, and again, no." + +"Then play the Impromptu for me." + +"It is growing late; what time do you have to be home?" + +"Time doesn't concern me. Your question seems a little rude. +Play the Impromptu." + +"But you have told me nothing of yourself. What are you doing?" + +"Painting!" laughed Edna. "I am becoming an artist. Think of it!" + +"Ah! an artist! You have pretensions, Madame." + +"Why pretensions? Do you think I could not become an artist?" + +"I do not know you well enough to say. I do not know your +talent or your temperament. To be an artist includes much; +one must possess many gifts--absolute gifts--which have not +been acquired by one's own effort. And, moreover, to succeed, the +artist must possess the courageous soul." + +"What do you mean by the courageous soul?" + +"Courageous, ma foi! The brave soul. The soul that dares +and defies." + +"Show me the letter and play for me the Impromptu. You see that +I have persistence. Does that quality count for anything in art?" + +"It counts with a foolish old woman whom you have captivated," +replied Mademoiselle, with her wriggling laugh. + +The letter was right there at hand in the drawer of the little +table upon which Edna had just placed her coffee cup. Mademoiselle +opened the drawer and drew forth the letter, the topmost one. She +placed it in Edna's hands, and without further comment arose and +went to the piano. + +Mademoiselle played a soft interlude. It was an +improvisation. She sat low at the instrument, and the lines of her body +settled into ungraceful curves and angles that gave it an +appearance of deformity. Gradually and imperceptibly the interlude +melted into the soft opening minor chords of the Chopin Impromptu. + +Edna did not know when the Impromptu began or ended. She sat +in the sofa corner reading Robert's letter by the fading light. +Mademoiselle had glided from the Chopin into the quivering +lovenotes of Isolde's song, and back again to the Impromptu with its +soulful and poignant longing. + +The shadows deepened in the little room. The music grew +strange and fantastic--turbulent, insistent, plaintive and soft +with entreaty. The shadows grew deeper. The music filled the +room. It floated out upon the night, over the housetops, the +crescent of the river, losing itself in the silence of the upper +air. + +Edna was sobbing, just as she had wept one midnight at Grand +Isle when strange, new voices awoke in her. She arose in some agitation +to take her departure. "May I come again, Mademoiselle?" she asked +at the threshold. + +"Come whenever you feel like it. Be careful; the stairs and +landings are dark; don't stumble." + +Mademoiselle reentered and lit a candle. Robert's letter was +on the floor. She stooped and picked it up. It was crumpled and +damp with tears. Mademoiselle smoothed the letter out, restored it +to the envelope, and replaced it in the table drawer. + + + + +XXII + + + +One morning on his way into town Mr. Pontellier stopped at the +house of his old friend and family physician, Doctor Mandelet. The +Doctor was a semi-retired physician, resting, as the saying is, +upon his laurels. He bore a reputation for wisdom rather than +skill--leaving the active practice of medicine to his assistants +and younger contemporaries--and was much sought for in matters of +consultation. A few families, united to him by bonds of +friendship, he still attended when they required the services of a +physician. The Pontelliers were among these. + +Mr. Pontellier found the Doctor reading at the open window of +his study. His house stood rather far back from the street, in the +center of a delightful garden, so that it was quiet and peaceful at +the old gentleman's study window. He was a great reader. He +stared up disapprovingly over his eye-glasses as Mr. Pontellier +entered, wondering who had the temerity to disturb him at that hour +of the morning. + +"Ah, Pontellier! Not sick, I hope. Come and have a seat. +What news do you bring this morning?" He was quite portly, with a +profusion of gray hair, and small blue eyes which age had robbed +of much of their brightness but none of their penetration. + +"Oh! I'm never sick, Doctor. You know that I come of tough +fiber--of that old Creole race of Pontelliers that dry up and +finally blow away. I came to consult--no, not precisely to +consult--to talk to you about Edna. I don't know what ails her." + +"Madame Pontellier not well," marveled the Doctor. "Why, I +saw her--I think it was a week ago--walking along Canal Street, the +picture of health, it seemed to me." + +"Yes, yes; she seems quite well," said Mr. Pontellier, leaning +forward and whirling his stick between his two hands; "but she +doesn't act well. She's odd, she's not like herself. I can't make +her out, and I thought perhaps you'd help me." + +"How does she act?" inquired the Doctor. + +"Well, it isn't easy to explain," said Mr. Pontellier, +throwing himself back in his chair. "She lets the housekeeping go +to the dickens." + +"Well, well; women are not all alike, my dear Pontellier. +We've got to consider--" + +"I know that; I told you I couldn't explain. Her whole +attitude--toward me and everybody and everything--has changed. You +know I have a quick temper, but I don't want to quarrel or be rude +to a woman, especially my wife; yet I'm driven to it, and feel like +ten thousand devils after I've made a fool of myself. She's making +it devilishly uncomfortable for me," he went on nervously. "She's +got some sort of notion in her head concerning the eternal rights +of women; and--you understand--we meet in the morning at the +breakfast table." + +The old gentleman lifted his shaggy eyebrows, protruded his +thick nether lip, and tapped the arms of his chair with his +cushioned fingertips. + +"What have you been doing to her, Pontellier?" + +"Doing! Parbleu!" + +"Has she," asked the Doctor, with a smile, "has she been associating +of late with a circle of pseudo-intellectual women--super-spiritual +superior beings? My wife has been telling me about them." + +"That's the trouble," broke in Mr. Pontellier, "she hasn't +been associating with any one. She has abandoned her Tuesdays at +home, has thrown over all her acquaintances, and goes tramping +about by herself, moping in the street-cars, getting in after dark. +I tell you she's peculiar. I don't like it; I feel a little +worried over it." + +This was a new aspect for the Doctor. "Nothing hereditary?" +he asked, seriously. "Nothing peculiar about her family +antecedents, is there?" + +"Oh, no, indeed! She comes of sound old Presbyterian Kentucky +stock. The old gentleman, her father, I have heard, used to atone +for his weekday sins with his Sunday devotions. I know for a fact, +that his race horses literally ran away with the prettiest bit of +Kentucky farming land I ever laid eyes upon. Margaret--you know +Margaret--she has all the Presbyterianism undiluted. And the +youngest is something of a vixen. By the way, she gets married in a +couple of weeks from now." + +"Send your wife up to the wedding," exclaimed the Doctor, +foreseeing a happy solution. "Let her stay among her own people +for a while; it will do her good." + +"That's what I want her to do. She won't go to the marriage. +She says a wedding is one of the most lamentable spectacles on +earth. Nice thing for a woman to say to her husband!" exclaimed +Mr. Pontellier, fuming anew at the recollection. + +"Pontellier," said the Doctor, after a moment's reflection, +"let your wife alone for a while. Don't bother her, and don't let +her bother you. Woman, my dear friend, is a very peculiar and +delicate organism--a sensitive and highly organized woman, such as +I know Mrs. Pontellier to be, is especially peculiar. It would +require an inspired psychologist to deal successfully with them. +And when ordinary fellows like you and me attempt to cope with +their idiosyncrasies the result is bungling. Most women are moody +and whimsical. This is some passing whim of your wife, due to some +cause or causes which you and I needn't try to fathom. +But it will pass happily over, especially if you let her alone. +Send her around to see me." + +"Oh! I couldn't do that; there'd be no reason for it," +objected Mr. Pontellier. + +"Then I'll go around and see her," said the Doctor. "I'll +drop in to dinner some evening en bon ami. + +"Do! by all means," urged Mr. Pontellier. "What evening will +you come? Say Thursday. Will you come Thursday?" he asked, rising +to take his leave. + +"Very well; Thursday. My wife may possibly have some +engagement for me Thursday. In case she has, I shall let you know. +Otherwise, you may expect me." + +Mr. Pontellier turned before leaving to say: + +"I am going to New York on business very soon. I have a big +scheme on hand, and want to be on the field proper to pull the +ropes and handle the ribbons. We'll let you in on the inside if +you say so, Doctor," he laughed. + +"No, I thank you, my dear sir," returned the Doctor. "I leave +such ventures to you younger men with the fever of life still in +your blood." + +"What I wanted to say," continued Mr. Pontellier, with his +hand on the knob; "I may have to be absent a good while. Would you +advise me to take Edna along?" + +"By all means, if she wishes to go. If not, leave her here. +Don't contradict her. The mood will pass, I assure you. It may +take a month, two, three months--possibly longer, but it will pass; +have patience." + +"Well, good-by, a jeudi, " said Mr. Pontellier, as he let +himself out. + +The Doctor would have liked during the course of conversation +to ask, "Is there any man in the case?" but he knew his Creole too +well to make such a blunder as that. + +He did not resume his book immediately, but sat for a while +meditatively looking out into the garden. + + + + +XXIII + + + +Edna's father was in the city, and had been with them several +days. She was not very warmly or deeply attached to him, but they +had certain tastes in common, and when together they were +companionable. His coming was in the nature of a welcome +disturbance; it seemed to furnish a new direction for her emotions. + +He had come to purchase a wedding gift for his daughter, +Janet, and an outfit for himself in which he might make a +creditable appearance at her marriage. Mr. Pontellier had selected +the bridal gift, as every one immediately connected with him always +deferred to his taste in such matters. And his suggestions on the +question of dress--which too often assumes the nature of a +problemwere of inestimable value to his father-in-law. But for the past +few days the old gentleman had been upon Edna's hands, and in his +society she was becoming acquainted with a new set of sensations. +He had been a colonel in the Confederate army, and still +maintained, with the title, the military bearing which had always +accompanied it. His hair and mustache were white and silky, +emphasizing the rugged bronze of his face. He was tall and thin, and +wore his coats padded, which gave a fictitious breadth and depth to +his shoulders and chest. Edna and her father looked very +distinguished together, and excited a good deal of notice during +their perambulations. Upon his arrival she began by introducing +him to her atelier and making a sketch of him. He took the whole +matter very seriously. If her talent had been ten-fold greater +than it was, it would not have surprised him, convinced as he was +that he had bequeathed to all of his daughters the germs of a +masterful capability, which only depended upon their own efforts +to be directed toward successful achievement. + +Before her pencil he sat rigid and unflinching, as he had +faced the cannon's mouth in days gone by. He resented the +intrusion of the children, who gaped with wondering eyes at him, +sitting so stiff up there in their mother's bright atelier. When +they drew near he motioned them away with an expressive action of +the foot, loath to disturb the fixed lines of his countenance, his +arms, or his rigid shoulders. + +Edna, anxious to entertain him, invited Mademoiselle Reisz to +meet him, having promised him a treat in her piano playing; but +Mademoiselle declined the invitation. So together they attended a +soiree musicale at the Ratignolles'. Monsieur and Madame +Ratignolle made much of the Colonel, installing him as the guest of +honor and engaging him at once to dine with them the following +Sunday, or any day which he might select. Madame coquetted with +him in the most captivating and naive manner, with eyes, gestures, +and a profusion of compliments, till the Colonel's old head felt +thirty years younger on his padded shoulders. Edna marveled, not +comprehending. She herself was almost devoid of coquetry. + +There were one or two men whom she observed at the soiree +musicale; but she would never have felt moved to any kittenish +display to attract their notice--to any feline or feminine wiles to +express herself toward them. Their personality attracted her in an +agreeable way. Her fancy selected them, and she was glad when a +lull in the music gave them an opportunity to meet her and talk +with her. Often on the street the glance of strange eyes had +lingered in her memory, and sometimes had disturbed her. + +Mr. Pontellier did not attend these soirees musicales. +He considered them bourgeois, and found more diversion at the club. +To Madame Ratignolle he said the music dispensed at her soirees +was too "heavy," too far beyond his untrained comprehension. His +excuse flattered her. But she disapproved of Mr. Pontellier's +club, and she was frank enough to tell Edna so. + +"It's a pity Mr. Pontellier doesn't stay home more in the +evenings. I think you would be more--well, if you don't mind my +saying it--more united, if he did." + +"Oh! dear no!" said Edna, with a blank look in her eyes. +"What should I do if he stayed home? We wouldn't have anything to +say to each other." + +She had not much of anything to say to her father, for that +matter; but he did not antagonize her. She discovered that he +interested her, though she realized that he might not interest her +long; and for the first time in her life she felt as if she were +thoroughly acquainted with him. He kept her busy serving him and +ministering to his wants. It amused her to do so. She would not +permit a servant or one of the children to do anything for him +which she might do herself. Her husband noticed, and thought it +was the expression of a deep filial attachment which he had never +suspected. + +The Colonel drank numerous "toddies" during the course of the +day, which left him, however, imperturbed. He was an expert at +concocting strong drinks. He had even invented some, to which he +had given fantastic names, and for whose manufacture he required +diverse ingredients that it devolved upon Edna to procure for him. + +When Doctor Mandelet dined with the Pontelliers on Thursday he +could discern in Mrs. Pontellier no trace of that morbid condition +which her husband had reported to him. She was excited and in a +manner radiant. She and her father had been to the race course, +and their thoughts when they seated themselves at table were still +occupied with the events of the afternoon, and their talk was still +of the track. The Doctor had not kept pace with turf affairs. He +had certain recollections of racing in what he called "the good old +times" when the Lecompte stables flourished, and he drew upon this +fund of memories so that he might not be left out and seem wholly +devoid of the modern spirit. But he failed to impose upon the +Colonel, and was even far from impressing him with this trumped-up +knowledge of bygone days. Edna had staked her father on his last +venture, with the most gratifying results to both of them. +Besides, they had met some very charming people, according +to the Colonel's impressions. Mrs. Mortimer Merriman and +Mrs. James Highcamp, who were there with Alcee Arobin, +had joined them and had enlivened the hours in a fashion +that warmed him to think of. + +Mr. Pontellier himself had no particular leaning toward +horseracing, and was even rather inclined to discourage it as a pastime, +especially when he considered the fate of that blue-grass farm in +Kentucky. He endeavored, in a general way, to express a particular +disapproval, and only succeeded in arousing the ire and opposition +of his father-in-law. A pretty dispute followed, in which Edna +warmly espoused her father's cause and the Doctor remained neutral. + +He observed his hostess attentively from under his shaggy +brows, and noted a subtle change which had transformed her from the +listless woman he had known into a being who, for the moment, +seemed palpitant with the forces of life. Her speech was warm and +energetic. There was no repression in her glance or gesture. She +reminded him of some beautiful, sleek animal waking up in the sun. + +The dinner was excellent. The claret was warm and the +champagne was cold, and under their beneficent influence the +threatened unpleasantness melted and vanished with the fumes of the +wine. + +Mr. Pontellier warmed up and grew reminiscent. He told some +amusing plantation experiences, recollections of old Iberville and +his youth, when he hunted `possum in company with some friendly +darky; thrashed the pecan trees, shot the grosbec, and roamed the +woods and fields in mischievous idleness. + +The Colonel, with little sense of humor and of the fitness of +things, related a somber episode of those dark and bitter days, in +which he had acted a conspicuous part and always formed a central +figure. Nor was the Doctor happier in his selection, when he told +the old, ever new and curious story of the waning of a woman's love, +seeking strange, new channels, only to return to its legitimate source +after days of fierce unrest. It was one of the many little human +documents which had been unfolded to him during his long career as +a physician. The story did not seem especially to impress Edna. +She had one of her own to tell, of a woman who paddled away with +her lover one night in a pirogue and never came back. They were +lost amid the Baratarian Islands, and no one ever heard of them or +found trace of them from that day to this. It was a pure +invention. She said that Madame Antoine had related it to her. +That, also, was an invention. Perhaps it was a dream she had had. +But every glowing word seemed real to those who listened. They +could feel the hot breath of the Southern night; they could hear +the long sweep of the pirogue through the glistening moonlit water, +the beating of birds' wings, rising startled from among the reeds +in the salt-water pools; they could see the faces of the lovers, +pale, close together, rapt in oblivious forgetfulness, drifting +into the unknown. + +The champagne was cold, and its subtle fumes played fantastic +tricks with Edna's memory that night. + +Outside, away from the glow of the fire and the soft +lamplight, the night was chill and murky. The Doctor doubled his +old-fashioned cloak across his breast as he strode home through the +darkness. He knew his fellow-creatures better than most men; knew +that inner life which so seldom unfolds itself to unanointed* eyes. +He was sorry he had accepted Pontellier's invitation. He was +growing old, and beginning to need rest and an imperturbed spirit. +He did not want the secrets of other lives thrust upon him. + +"I hope it isn't Arobin," he muttered to himself as he walked. +"I hope to heaven it isn't Alcee Arobin." + + + + +XXIV + + + +Edna and her father had a warm, and almost violent dispute +upon the subject of her refusal to attend her sister's wedding. +Mr. Pontellier declined to interfere, to interpose either his +influence or his authority. He was following Doctor Mandelet's +advice, and letting her do as she liked. The Colonel reproached +his daughter for her lack of filial kindness and respect, her want +of sisterly affection and womanly consideration. His arguments +were labored and unconvincing. He doubted if Janet would accept +any excuse--forgetting that Edna had offered none. He doubted if +Janet would ever speak to her again, and he was sure Margaret would +not. + +Edna was glad to be rid of her father when he finally took +himself off with his wedding garments and his bridal gifts, with +his padded shoulders, his Bible reading, his "toddies" and +ponderous oaths. + +Mr. Pontellier followed him closely. He meant to stop at the +wedding on his way to New York and endeavor by every means which +money and love could devise to atone somewhat for Edna's +incomprehensible action. + +"You are too lenient, too lenient by far, Leonce," asserted +the Colonel. "Authority, coercion are what is needed. Put your +foot down good and hard; the only way to manage a wife. Take my +word for it." + +The Colonel was perhaps unaware that he had coerced his own +wife into her grave. Mr. Pontellier had a vague suspicion of it +which he thought it needless to mention at that late day. + +Edna was not so consciously gratified at her husband's leaving +home as she had been over the departure of her father. As the day +approached when he was to leave her for a comparatively long stay, +she grew melting and affectionate, remembering his many acts of consideration +and his repeated expressions of an ardent attachment. She was solicitous +about his health and his welfare. She bustled around, looking after +his clothing, thinking about heavy underwear, quite as Madame Ratignolle +would have done under similar circumstances. She cried when he went away, +calling him her dear, good friend, and she was quite certain she would +grow lonely before very long and go to join him in New York. + +But after all, a radiant peace settled upon her when she at +last found herself alone. Even the children were gone. Old Madame +Pontellier had come herself and carried them off to Iberville with +their quadroon. The old madame did not venture to say she was +afraid they would be neglected during Leonce's absence; she hardly +ventured to think so. She was hungry for them--even a little +fierce in her attachment. She did not want them to be wholly +"children of the pavement," she always said when begging to have +them for a space. She wished them to know the country, with its +streams, its fields, its woods, its freedom, so delicious to the +young. She wished them to taste something of the life their father +had lived and known and loved when he, too, was a little child. + +When Edna was at last alone, she breathed a big, genuine sigh +of relief. A feeling that was unfamiliar but very delicious came +over her. She walked all through the house, from one room to +another, as if inspecting it for the first time. She tried the +various chairs and lounges, as if she had never sat and reclined +upon them before. And she perambulated around the outside of the +house, investigating, looking to see if windows and shutters were +secure and in order. The flowers were like new acquaintances; she +approached them in a familiar spirit, and made herself at home +among them. The garden walks were damp, and Edna called to the +maid to bring out her rubber sandals. And there she stayed, and +stooped, digging around the plants, trimming, picking dead, dry +leaves. The children's little dog came out, interfering, getting +in her way. She scolded him, laughed at him, played with him. +The garden smelled so good and looked so pretty in the afternoon +sunlight. Edna plucked all the bright flowers she could find, +and went into the house with them, she and the little dog. + +Even the kitchen assumed a sudden interesting character which +she had never before perceived. She went in to give directions to +the cook, to say that the butcher would have to bring much less +meat, that they would require only half their usual quantity of +bread, of milk and groceries. She told the cook that she herself +would be greatly occupied during Mr. Pontellier's absence, and she +begged her to take all thought and responsibility of the larder +upon her own shoulders. + +That night Edna dined alone. The candelabra, with a few +candies in the center of the table, gave all the light she needed. +Outside the circle of light in which she sat, the large dining-room +looked solemn and shadowy. The cook, placed upon her mettle, +served a delicious repast--a luscious tenderloin broiled a +point. The wine tasted good; the marron glace seemed to be +just what she wanted. It was so pleasant, too, to dine in a +comfortable peignoir. + +She thought a little sentimentally about Leonce and the +children, and wondered what they were doing. As she gave a dainty +scrap or two to the doggie, she talked intimately to him about +Etienne and Raoul. He was beside himself with astonishment and +delight over these companionable advances, and showed his +appreciation by his little quick, snappy barks and a lively +agitation. + +Then Edna sat in the library after dinner and read Emerson +until she grew sleepy. She realized that she had neglected her +reading, and determined to start anew upon a course of improving +studies, now that her time was completely her own to do with as she +liked. + +After a refreshing bath, Edna went to bed. And as she +snuggled comfortably beneath the eiderdown a sense of restfulness +invaded her, such as she had not known before. + + + + +XXV + + + +When the weather was dark and cloudy Edna could not work. She +needed the sun to mellow and temper her mood to the sticking point. +She had reached a stage when she seemed to be no longer feeling her +way, working, when in the humor, with sureness and ease. And being +devoid of ambition, and striving not toward accomplishment, she +drew satisfaction from the work in itself. + +On rainy or melancholy days Edna went out and sought the +society of the friends she had made at Grand Isle. Or else she +stayed indoors and nursed a mood with which she was becoming too +familiar for her own comfort and peace of mind. It was not +despair; but it seemed to her as if life were passing by, leaving +its promise broken and unfulfilled. Yet there were other days when +she listened, was led on and deceived by fresh promises which her +youth held out to her. + +She went again to the races, and again. Alcee Arobin and Mrs. +Highcamp called for her one bright afternoon in Arobin's drag. +Mrs. Highcamp was a worldly but unaffected, intelligent, slim, tall +blonde woman in the forties, with an indifferent manner and blue +eyes that stared. She had a daughter who served her as a pretext +for cultivating the society of young men of fashion. Alcee Arobin +was one of them. He was a familiar figure at the race course, the +opera, the fashionable clubs. There was a perpetual smile in his +eyes, which seldom failed to awaken a corresponding cheerfulness in +any one who looked into them and listened to his good-humored +voice. His manner was quiet, and at times a little insolent. He +possessed a good figure, a pleasing face, not overburdened with +depth of thought or feeling; and his dress was that of the conventional +man of fashion. + +He admired Edna extravagantly, after meeting her at the races +with her father. He had met her before on other occasions, but she +had seemed to him unapproachable until that day. It was at his +instigation that Mrs. Highcamp called to ask her to go with them to +the Jockey Club to witness the turf event of the season. + +There were possibly a few track men out there who knew the +race horse as well as Edna, but there was certainly none who knew +it better. She sat between her two companions as one having +authority to speak. She laughed at Arobin's pretensions, and +deplored Mrs. Highcamp's ignorance. The race horse was a friend +and intimate associate of her childhood. The atmosphere of the +stables and the breath of the blue grass paddock revived in her +memory and lingered in her nostrils. She did not perceive that she +was talking like her father as the sleek geldings ambled in review +before them. She played for very high stakes, and fortune favored +her. The fever of the game flamed in her cheeks and eves, and it +got into her blood and into her brain like an intoxicant. People +turned their heads to look at her, and more than one lent an +attentive car to her utterances, hoping thereby to secure the +elusive but ever-desired "tip." Arobin caught the contagion of +excitement which drew him to Edna like a magnet. Mrs. Highcamp +remained, as usual, unmoved, with her indifferent stare and +uplifted eyebrows. + +Edna stayed and dined with Mrs. Highcamp upon being urged to +do so. Arobin also remained and sent away his drag. + +The dinner was quiet and uninteresting, save for the cheerful +efforts of Arobin to enliven things. Mrs. Highcamp deplored the +absence of her daughter from the races, and tried to convey to her +what she had missed by going to the "Dante reading" instead of +joining them. The girl held a geranium leaf up to her nose and +said nothing, but looked knowing and noncommittal. Mr. Highcamp +was a plain, bald-headed man, who only talked under compulsion. +He was unresponsive. Mrs. Highcamp was full of delicate courtesy +and consideration toward her husband. She addressed most of her +conversation to him at table. They sat in the library after dinner +and read the evening papers together under the droplight; while the +younger people went into the drawing-room near by and talked. Miss +Highcamp played some selections from Grieg upon the piano. She +seemed to have apprehended all of the composer's coldness and none +of his poetry. While Edna listened she could not help wondering if +she had lost her taste for music. + +When the time came for her to go home, Mr. Highcamp grunted a +lame offer to escort her, looking down at his slippered feet with +tactless concern. It was Arobin who took her home. The car ride +was long, and it was late when they reached Esplanade Street. +Arobin asked permission to enter for a second to light his +cigarette--his match safe was empty. He filled his match safe, but +did not light his cigarette until he left her, after she had +expressed her willingness to go to the races with him again. + +Edna was neither tired nor sleepy. She was hungry again, for +the Highcamp dinner, though of excellent quality, had lacked +abundance. She rummaged in the larder and brought forth a slice of +Gruyere and some crackers. She opened a bottle of beer which she +found in the icebox. Edna felt extremely restless and excited. +She vacantly hummed a fantastic tune as she poked at the wood +embers on the hearth and munched a cracker. + +She wanted something to happen--something, anything; she did +not know what. She regretted that she had not made Arobin stay a +half hour to talk over the horses with her. She counted the money +she had won. But there was nothing else to do, so she went to bed, +and tossed there for hours in a sort of monotonous agitation. + +In the middle of the night she remembered that she had +forgotten to write her regular letter to her husband; and she +decided to do so next day and tell him about her afternoon at the +Jockey Club. She lay wide awake composing a letter which was +nothing like the one which she wrote next day. When the maid +awoke her in the morning Edna was dreaming of Mr. Highcamp +playing the piano at the entrance of a music store on Canal Street, +while his wife was saying to Alcee Arobin, as they boarded an +Esplanade Street car: + +"What a pity that so much talent has been neglected! but I must go." + +When, a few days later, Alcee Arobin again called for Edna in +his drag, Mrs. Highcamp was not with him. He said they would pick +her up. But as that lady had not been apprised of his intention of +picking her up, she was not at home. The daughter was just leaving +the house to attend the meeting of a branch Folk Lore Society, and +regretted that she could not accompany them. Arobin appeared +nonplused, and asked Edna if there were any one else she cared to +ask. + +She did not deem it worth while to go in search of any of the +fashionable acquaintances from whom she had withdrawn herself. She +thought of Madame Ratignolle, but knew that her fair friend did not +leave the house, except to take a languid walk around the block +with her husband after nightfall. Mademoiselle Reisz would have +laughed at such a request from Edna. Madame Lebrun might have +enjoyed the outing, but for some reason Edna did not want her. So +they went alone, she and Arobin. + +The afternoon was intensely interesting to her. The +excitement came back upon her like a remittent fever. Her talk +grew familiar and confidential. It was no labor to become intimate +with Arobin. His manner invited easy confidence. The preliminary +stage of becoming acquainted was one which he always endeavored to +ignore when a pretty and engaging woman was concerned. + +He stayed and dined with Edna. He stayed and sat beside the +wood fire. They laughed and talked; and before it was time to go +he was telling her how different life might have been if he had +known her years before. With ingenuous frankness he spoke of what +a wicked, ill-disciplined boy he had been, and impulsively drew up +his cuff to exhibit upon his wrist the scar from a saber cut which +he had received in a duel outside of Paris when he was nineteen. +She touched his hand as she scanned the red cicatrice on the inside +of his white wrist. A quick impulse that was somewhat spasmodic +impelled her fingers to close in a sort of clutch upon his hand. +He felt the pressure of her pointed nails in the flesh of his palm. + +She arose hastily and walked toward the mantel. + +"The sight of a wound or scar always agitates and sickens me," +she said. "I shouldn't have looked at it." + +"I beg your pardon," he entreated, following her; "it never +occurred to me that it might be repulsive." + +He stood close to her, and the effrontery in his eyes repelled +the old, vanishing self in her, yet drew all her awakening +sensuousness. He saw enough in her face to impel him to take her +hand and hold it while he said his lingering good night. + +"Will you go to the races again?" he asked. + +"No," she said. "I've had enough of the races. I don't want +to lose all the money I've won, and I've got to work when the +weather is bright, instead of--" + +"Yes; work; to be sure. You promised to show me your work. +What morning may I come up to your atelier? To-morrow?" + +"No!" + +"Day after?" + +"No, no." + +"Oh, please don't refuse me! I know something of such things. +I might help you with a stray suggestion or two." + +"No. Good night. Why don't you go after you have said good +night? I don't like you," she went on in a high, excited pitch, +attempting to draw away her hand. She felt that her words lacked +dignity and sincerity, and she knew that he felt it. + +"I'm sorry you don't like me. I'm sorry I offended you. How +have I offended you? What have I done? Can't you forgive me?" +And he bent and pressed his lips upon her hand as if he wished +never more to withdraw them. + +"Mr. Arobin," she complained, "I'm greatly upset by the excitement +of the afternoon; I'm not myself. My manner must have misled you +in some way. I wish you to go, please." She spoke in a monotonous, +dull tone. He took his hat from the table, and stood with eyes turned +from her, looking into the dying fire. For a moment or two he kept an +impressive silence. + +"Your manner has not misled me, Mrs. Pontellier," he said +finally. "My own emotions have done that. I couldn't help it. +When I'm near you, how could I help it? Don't think anything of it, +don't bother, please. You see, I go when you command me. If you +wish me to stay away, I shall do so. If you let me come back, +I--oh! you will let me come back?" + +He cast one appealing glance at her, to which she made no +response. Alcee Arobin's manner was so genuine that it often +deceived even himself. + +Edna did not care or think whether it were genuine or not. +When she was alone she looked mechanically at the back of her hand +which he had kissed so warmly. Then she leaned her head down on +the mantelpiece. She felt somewhat like a woman who in a moment of +passion is betrayed into an act of infidelity, and realizes the +significance of the act without being wholly awakened from its +glamour. The thought was passing vaguely through her mind, "What +would he think?" + +She did not mean her husband; she was thinking of Robert +Lebrun. Her husband seemed to her now like a person whom she had +married without love as an excuse. + +She lit a candle and went up to her room. Alcee Arobin was +absolutely nothing to her. Yet his presence, his manners, the +warmth of his glances, and above all the touch of his lips upon her +hand had acted like a narcotic upon her. + +She slept a languorous sleep, interwoven with vanishing +dreams. + + + + +XXVI + + + +Alcee Arobin wrote Edna an elaborate note of apology, +palpitant with sincerity. It embarrassed her; for in a cooler, +quieter moment it appeared to her, absurd that she should have +taken his action so seriously, so dramatically. She felt sure that +the significance of the whole occurrence had lain in her own +self-consciousness. If she ignored his note it would give undue +importance to a trivial affair. If she replied to it in a serious +spirit it would still leave in his mind the impression that she had +in a susceptible moment yielded to his influence. After all, it +was no great matter to have one's hand kissed. She was provoked at +his having written the apology. She answered in as light and +bantering a spirit as she fancied it deserved, and said she would +be glad to have him look in upon her at work whenever he felt the +inclination and his business gave him the opportunity. + +He responded at once by presenting himself at her home with +all his disarming naivete. And then there was scarcely a day which +followed that she did not see him or was not reminded of him. He +was prolific in pretexts. His attitude became one of good-humored +subservience and tacit adoration. He was ready at all times to +submit to her moods, which were as often kind as they were cold. +She grew accustomed to him. They became intimate and friendly by +imperceptible degrees, and then by leaps. He sometimes talked in +a way that astonished her at first and brought the crimson into her +face; in a way that pleased her at last, appealing to the animalism +that stirred impatiently within her. + +There was nothing which so quieted the turmoil of Edna's +senses as a visit to Mademoiselle Reisz. It was then, +in the presence of that personality which was offensive to her, +that the woman, by her divine art, seemed to reach Edna's spirit +and set it free. + +It was misty, with heavy, lowering atmosphere, one afternoon, +when Edna climbed the stairs to the pianist's apartments under the +roof. Her clothes were dripping with moisture. She felt chilled +and pinched as she entered the room. Mademoiselle was poking at a +rusty stove that smoked a little and warmed the room indifferently. +She was endeavoring to heat a pot of chocolate on the stove. The +room looked cheerless and dingy to Edna as she entered. A bust of +Beethoven, covered with a hood of dust, scowled at her from the +mantelpiece. + +"Ah! here comes the sunlight!" exclaimed Mademoiselle, rising +from her knees before the stove. "Now it will be warm and bright +enough; I can let the fire alone." + +She closed the stove door with a bang, and approaching, +assisted in removing Edna's dripping mackintosh. + +"You are cold; you look miserable. The chocolate will soon be hot. +But would you rather have a taste of brandy? I have scarcely +touched the bottle which you brought me for my cold." A piece of +red flannel was wrapped around Mademoiselle's throat; a stiff neck +compelled her to hold her head on one side. + +"I will take some brandy," said Edna, shivering as she removed +her gloves and overshoes. She drank the liquor from the glass as +a man would have done. Then flinging herself upon the +uncomfortable sofa she said, "Mademoiselle, I am going to move +away from my house on Esplanade Street." + +"Ah!" ejaculated the musician, neither surprised nor especially interested. +Nothing ever seemed to astonish her very much. She was endeavoring to adjust +the bunch of violets which had become loose from its fastening in her hair. +Edna drew her down upon the sofa, and taking a pin from her own hair, +secured the shabby artificial flowers in their accustomed place. + +"Aren't you astonished?" + +"Passably. Where are you going? to New York? to Iberville? +to your father in Mississippi? where?" + +"Just two steps away," laughed Edna, "in a little four-room +house around the corner. It looks so cozy, so inviting and +restful, whenever I pass by; and it's for rent. I'm tired looking +after that big house. It never seemed like mine, anyway--like +home. It's too much trouble. I have to keep too many servants. +I am tired bothering with them." + +"That is not your true reason, ma belle. There is no use +in telling me lies. I don't know your reason, but you have not +told me the truth." Edna did not protest or endeavor to justify +herself. + +"The house, the money that provides for it, are not mine. +Isn't that enough reason?" + +"They are your husband's," returned Mademoiselle, with a shrug +and a malicious elevation of the eyebrows. + +"Oh! I see there is no deceiving you. Then let me tell you: +It is a caprice. I have a little money of my own from my mother's +estate, which my father sends me by driblets. I won a large sum +this winter on the races, and I am beginning to sell my sketches. +Laidpore is more and more pleased with my work; he says it grows in +force and individuality. I cannot judge of that myself, but I feel +that I have gained in ease and confidence. However, as I said, I +have sold a good many through Laidpore. I can live in the tiny +house for little or nothing, with one servant. Old Celestine, who +works occasionally for me, says she will come stay with me and do +my work. I know I shall like it, like the feeling of freedom and +independence." + +"What does your husband say?" + +"I have not told him yet. I only thought of it this morning. +He will think I am demented, no doubt. Perhaps you think so." + +Mademoiselle shook her head slowly. "Your reason is not yet +clear to me," she said. + +Neither was it quite clear to Edna herself; but it unfolded +itself as she sat for a while in silence. Instinct had prompted +her to put away her husband's bounty in casting off her allegiance. +She did not know how it would be when he returned. There would +have to be an understanding, an explanation. Conditions would +some way adjust themselves, she felt; but whatever came, +she had resolved never again to belong to another than herself. + +"I shall give a grand dinner before I leave the old house!" +Edna exclaimed. "You will have to come to it, Mademoiselle. +I will give you everything that you like to eat and to drink. +We shall sing and laugh and be merry for once." And she uttered +a sigh that came from the very depths of her being. + +If Mademoiselle happened to have received a letter from Robert +during the interval of Edna's visits, she would give her the letter +unsolicited. And she would seat herself at the piano and play as +her humor prompted her while the young woman read the letter. + +The little stove was roaring; it was red-hot, and the +chocolate in the tin sizzled and sputtered. Edna went forward and +opened the stove door, and Mademoiselle rising, took a letter from +under the bust of Beethoven and handed it to Edna. + +"Another! so soon!" she exclaimed, her eyes filled with +delight. "Tell me, Mademoiselle, does he know that I see his +letters?" + +"Never in the world! He would be angry and would never write +to me again if he thought so. Does he write to you? Never a line. +Does he send you a message? Never a word. It is because he loves +you, poor fool, and is trying to forget you, since you are not free +to listen to him or to belong to him." + +"Why do you show me his letters, then?" + +"Haven't you begged for them? Can I refuse you anything? Oh! +you cannot deceive me," and Mademoiselle approached her beloved +instrument and began to play. Edna did not at once read the +letter. She sat holding it in her hand, while the music penetrated +her whole being like an effulgence, warming and brightening the +dark places of her soul. It prepared her for joy and exultation. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, letting the letter fall to the floor. +"Why did you not tell me?" She went and grasped Mademoiselle's hands +up from the keys. "Oh! unkind! malicious! Why did you not tell me?" + +"That he was coming back? No great news, ma foi. I wonder +he did not come long ago." + +"But when, when?" cried Edna, impatiently. "He does not say when." + +"He says `very soon.' You know as much about it as I do; it is +all in the letter." + +"But why? Why is he coming? Oh, if I thought--" and she +snatched the letter from the floor and turned the pages this way +and that way, looking for the reason, which was left untold. + +"If I were young and in love with a man," said Mademoiselle, +turning on the stool and pressing her wiry hands between her knees +as she looked down at Edna, who sat on the floor holding the +letter, "it seems to me he would have to be some grand esprit; +a man with lofty aims and ability to reach them; one who stood high +enough to attract the notice of his fellow-men. It seems to me if +I were young and in love I should never deem a man of ordinary +caliber worthy of my devotion." + +"Now it is you who are telling lies and seeking to deceive me, +Mademoiselle; or else you have never been in love, and know nothing +about it. Why," went on Edna, clasping her knees and looking up +into Mademoiselle's twisted face, "do you suppose a woman knows why +she loves? Does she select? Does she say to herself: `Go to! Here +is a distinguished statesman with presidential possibilities; I +shall proceed to fall in love with him.' Or, `I shall set my heart +upon this musician, whose fame is on every tongue?' Or, `This +financier, who controls the world's money markets?' + +"You are purposely misunderstanding me, ma reine. Are you +in love with Robert?" + +"Yes," said Edna. It was the first time she had admitted it, +and a glow overspread her face, blotching it with red spots. + +"Why?" asked her companion. "Why do you love him when you +ought not to?" + +Edna, with a motion or two, dragged herself on her knees +before Mademoiselle Reisz, who took the glowing face between her +two hands. + +"Why? Because his hair is brown and grows away from his +temples; because he opens and shuts his eyes, and his nose is a +little out of drawing; because he has two lips and a square chin, +and a little finger which he can't straighten from having played +baseball too energetically in his youth. Because--" + +"Because you do, in short," laughed Mademoiselle. "What will +you do when he comes back?" she asked. + +"Do? Nothing, except feel glad and happy to be alive." + +She was already glad and happy to be alive at the mere thought +of his return. The murky, lowering sky, which had depressed her a +few hours before, seemed bracing and invigorating as she splashed +through the streets on her way home. + +She stopped at a confectioner's and ordered a huge box of +bonbons for the children in Iberville. She slipped a card in the +box, on which she scribbled a tender message and sent an abundance +of kisses. + +Before dinner in the evening Edna wrote a charming letter to +her husband, telling him of her intention to move for a while into +the little house around the block, and to give a farewell dinner +before leaving, regretting that he was not there to share it, to +help out with the menu and assist her in entertaining the guests. +Her letter was brilliant and brimming with cheerfulness. + + + + +XXVII + + + +"What is the matter with you?" asked Arobin that evening. "I +never found you in such a happy mood." Edna was tired by that time, +and was reclining on the lounge before the fire. + +"Don't you know the weather prophet has told us we shall see +the sun pretty soon?" + +"Well, that ought to be reason enough," he acquiesced. "You +wouldn't give me another if I sat here all night imploring you." He +sat close to her on a low tabouret, and as he spoke his fingers +lightly touched the hair that fell a little over her forehead. She +liked the touch of his fingers through her hair, and closed her +eyes sensitively. + +"One of these days," she said, "I'm going to pull myself +together for a while and think--try to determine what character of +a woman I am; for, candidly, I don't know. By all the codes which +I am acquainted with, I am a devilishly wicked specimen of the sex. +But some way I can't convince myself that I am. I must think about it." + +"Don't. What's the use? Why should you bother thinking about +it when I can tell you what manner of woman you are." His fingers +strayed occasionally down to her warm, smooth cheeks and firm chin, +which was growing a little full and double. + +"Oh, yes! You will tell me that I am adorable; everything that +is captivating. Spare yourself the effort." + +"No; I shan't tell you anything of the sort, though I +shouldn't be lying if I did." + +"Do you know Mademoiselle Reisz?" she asked irrelevantly. + +"The pianist? I know her by sight. I've heard her play." + +"She says queer things sometimes in a bantering way that you don't notice +at the time and you find yourself thinking about afterward." + +"For instance?" + +"Well, for instance, when I left her to-day, she put her arms +around me and felt my shoulder blades, to see if my wings were +strong, she said. `The bird that would soar above the level plain +of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad +spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back +to earth.' "Whither would you soar?" + +"I'm not thinking of any extraordinary flights. I only half +comprehend her." + +"I've heard she's partially demented," said Arobin. + +"She seems to me wonderfully sane," Edna replied. + +"I'm told she's extremely disagreeable and unpleasant. Why +have you introduced her at a moment when I desired to talk of you?" + +"Oh! talk of me if you like," cried Edna, clasping her hands +beneath her head; "but let me think of something else while you do." + +"I'm jealous of your thoughts tonight. They're making you a +little kinder than usual; but some way I feel as if they were +wandering, as if they were not here with me." She only looked at +him and smiled. His eyes were very near. He leaned upon the +lounge with an arm extended across her, while the other hand still +rested upon her hair. They continued silently to look into each +other's eyes. When he leaned forward and kissed her, she clasped +his head, holding his lips to hers. + +It was the first kiss of her life to which her nature had +really responded. It was a flaming torch that kindled desire. + + + + +XXVIII + + + +Edna cried a little that night after Arobin left her. It was +only one phase of the multitudinous emotions which had assailed +her. There was with her an overwhelming feeling of +irresponsibility. There was the shock of the unexpected and the +unaccustomed. There was her husband's reproach looking at her from +the external things around her which he had provided for her +external existence. There was Robert's reproach making itself felt +by a quicker, fiercer, more overpowering love, which had awakened +within her toward him. Above all, there was understanding. She +felt as if a mist had been lifted from her eyes, enabling her to +took upon and comprehend the significance of life, that monster +made up of beauty and brutality. But among the conflicting +sensations which assailed her, there was neither shame nor remorse. +There was a dull pang of regret because it was not the kiss of love +which had inflamed her, because it was not love which had held this +cup of life to her lips. + + + + +XXIX + + + +Without even waiting for an answer from her husband regarding +his opinion or wishes in the matter, Edna hastened her preparations +for quitting her home on Esplanade Street and moving into the +little house around the block. A feverish anxiety attended her +every action in that direction. There was no moment of deliberation, +no interval of repose between the thought and its fulfillment. +Early upon the morning following those hours passed in Arobin's society, +Edna set about securing her new abode and hurrying her arrangements +for occupying it. Within the precincts of her home she felt like +one who has entered and lingered within the portals of some +forbidden temple in which a thousand muffled voices bade her begone. + +Whatever was her own in the house, everything which she had +acquired aside from her husband's bounty, she caused to be +transported to the other house, supplying simple and meager +deficiencies from her own resources. + +Arobin found her with rolled sleeves, working in company with +the house-maid when he looked in during the afternoon. She was +splendid and robust, and had never appeared handsomer than in the +old blue gown, with a red silk handkerchief knotted at random +around her head to protect her hair from the dust. She was mounted +upon a high stepladder, unhooking a picture from the wall when he +entered. He had found the front door open, and had followed his +ring by walking in unceremoniously. + +"Come down!" he said. "Do you want to kill yourself?" She greeted him +with affected carelessness, and appeared absorbed in her occupation. + +If he had expected to find her languishing, reproachful, or indulging +in sentimental tears, he must have been greatly surprised. + +He was no doubt prepared for any emergency, ready for any one +of the foregoing attitudes, just as he bent himself easily and +naturally to the situation which confronted him. + +"Please come down," he insisted, holding the ladder and +looking up at her. + +"No," she answered; "Ellen is afraid to mount the ladder. Joe +is working over at the `pigeon house'--that's the name Ellen gives +it, because it's so small and looks like a pigeon house--and some +one has to do this." + +Arobin pulled off his coat, and expressed himself ready and +willing to tempt fate in her place. Ellen brought him one of her +dust-caps, and went into contortions of mirth, which she found +it impossible to control, when she saw him put it on before +the mirror as grotesquely as he could. Edna herself could not +refrain from smiling when she fastened it at his request. So it +was he who in turn mounted the ladder, unhooking pictures and +curtains, and dislodging ornaments as Edna directed. When he had +finished he took off his dust-cap and went out to wash his hands. + +Edna was sitting on the tabouret, idly brushing the tips of a +feather duster along the carpet when he came in again. + +"Is there anything more you will let me do?" he asked. + +"That is all," she answered. "Ellen can manage the rest." She +kept the young woman occupied in the drawing-room, unwilling to be +left alone with Arobin. + +"What about the dinner?" he asked; "the grand event, the coup d'etat?" + +"It will be day after to-morrow. Why do you call it the `coup d'etat?' +Oh! it will be very fine; all my best of everything--crystal, silver and gold, +Sevres, flowers, music, and champagne to swim in. I'll let Leonce pay +the bills. I wonder what he'll say when he sees the bills. + +"And you ask me why I call it a coup d'etat?" Arobin had +put on his coat, and he stood before her and asked if his cravat +was plumb. She told him it was, looking no higher than the tip of +his collar. + +"When do you go to the `pigeon house?'--with all due +acknowledgment to Ellen." + +"Day after to-morrow, after the dinner. I shall sleep there." + +"Ellen, will you very kindly get me a glass of water?" asked +Arobin. "The dust in the curtains, if you will pardon me for +hinting such a thing, has parched my throat to a crisp." + +"While Ellen gets the water," said Edna, rising, "I will say +good-by and let you go. I must get rid of this grime, and I have +a million things to do and think of." + +"When shall I see you?" asked Arobin, seeking to detain her, +the maid having left the room. + +"At the dinner, of course. You are invited." + +"Not before?--not to-night or to-morrow morning or tomorrow +noon or night? or the day after morning or noon? Can't you see +yourself, without my telling you, what an eternity it is?" + +He had followed her into the hall and to the foot of the +stairway, looking up at her as she mounted with her face half +turned to him. + +"Not an instant sooner," she said. But she laughed and looked +at him with eyes that at once gave him courage to wait and made it +torture to wait. + + + + +XXX + + + +Though Edna had spoken of the dinner as a very grand affair, +it was in truth a very small affair and very select, in so much as +the guests invited were few and were selected with discrimination. +She had counted upon an even dozen seating themselves at her round +mahogany board, forgetting for the moment that Madame Ratignolle +was to the last degree souffrante and unpresentable, and not +foreseeing that Madame Lebrun would send a thousand regrets at the +last moment. So there were only ten, after all, which made a cozy, +comfortable number. + +There were Mr. and Mrs. Merriman, a pretty, vivacious little +woman in the thirties; her husband, a jovial fellow, something of +a shallow-pate, who laughed a good deal at other people's +witticisms, and had thereby made himself extremely popular. Mrs. +Highcamp had accompanied them. Of course, there was Alcee Arobin; +and Mademoiselle Reisz had consented to come. Edna had sent her a +fresh bunch of violets with black lace trimmings for her hair. +Monsieur Ratignolle brought himself and his wife's excuses. +Victor Lebrun, who happened to be in the city, bent upon relaxation, +had accepted with alacrity. There was a Miss Mayblunt, no longer +in her teens, who looked at the world through lorgnettes and with +the keenest interest. It was thought and said that she was +intellectual; it was suspected of her that she wrote under a +nom de guerre. She had come with a gentleman by the name of Gouvernail, +connected with one of the daily papers, of whom nothing special could be said, +except that he was observant and seemed quiet and inoffensive. Edna herself +made the tenth, and at half-past eight they seated themselves at table, +Arobin and Monsieur Ratignolle on either side of their hostess. + +Mrs. Highcamp sat between Arobin and Victor Lebrun. Then came +Mrs. Merriman, Mr. Gouvernail, Miss Mayblunt, Mr. Merriman, and +Mademoiselle Reisz next to Monsieur Ratignolle. + +There was something extremely gorgeous about the appearance of +the table, an effect of splendor conveyed by a cover of pale yellow +satin under strips of lace-work. There were wax candles, in +massive brass candelabra, burning softly under yellow silk shades; +full, fragrant roses, yellow and red, abounded. There were silver +and gold, as she had said there would be, and crystal which +glittered like the gems which the women wore. + +The ordinary stiff dining chairs had been discarded for the +occasion and replaced by the most commodious and luxurious which +could be collected throughout the house. Mademoiselle Reisz, being +exceedingly diminutive, was elevated upon cushions, as small +children are sometimes hoisted at table upon bulky volumes. + +"Something new, Edna?" exclaimed Miss Mayblunt, with lorgnette +directed toward a magnificent cluster of diamonds that sparkled, +that almost sputtered, in Edna's hair, just over the center of her +forehead. + +"Quite new; `brand' new, in fact; a present from my husband. +It arrived this morning from New York. I may as well admit that +this is my birthday, and that I am twenty-nine. In good time +I expect you to drink my health. Meanwhile, I shall ask you +to begin with this cocktail, composed--would you say `composed?'" +with an appeal to Miss Mayblunt--"composed by my father +in honor of Sister Janet's wedding." + +Before each guest stood a tiny glass that looked and sparkled +like a garnet gem. + +"Then, all things considered," spoke Arobin, "it might not be +amiss to start out by drinking the Colonel's health in the cocktail +which he composed, on the birthday of the most charming of +women--the daughter whom he invented." + +Mr. Merriman's laugh at this sally was such a genuine outburst +and so contagious that it started the dinner with an agreeable +swing that never slackened. + +Miss Mayblunt begged to be allowed to keep her cocktail +untouched before her, just to look at. The color was marvelous! +She could compare it to nothing she had ever seen, and the garnet +lights which it emitted were unspeakably rare. She pronounced the +Colonel an artist, and stuck to it. + +Monsieur Ratignolle was prepared to take things seriously; +the mets, the entre-mets, the service, the decorations, even +the people. He looked up from his pompano and inquired of Arobin +if he were related to the gentleman of that name who formed one of +the firm of Laitner and Arobin, lawyers. The young man admitted +that Laitner was a warm personal friend, who permitted Arobin's +name to decorate the firm's letterheads and to appear upon a +shingle that graced Perdido Street. + +"There are so many inquisitive people and institutions +abounding," said Arobin, "that one is really forced as a matter of +convenience these days to assume the virtue of an occupation if he +has it not." + Monsieur Ratignolle stared a little, and turned to ask +Mademoiselle Reisz if she considered the symphony concerts up to +the standard which had been set the previous winter. Mademoiselle +Reisz answered Monsieur Ratignolle in French, which Edna thought a +little rude, under the circumstances, but characteristic. Mademoiselle +had only disagreeable things to say of the symphony concerts, +and insulting remarks to make of all the musicians of New Orleans, +singly and collectively. All her interest seemed to be centered upon +the delicacies placed before her. + +Mr. Merriman said that Mr. Arobin's remark about inquisitive +people reminded him of a man from Waco the other day at the St. +Charles Hotel--but as Mr. Merriman's stories were always lame and +lacking point, his wife seldom permitted him to complete them. She +interrupted him to ask if he remembered the name of the author +whose book she had bought the week before to send to a friend in +Geneva. She was talking "books" with Mr. Gouvernail and trying to +draw from him his opinion upon current literary topics. Her +husband told the story of the Waco man privately to Miss Mayblunt, +who pretended to be greatly amused and to think it extremely clever. + +Mrs. Highcamp hung with languid but unaffected interest upon +the warm and impetuous volubility of her left-hand neighbor, Victor +Lebrun. Her attention was never for a moment withdrawn from him +after seating herself at table; and when he turned to Mrs. +Merriman, who was prettier and more vivacious than Mrs. Highcamp, +she waited with easy indifference for an opportunity to reclaim his +attention. There was the occasional sound of music, of mandolins, +sufficiently removed to be an agreeable accompaniment rather than +an interruption to the conversation. Outside the soft, monotonous +splash of a fountain could be heard; the sound penetrated into the +room with the heavy odor of jessamine that came through the open +windows. + +The golden shimmer of Edna's satin gown spread in rich folds +on either side of her. There was a soft fall of lace encircling +her shoulders. It was the color of her skin, without the glow, the +myriad living tints that one may sometimes discover in vibrant +flesh. There was something in her attitude, in her whole +appearance when she leaned her head against the high-backed chair +and spread her arms, which suggested the regal woman, the one who rules, +who looks on, who stands alone. + +But as she sat there amid her guests, she felt the old ennui +overtaking her; the hopelessness which so often assailed her, which +came upon her like an obsession, like something extraneous, +independent of volition. It was something which announced itself; +a chill breath that seemed to issue from some vast cavern wherein +discords waited. There came over her the acute longing which +always summoned into her spiritual vision the presence of the +beloved one, overpowering her at once with a sense of the +unattainable. + +The moments glided on, while a feeling of good fellowship +passed around the circle like a mystic cord, holding and binding +these people together with jest and laughter. Monsieur Ratignolle +was the first to break the pleasant charm. At ten o'clock he +excused himself. Madame Ratignolle was waiting for him at home. +She was bien souffrante, and she was filled with vague dread, +which only her husband's presence could allay. + +Mademoiselle Reisz arose with Monsieur Ratignolle, who offered +to escort her to the car. She had eaten well; she had tasted the +good, rich wines, and they must have turned her head, for she bowed +pleasantly to all as she withdrew from table. She kissed Edna upon +the shoulder, and whispered: "Bonne nuit, ma reine; soyez sage." +She had been a little bewildered upon rising, or rather, +descending from her cushions, and Monsieur Ratignolle gallantly +took her arm and led her away. + +Mrs. Highcamp was weaving a garland of roses, yellow and red. +When she had finished the garland, she laid it lightly upon +Victor's black curls. He was reclining far back in the luxurious +chair, holding a glass of champagne to the light. + +As if a magician's wand had touched him, the garland of roses +transformed him into a vision of Oriental beauty. His cheeks were +the color of crushed grapes, and his dusky eyes glowed with a +languishing fire. + +"Sapristi!" exclaimed Arobin. + +But Mrs. Highcamp had one more touch to add to the picture. +She took from the back of her chair a white silken scarf, with +which she had covered her shoulders in the early part of the +evening. She draped it across the boy in graceful folds, and in a +way to conceal his black, conventional evening dress. He did not +seem to mind what she did to him, only smiled, showing a faint +gleam of white teeth, while he continued to gaze with narrowing +eyes at the light through his glass of champagne. + +"Oh! to be able to paint in color rather than in words!" +exclaimed Miss Mayblunt, losing herself in a rhapsodic dream +as she looked at him, + +"`There was a graven image of Desire Painted with red blood on +a ground of gold.'" murmured Gouvernail, under his breath. + +The effect of the wine upon Victor was to change his +accustomed volubility into silence. He seemed to have abandoned +himself to a reverie, and to be seeing pleasing visions in the +amber bead. + +"Sing," entreated Mrs. Highcamp. "Won't you sing to us?" + +"Let him alone," said Arobin. + +"He's posing," offered Mr. Merriman; "let him have it out." + +"I believe he's paralyzed," laughed Mrs. Merriman. And +leaning over the youth's chair, she took the glass from his hand +and held it to his lips. He sipped the wine slowly, and when he +had drained the glass she laid it upon the table and wiped his lips +with her little filmy handkerchief. + +"Yes, I'll sing for you," he said, turning in his chair toward +Mrs. Highcamp. He clasped his hands behind his head, and looking +up at the ceiling began to hum a little, trying his voice like a +musician tuning an instrument. Then, looking at Edna, he began to +sing: + + "Ah! si tu savais!" + +"Stop!" she cried, "don't sing that. I don't want you to sing +it," and she laid her glass so impetuously and blindly upon the +table as to shatter it against a carafe. The wine spilled over +Arobin's legs and some of it trickled down upon Mrs. Highcamp's +black gauze gown. Victor had lost all idea of courtesy, or else he +thought his hostess was not in earnest, for he laughed and went on: + + + + "Ah! si tu savais + + Ce que tes yeux me disent"-- + + + +"Oh! you mustn't! you mustn't," exclaimed Edna, and pushing +back her chair she got up, and going behind him placed her hand +over his mouth. He kissed the soft palm that pressed upon his +lips. + +"No, no, I won't, Mrs. Pontellier. I didn't know you meant +it," looking up at her with caressing eyes. The touch of his lips +was like a pleasing sting to her hand. She lifted the garland of +roses from his head and flung it across the room. + +"Come, Victor; you've posed long enough. Give Mrs. Highcamp +her scarf." + +Mrs. Highcamp undraped the scarf from about him with her own +hands. Miss Mayblunt and Mr. Gouvernail suddenly conceived the +notion that it was time to say good night. And Mr. and Mrs. +Merriman wondered how it could be so late. + +Before parting from Victor, Mrs. Highcamp invited him to call +upon her daughter, who she knew would be charmed to meet him and +talk French and sing French songs with him. Victor expressed his +desire and intention to call upon Miss Highcamp at the first +opportunity which presented itself. He asked if Arobin were going +his way. Arobin was not. + +The mandolin players had long since stolen away. A profound +stillness had fallen upon the broad, beautiful street. The voices +of Edna's disbanding guests jarred like a discordant note upon the +quiet harmony of the night. + + + + +XXXI + + + +"Well?" questioned Arobin, who had remained with Edna after +the others had departed. + +"Well," she reiterated, and stood up, stretching her arms, and +feeling the need to relax her muscles after having been so long +seated. + +"What next?" he asked. + +"The servants are all gone. They left when the musicians did. +I have dismissed them. The house has to be closed and locked, and +I shall trot around to the pigeon house, and shall send Celestine +over in the morning to straighten things up." + +He looked around, and began to turn out some of the lights. + +"What about upstairs?" he inquired. + +"I think it is all right; but there may be a window or two +unlatched. We had better look; you might take a candle and see. +And bring me my wrap and hat on the foot of the bed in the middle +room." + +He went up with the light, and Edna began closing doors and +windows. She hated to shut in the smoke and the fumes of the wine. +Arobin found her cape and hat, which he brought down and helped her +to put on. + +When everything was secured and the lights put out, they left +through the front door, Arobin locking it and taking the key, which +he carried for Edna. He helped her down the steps. + +"Will you have a spray of jessamine?" he asked, breaking off +a few blossoms as he passed. + +"No; I don't want anything." + +She seemed disheartened, and had nothing to say. She took his +arm, which he offered her, holding up the weight of her satin train +with the other hand. She looked down, noticing the black line of his leg +moving in and out so close to her against the yellow shimmer of her gown. +There was the whistle of a railway train somewhere in the distance, +and the midnight bells were ringing. They met no one in their short walk. + +The "pigeon house" stood behind a locked gate, and a shallow +parterre that had been somewhat neglected. There was a small +front porch, upon which a long window and the front door opened. +The door opened directly into the parlor; there was no side entry. +Back in the yard was a room for servants, in which old Celestine +had been ensconced. + +Edna had left a lamp burning low upon the table. She had +succeeded in making the room look habitable and homelike. There +were some books on the table and a lounge near at hand. On the +floor was a fresh matting, covered with a rug or two; and on the +walls hung a few tasteful pictures. But the room was filled with +flowers. These were a surprise to her. Arobin had sent them, and +had had Celestine distribute them during Edna's absence. Her +bedroom was adjoining, and across a small passage were the +diningroom and kitchen. + +Edna seated herself with every appearance of discomfort. + +"Are you tired?" he asked. + +"Yes, and chilled, and miserable. I feel as if I had been +wound up to a certain pitch--too tight--and something inside of me +had snapped." She rested her head against the table upon her bare arm. + +"You want to rest," he said, "and to be quiet. I'll go; +I'll leave you and let you rest." + +"Yes," she replied. + +He stood up beside her and smoothed her hair with his soft, +magnetic hand. His touch conveyed to her a certain physical +comfort. She could have fallen quietly asleep there if he had +continued to pass his hand over her hair. He brushed the hair +upward from the nape of her neck. + +"I hope you will feel better and happier in the morning," he +said. "You have tried to do too much in the past few days. +The dinner was the last straw; you might have dispensed with it." + +"Yes," she admitted; "it was stupid." + +"No, it was delightful; but it has worn you out." His hand had +strayed to her beautiful shoulders, and he could feel the response +of her flesh to his touch. He seated himself beside her and kissed +her lightly upon the shoulder. + +"I thought you were going away," she said, in an uneven voice. + +"I am, after I have said good night." + +"Good night," she murmured. + +He did not answer, except to continue to caress her. He did +not say good night until she had become supple to his gentle, +seductive entreaties. + + + + +XXXII + + + +When Mr. Pontellier learned of his wife's intention to abandon +her home and take up her residence elsewhere, he immediately wrote +her a letter of unqualified disapproval and remonstrance. She had +given reasons which he was unwilling to acknowledge as adequate. +He hoped she had not acted upon her rash impulse; and he begged her +to consider first, foremost, and above all else, what people would +say. He was not dreaming of scandal when he uttered this warning; +that was a thing which would never have entered into his mind to +consider in connection with his wife's name or his own. He was +simply thinking of his financial integrity. It might get noised +about that the Pontelliers had met with reverses, and were forced +to conduct their menage on a humbler scale than heretofore. It +might do incalculable mischief to his business prospects. + +But remembering Edna's whimsical turn of mind of late, and +foreseeing that she had immediately acted upon her impetuous determination, +he grasped the situation with his usual promptness and handled it with +his well-known business tact and cleverness. + +The same mail which brought. to Edna his letter of disapproval +carried instructions--the most minute instructions--to a well-known +architect concerning the remodeling of his home, changes which he +had long contemplated, and which he desired carried forward during +his temporary absence. + +Expert and reliable packers and movers were engaged to convey +the furniture, carpets, pictures --everything movable, in short--to +places of security. And in an incredibly short time the Pontellier +house was turned over to the artisans. There was to be an +addition--a small snuggery; there was to be frescoing, and hardwood +flooring was to be put into such rooms as had not yet been +subjected to this improvement. + +Furthermore, in one of the daily papers appeared a brief +notice to the effect that Mr. and Mrs. Pontellier were +contemplating a summer sojourn abroad, and that their handsome +residence on Esplanade Street was undergoing sumptuous alterations, +and would not be ready for occupancy until their return. Mr. +Pontellier had saved appearances! + +Edna admired the skill of his maneuver, and avoided any +occasion to balk his intentions. When the situation as set forth +by Mr. Pontellier was accepted and taken for granted, she was +apparently satisfied that it should be so. + +The pigeon house pleased her. It at once assumed the intimate +character of a home, while she herself invested it with a charm +which it reflected like a warm glow. There was with her a feeling +of having descended in the social scale, with a corresponding sense +of having risen in the spiritual. Every step which she took toward +relieving herself from obligations added to her strength and +expansion as an individual. She began to look with her own eyes; to see +and to apprehend the deeper undercurrents of life. No longer was +she content to "feed upon opinion" when her own soul had invited her. + +After a little while, a few days, in fact, Edna went up and +spent a week with her children in Iberville. They were delicious +February days, with all the summer's promise hovering in the air. + +How glad she was to see the children! She wept for very +pleasure when she felt their little arms clasping her; their hard, +ruddy cheeks pressed against her own glowing cheeks. She looked +into their faces with hungry eyes that could not be satisfied with +looking. And what stories they had to tell their mother! About the +pigs, the cows, the mules! About riding to the mill behind Gluglu; +fishing back in the lake with their Uncle Jasper; picking pecans +with Lidie's little black brood, and hauling chips in their express +wagon. It was a thousand times more fun to haul real chips for old +lame Susie's real fire than to drag painted blocks along the +banquette on Esplanade Street! + +She went with them herself to see the pigs and the cows, to +look at the darkies laying the cane, to thrash the pecan trees, and +catch fish in the back lake. She lived with them a whole week +long, giving them all of herself, and gathering and filling herself +with their young existence. They listened, breathless, when she +told them the house in Esplanade Street was crowded with workmen, +hammering, nailing, sawing, and filling the place with clatter. +They wanted. to know where their bed was; what had been done with +their rocking-horse; and where did Joe sleep, and where had Ellen +gone, and the cook? But, above all, they were fired with a desire +to see the little house around the block. Was there any place to +play? Were there any boys next door? Raoul, with pessimistic +foreboding, was convinced that there were only girls next door. +Where would they sleep, and where would papa sleep? She told them +the fairies would fix it all right. + +The old Madame was charmed with Edna's visit, and showered all +manner of delicate attentions upon her. She was delighted to know +that the Esplanade Street house was in a dismantled condition. It +gave her the promise and pretext to keep the children indefinitely. + +It was with a wrench and a pang that Edna left her children. +She carried away with her the sound of their voices and +the touch of their cheeks. All along the journey homeward their +presence lingered with her like the memory of a delicious song. +But by the time she had regained the city the song no longer echoed +in her soul. She was again alone. + + + + +XXXIII + + + +It happened sometimes when Edna went to see Mademoiselle Reisz +that the little musician was absent, giving a lesson or making some +small necessary household purchase. The key was always left in a +secret hiding-place in the entry, which Edna knew. If Mademoiselle +happened to be away, Edna would usually enter and wait for her +return. + +When she knocked at Mademoiselle Reisz's door one afternoon +there was no response; so unlocking the door, as usual, she entered +and found the apartment deserted, as she had expected. Her day had +been quite filled up, and it was for a rest, for a refuge, and to +talk about Robert, that she sought out her friend. + +She had worked at her canvas--a young Italian character +study--all the morning, completing the work without the model; but +there had been many interruptions, some incident to her modest +housekeeping, and others of a social nature. + +Madame Ratignolle had dragged herself over, avoiding the too +public thoroughfares, she said. She complained that Edna had +neglected her much of late. Besides, she was consumed with +curiosity to see the little house and the manner in which it was +conducted. She wanted to hear all about the dinner party; Monsieur +Ratignolle had left so early. What had happened after he left? +The champagne and grapes which Edna sent over were TOO delicious. +She had so little appetite; they had refreshed and toned her stomach. +Where on earth was she going to put Mr. Pontellier in that little house, +and the boys? And then she made Edna promise to go to her when her hour +of trial overtook her. + +"At any time--any time of the day or night, dear," Edna +assured her. + +Before leaving Madame Ratignolle said: + +"In some way you seem to me like a child, Edna. You seem to +act without a certain amount of reflection which is necessary in +this life. That is the reason I want to say you mustn't mind if I +advise you to be a little careful while you are living here alone. +Why don't you have some one come and stay with you? Wouldn't +Mademoiselle Reisz come?" + +"No; she wouldn't wish to come, and I shouldn't want her +always with me." + +"Well, the reason--you know how evil-minded the world is--some +one was talking of Alcee Arobin visiting you. Of course, it +wouldn't matter if Mr. Arobin had not such a dreadful reputation. +Monsieur Ratignolle was telling me that his attentions alone are +considered enough to ruin a woman s name." + +"Does he boast of his successes?" asked Edna, indifferently, +squinting at her picture. + +"No, I think not. I believe he is a decent fellow as far as +that goes. But his character is so well known among the men. I +shan't be able to come back and see you; it was very, very +imprudent to-day." + +"Mind the step!" cried Edna. + +"Don't neglect me," entreated Madame Ratignolle; "and don't +mind what I said about Arobin, or having some one to stay with you. + +"Of course not," Edna laughed. "You may say anything you like +to me." They kissed each other good-by. Madame Ratignolle had not +far to go, and Edna stood on the porch a while watching her walk +down the street. + +Then in the afternoon Mrs. Merriman and Mrs. Highcamp had made +their "party call." Edna felt that they might have dispensed +with the formality. They had also come to invite her to play +vingt-et-un one evening at Mrs. Merriman's. She was asked to go early, +to dinner, and Mr. Merriman or Mr. Arobin would take her home. +Edna accepted in a half-hearted way. She sometimes felt very tired +of Mrs. Highcamp and Mrs. Merriman. + +Late in the afternoon she sought refuge with Mademoiselle +Reisz, and stayed there alone, waiting for her, feeling a kind of +repose invade her with the very atmosphere of the shabby, +unpretentious little room. + +Edna sat at the window, which looked out over the house-tops +and across the river. The window frame was filled with pots of +flowers, and she sat and picked the dry leaves from a rose +geranium. The day was warm, and the breeze which blew from the +river was very pleasant. She removed her hat and laid it on the +piano. She went on picking the leaves and digging around the +plants with her hat pin. Once she thought she heard Mademoiselle +Reisz approaching. But it was a young black girl, who came in, +bringing a small bundle of laundry, which she deposited in the +adjoining room, and went away. + +Edna seated herself at the piano, and softly picked out with +one hand the bars of a piece of music which lay open before her. +A half-hour went by. There was the occasional sound of people +going and coming in the lower hall. She was growing interested in +her occupation of picking out the aria, when there was a second rap +at the door. She vaguely wondered what these people did when they +found Mademoiselle's door locked. + +"Come in," she called, turning her face toward the door. And +this time it was Robert Lebrun who presented himself. She +attempted to rise; she could not have done so without betraying the +agitation which mastered her at sight of him, so she fell back upon +the stool, only exclaiming, "Why, Robert!" + +He came and clasped her hand, seemingly without knowing what +he was saying or doing. + +"Mrs. Pontellier! How do you happen--oh! how well you look! +Is Mademoiselle Reisz not here? I never expected to see you." + +"When did you come back?" asked Edna in an unsteady voice, +wiping her face with her handkerchief. She seemed ill at ease on +the piano stool, and he begged her to take the chair by the window. + +She did so, mechanically, while he seated himself on the stool. + +"I returned day before yesterday," he answered, while he +leaned his arm on the keys, bringing forth a crash of discordant +sound. + +"Day before yesterday!" she repeated, aloud; and went on +thinking to herself, "day before yesterday," in a sort of an +uncomprehending way. She had pictured him seeking her at the very +first hour, and he had lived under the same sky since day before +yesterday; while only by accident had he stumbled upon her. +Mademoiselle must have lied when she said, "Poor fool, he loves +you." + +"Day before yesterday," she repeated, breaking off a spray of +Mademoiselle's geranium; "then if you had not met me here to-day +you wouldn't--when--that is, didn't you mean to come and see me?" + +"Of course, I should have gone to see you. There have been so +many things--" he turned the leaves of Mademoiselle's music +nervously. "I started in at once yesterday with the old firm. +After all there is as much chance for me here as there was +there--that is, I might find it profitable some day. The Mexicans were +not very congenial." + +So he had come back because the Mexicans were not congenial; +because business was as profitable here as there; because of any +reason, and not because he cared to be near her. She remembered +the day she sat on the floor, turning the pages of his letter, +seeking the reason which was left untold. + +She had not noticed how he looked--only feeling his presence; +but she turned deliberately and observed him. After all, he had +been absent but a few months, and was not changed. His hair--the +color of hers--waved back from his temples in the same way as +before. His skin was not more burned than it had been at Grand Isle. +She found in his eyes, when he looked at her for one silent moment, +the same tender caress, with an added warmth and entreaty which had +not been there before the same glance which had penetrated to the +sleeping places of her soul and awakened them. + +A hundred times Edna had pictured Robert's return, and +imagined their first meeting. It was usually at her home, whither +he had sought her out at once. She always fancied him expressing +or betraying in some way his love for her. And here, the reality +was that they sat ten feet apart, she at the window, crushing +geranium leaves in her hand and smelling them, he twirling around +on the piano stool, saying: + +"I was very much surprised to hear of Mr. Pontellier's +absence; it's a wonder Mademoiselle Reisz did not tell me; and your +moving--mother told me yesterday. I should think you would have +gone to New York with him, or to Iberville with the children, +rather than be bothered here with housekeeping. And you are going +abroad, too, I hear. We shan't have you at Grand Isle next summer; +it won't seem--do you see much of Mademoiselle Reisz? She often +spoke of you in the few letters she wrote." + +"Do you remember that you promised to write to me when you +went away?" A flush overspread his whole face. + +"I couldn't believe that my letters would be of any interest +to you." + +"That is an excuse; it isn't the truth." Edna reached for her +hat on the piano. She adjusted it, sticking the hat pin through +the heavy coil of hair with some deliberation. + +"Are you not going to wait for Mademoiselle Reisz?" asked +Robert. + +"No; I have found when she is absent this long, she is liable +not to come back till late." She drew on her gloves, and Robert +picked up his hat. + +"Won't you wait for her?" asked Edna. + +"Not if you think she will not be back till late," adding, as +if suddenly aware of some discourtesy in his speech, "and I should +miss the pleasure of walking home with you." Edna locked the door +and put the key back in its hiding-place. + +They went together, picking their way across muddy streets and +sidewalks encumbered with the cheap display of small tradesmen. +Part of the distance they rode in the car, and after disembarking, +passed the Pontellier mansion, which looked broken and half torn +asunder. Robert had never known the house, and looked at it with +interest. + +"I never knew you in your home," he remarked. + +"I am glad you did not." + +"Why?" She did not answer. They went on around the corner, +and it seemed as if her dreams were coming true after all, when he +followed her into the little house. + +"You must stay and dine with me, Robert. You see I am all +alone, and it is so long since I have seen you. There is so much +I want to ask you." + +She took off her hat and gloves. He stood irresolute, making +some excuse about his mother who expected him; he even muttered +something about an engagement. She struck a match and lit the lamp +on the table; it was growing dusk. When he saw her face in the +lamp-light, looking pained, with all the soft lines gone out of it, +he threw his hat aside and seated himself. + +"Oh! you know I want to stay if you will let me!" he +exclaimed. All the softness came back. She laughed, and went and +put her hand on his shoulder. + +"This is the first moment you have seemed like the old Robert. +I'll go tell Celestine." She hurried away to tell Celestine to set +an extra place. She even sent her off in search of some added +delicacy which she had not thought of for herself. And she +recommended great care in dripping the coffee and having the omelet +done to a proper turn. + +When she reentered, Robert was turning over magazines, +sketches, and things that lay upon the table in great disorder. He +picked up a photograph, and exclaimed: + +"Alcee Arobin! What on earth is his picture doing here?" + +"I tried to make a sketch of his head one day," answered Edna, +"and he thought the photograph might help me. It was at the other house. +I thought it had been left there. I must have packed it up with +my drawing materials." + +"I should think you would give it back to him if you have finished with it." + +"Oh! I have a great many such photographs. I never think of returning them. +They don't amount to anything." Robert kept on looking at the picture. + +"It seems to me--do you think his head worth drawing? +Is he a friend of Mr. Pontellier's? You never said you knew him." + +"He isn't a friend of Mr. Pontellier's; he's a friend of mine. +I always knew him--that is, it is only of late that I know him +pretty well. But I'd rather talk about you, and know what you have +been seeing and doing and feeling out there in Mexico." Robert +threw aside the picture. + +"I've been seeing the waves and the white beach of Grand Isle; +the quiet, grassy street of the Cheniere; the old fort at +Grande Terre. I've been working like a machine, and feeling like +a lost soul. There was nothing interesting." + +She leaned her head upon her hand to shade her eyes +from the light. + +"And what have you been seeing and doing and feeling +all these days?" he asked. + +"I've been seeing the waves and the white beach of Grand Isle; +the quiet, grassy street of the Cheniere Caminada; the old +sunny fort at Grande Terre. I've been working with a little more +comprehension than a machine, and still feeling like a lost soul. +There was nothing interesting." + +"Mrs. Pontellier, you are cruel," he said, with feeling, +closing his eyes and resting his head back in his chair. They +remained in silence till old Celestine announced dinner. + + + + +XXXIV + + + +The dining-room was very small. Edna's round mahogany would +have almost filled it. As it was there was but a step or two from +the little table to the kitchen, to the mantel, the small buffet, +and the side door that opened out on the narrow brick-paved yard. + +A certain degree of ceremony settled upon them with the +announcement of dinner. There was no return to personalities. +Robert related incidents of his sojourn in Mexico, and Edna talked +of events likely to interest him, which had occurred during his +absence. The dinner was of ordinary quality, except for the few +delicacies which she had sent out to purchase. Old Celestine, with +a bandana tignon twisted about her head, hobbled in and out, +taking a personal interest in everything; and she lingered +occasionally to talk patois with Robert, whom she had known as a +boy. + +He went out to a neighboring cigar stand to purchase cigarette +papers, and when he came back he found that Celestine had served +the black coffee in the parlor. + +"Perhaps I shouldn't have come back," he said. "When you are +tired of me, tell me to go." + +"You never tire me. You must have forgotten the hours and +hours at Grand Isle in which we grew accustomed to each other and +used to being together." + +"I have forgotten nothing at Grand Isle," he said, not looking +at her, but rolling a cigarette. His tobacco pouch, which he laid +upon the table, was a fantastic embroidered silk affair, evidently +the handiwork of a woman. + +"You used to carry your tobacco in a rubber pouch," said Edna, +picking up the pouch and examining the needlework. + +"Yes; it was lost." + +"Where did you buy this one? In Mexico?" + +"It was given to me by a Vera Cruz girl; they are very +generous," he replied, striking a match and lighting his cigarette. + +"They are very handsome, I suppose, those Mexican women; very +picturesque, with their black eyes and their lace scarfs." + +"Some are; others are hideous. just as you find women +everywhere." + +"What was she like--the one who gave you the pouch? You must +have known her very well." + +"She was very ordinary. She wasn't of the slightest +importance. I knew her well enough." + +"Did you visit at her house? Was it interesting? I should like +to know and hear about the people you met, and the impressions they +made on you." + +"There are some people who leave impressions not so lasting as +the imprint of an oar upon the water." + +"Was she such a one?" + +"It would be ungenerous for me to admit that she was of that +order and kind." He thrust the pouch back in his pocket, as if to +put away the subject with the trifle which had brought it up. + +Arobin dropped in with a message from Mrs. Merriman, to say +that the card party was postponed on account of the illness of one +of her children. + +"How do you do, Arobin?" said Robert, rising from the +obscurity. + +"Oh! Lebrun. To be sure! I heard yesterday you were back. +How did they treat you down in Mexique?" + +"Fairly well." + +"But not well enough to keep you there. Stunning girls, +though, in Mexico. I thought I should never get away from Vera +Cruz when I was down there a couple of years ago." + +"Did they embroider slippers and tobacco pouches and hat-bands +and things for you?" asked Edna. + +"Oh! my! no! I didn't get so deep in their regard. +I fear they made more impression on me than I made on them." + +"You were less fortunate than Robert, then." + +"I am always less fortunate than Robert. Has he been +imparting tender confidences?" + +"I've been imposing myself long enough," said Robert, rising, +and shaking hands with Edna. "Please convey my regards to Mr. +Pontellier when you write." + +He shook hands with Arobin and went away. + +"Fine fellow, that Lebrun," said Arobin when Robert had gone. +"I never heard you speak of him." + +"I knew him last summer at Grand Isle," she replied. "Here is +that photograph of yours. Don't you want it?" + +"What do I want with it? Throw it away." She threw it back on +the table. + +"I'm not going to Mrs. Merriman's," she said. "If you see +her, tell her so. But perhaps I had better write. I think I shall +write now, and say that I am sorry her child is sick, and tell her +not to count on me." + +"It would be a good scheme," acquiesced Arobin. "I don't blame you; +stupid lot!" + +Edna opened the blotter, and having procured paper and pen, +began to write the note. Arobin lit a cigar and read the evening +paper, which he had in his pocket. + +"What is the date?" she asked. He told her. + +"Will you mail this for me when you go out?" + +"Certainly." He read to her little bits out of the newspaper, +while she straightened things on the table. + +"What do you want to do?" he asked, throwing aside the paper. +"Do you want to go out for a walk or a drive or anything? It would +be a fine night to drive." + +"No; I don't want to do anything but just be quiet. You go +away and amuse yourself. Don't stay." + +"I'll go away if I must; but I shan't amuse myself. You know +that I only live when I am near you." + +He stood up to bid her good night. + +"Is that one of the things you always say to women?" + +"I have said it before, but I don't think I ever came so near +meaning it," he answered with a smile. There were no warm lights +in her eyes; only a dreamy, absent look. + +"Good night. I adore you. Sleep well," he said, and he +kissed her hand and went away. + +She stayed alone in a kind of reverie--a sort of stupor. Step +by step she lived over every instant of the time she had been with +Robert after he had entered Mademoiselle Reisz's door. She +recalled his words, his looks. How few and meager they had been +for her hungry heart! A vision--a transcendently seductive vision +of a Mexican girl arose before her. She writhed with a jealous +pang. She wondered when he would come back. He had not said he +would come back. She had been with him, had heard his voice and +touched his hand. But some way he had seemed nearer to her off +there in Mexico. + + + + +XXXV + + + +The morning was full of sunlight and hope. Edna could see +before her no denial--only the promise of excessive joy. She lay +in bed awake, with bright eyes full of speculation. "He loves you, +poor fool." If she could but get that conviction firmly fixed in +her mind, what mattered about the rest? She felt she had been +childish and unwise the night before in giving herself over to +despondency. She recapitulated the motives which no doubt +explained Robert's reserve. They were not insurmountable; they +would not hold if he really loved her; they could not hold against +her own passion, which he must come to realize in time. She +pictured him going to his business that morning. She even saw how +he was dressed; how he walked down one street, and turned the +corner of another; saw him bending over his desk, talking to people +who entered the office, going to his lunch, and perhaps watching +for her on the street. He would come to her in the afternoon or +evening, sit and roll his cigarette, talk a little, and go away as +he had done the night before. But how delicious it would be to have +him there with her! She would have no regrets, nor seek to penetrate +his reserve if he still chose to wear it. + +Edna ate her breakfast only half dressed. The maid brought +her a delicious printed scrawl from Raoul, expressing his love, +asking her to send him some bonbons, and telling her they had found +that morning ten tiny white pigs all lying in a row beside Lidie's +big white pig. + +A letter also came from her husband, saying he hoped to be +back early in March, and then they would get ready for that journey +abroad which he had promised her so long, which he felt now fully +able to afford; he felt able to travel as people should, without +any thought of small economies--thanks to his recent speculations +in Wall Street. + +Much to her surprise she received a note from Arobin, written +at midnight from the club. It was to say good morning to her, to +hope she had slept well, to assure her of his devotion, which he +trusted she in some faintest manner returned. + +All these letters were pleasing to her. She answered the +children in a cheerful frame of mind, promising them bonbons, and +congratulating them upon their happy find of the little pigs. + +She answered her husband with friendly evasiveness, --not with +any fixed design to mislead him, only because all sense of reality +had gone out of her life; she had abandoned herself to Fate, and +awaited the consequences with indifference. + +To Arobin's note she made no reply. She put it under +Celestine's stove-lid. + +Edna worked several hours with much spirit. She saw no one +but a picture dealer, who asked her if it were true that she was +going abroad to study in Paris. + +She said possibly she might, and he negotiated with her for +some Parisian studies to reach him in time for the holiday trade in +December. + +Robert did not come that day. She was keenly disappointed. +He did not come the following day, nor the next. Each morning +she awoke with hope, and each night she was a prey to despondency. +She was tempted to seek him out. But far from yielding to the impulse, +she avoided any occasion which might throw her in his way. She did not +go to Mademoiselle Reisz's nor pass by Madame Lebrun's, as she might +have done if he had still been in Mexico. + +When Arobin, one night, urged her to drive with him, she +went--out to the lake, on the Shell Road. His horses were full of +mettle, and even a little unmanageable. She liked the rapid gait +at which they spun along, and the quick, sharp sound of the horses' +hoofs on the hard road. They did not stop anywhere to eat or to +drink. Arobin was not needlessly imprudent. But they ate and they +drank when they regained Edna's little dining-room--which was +comparatively early in the evening. + +It was late when he left her. It was getting to be more than +a passing whim with Arobin to see her and be with her. He had +detected the latent sensuality, which unfolded under his delicate +sense of her nature's requirements like a torpid, torrid, sensitive +blossom. + +There was no despondency when she fell asleep that night; nor +was there hope when she awoke in the morning. + + + + +XXXVI + + + +There was a garden out in the suburbs; a small, leafy corner, +with a few green tables under the orange trees. An old cat slept +all day on the stone step in the sun, and an old mulatresse +slept her idle hours away in her chair at the open window, till, +some one happened to knock on one of the green tables. She had +milk and cream cheese to sell, and bread and butter. There was no +one who could make such excellent coffee or fry a chicken so +golden brown as she. + +The place was too modest to attract the attention of people of +fashion, and so quiet as to have escaped the notice of those in +search of pleasure and dissipation. Edna had discovered it +accidentally one day when the high-board gate stood ajar. She +caught sight of a little green table, blotched with the checkered +sunlight that filtered through the quivering leaves overhead. +Within she had found the slumbering mulatresse, the drowsy cat, +and a glass of milk which reminded her of the milk she had tasted +in Iberville. + +She often stopped there during her perambulations; sometimes +taking a book with her, and sitting an hour or two under the trees +when she found the place deserted. Once or twice she took a quiet +dinner there alone, having instructed Celestine beforehand to +prepare no dinner at home. It was the last place in the city where +she would have expected to meet any one she knew. + +Still she was not astonished when, as she was partaking of a +modest dinner late in the afternoon, looking into an open book, +stroking the cat, which had made friends with her--she was not +greatly astonished to see Robert come in at the tall garden gate. + +"I am destined to see you only by accident," she said, shoving +the cat off the chair beside her. He was surprised, ill at ease, +almost embarrassed at meeting her thus so unexpectedly. + +"Do you come here often?" he asked. + +"I almost live here," she said. + +"I used to drop in very often for a cup of Catiche's good +coffee. This is the first time since I came back." + +"She'll bring you a plate, and you will share my dinner. +There's always enough for two--even three." Edna had intended to be +indifferent and as reserved as he when she met him; she had reached +the determination by a laborious train of reasoning, incident to +one of her despondent moods. But her resolve melted when she saw +him before designing Providence had led him into her path. + +"Why have you kept away from me, Robert?" she asked, closing +the book that lay open upon the table. + +"Why are you so personal, Mrs. Pontellier? Why do you force me +to idiotic subterfuges?" he exclaimed with sudden warmth. "I +suppose there's no use telling you I've been very busy, or that +I've been sick, or that I've been to see you and not found you at +home. Please let me off with any one of these excuses." + +"You are the embodiment of selfishness," she said. "You save +yourself something--I don't know what--but there is some selfish +motive, and in sparing yourself you never consider for a moment +what I think, or how I feel your neglect and indifference. I +suppose this is what you would call unwomanly; but I have got into +a habit of expressing myself. It doesn't matter to me, and you may +think me unwomanly if you like." + +"No; I only think you cruel, as I said the other day. Maybe +not intentionally cruel; but you seem to be forcing me into +disclosures which can result in nothing; as if you would have me +bare a wound for the pleasure of looking at it, without the +intention or power of healing it." + +"I'm spoiling your dinner, Robert; never mind what I say. You +haven't eaten a morsel." + +"I only came in for a cup of coffee." His sensitive face was +all disfigured with excitement. + +"Isn't this a delightful place?" she remarked. "I am so glad +it has never actually been discovered. It is so quiet, so sweet, +here. Do you notice there is scarcely a sound to be heard? It's so +out of the way; and a good walk from the car. However, I don't +mind walking. I always feel so sorry for women who don't like to +walk; they miss so much--so many rare little glimpses of life; and +we women learn so little of life on the whole. + +"Catiche's coffee is always hot. I don't know how she +manages it, here in the open air. Celestine's coffee gets cold +bringing it from the kitchen to the dining-room. Three lumps! +How can you drink it so sweet? Take some of the cress with your chop; +it's so biting and crisp. Then there's the advantage of being able to +smoke with your coffee out here. Now, in the city--aren't you going to smoke?" + +"After a while," he said, laying a cigar on the table. + +"Who gave it to you?" she laughed. + +"I bought it. I suppose I'm getting reckless; I bought a +whole box." She was determined not to be personal again and make +him uncomfortable. + +The cat made friends with him, and climbed into his lap when +he smoked his cigar. He stroked her silky fur, and talked a little +about her. He looked at Edna's book, which he had read; and he +told her the end, to save her the trouble of wading through it, he +said. + +Again he accompanied her back to her home; and it was after +dusk when they reached the little "pigeon-house." She did not ask +him to remain, which he was grateful for, as it permitted him to +stay without the discomfort of blundering through an excuse which +he had no intention of considering. He helped her to light the +lamp; then she went into her room to take off her hat and to bathe +her face and hands. + +When she came back Robert was not examining the pictures and +magazines as before; he sat off in the shadow, leaning his head +back on the chair as if in a reverie. Edna lingered a moment +beside the table, arranging the books there. Then she went across +the room to where he sat. She bent over the arm of his chair and +called his name. + +"Robert," she said, "are you asleep?" + +"No," he answered, looking up at her. + +She leaned over and kissed him--a soft, cool, delicate kiss, +whose voluptuous sting penetrated his whole being-then she moved +away from him. He followed, and took her in his arms, just holding +her close to him. She put her hand up to his face and pressed his +cheek against her own. The action was full of love and tenderness. +He sought her lips again. Then he drew her down upon the sofa +beside him and held her hand in both of his. + +"Now you know," he said, "now you know what I have been +fighting against since last summer at Grand Isle; what drove me +away and drove me back again." + +"Why have you been fighting against it?" she asked. Her face +glowed with soft lights. + +"Why? Because you were not free; you were Leonce Pontellier's +wife. I couldn't help loving you if you were ten times his wife; +but so long as I went away from you and kept away I could help +telling you so." She put her free hand up to his shoulder, and then +against his cheek, rubbing it softly. He kissed her again. His +face was warm and flushed. + +"There in Mexico I was thinking of you all the time, and +longing for you." + +"But not writing to me," she interrupted. + +"Something put into my head that you cared for me; and I lost +my senses. I forgot everything but a wild dream of your some way +becoming my wife." + +"Your wife!" + +"Religion, loyalty, everything would give way if only you cared." + +"Then you must have forgotten that I was Leonce Pontellier's wife." + +"Oh! I was demented, dreaming of wild, impossible things, +recalling men who had set their wives free, +we have heard of such things." + +"Yes, we have heard of such things." + +"I came back full of vague, mad intentions. And when I got here--" + +"When you got here you never came near me!" She was still +caressing his cheek. + +"I realized what a cur I was to dream of such a thing, even if +you had been willing." + +She took his face between her hands and looked into it as if +she would never withdraw her eyes more. She kissed him on the +forehead, the eyes, the cheeks, and the lips. + +"You have been a very, very foolish boy, wasting your time +dreaming of impossible things when you speak of Mr. Pontellier +setting me free! I am no longer one of Mr. Pontellier's possessions +to dispose of or not. I give myself where I choose. If he were to say, +'Here, Robert, take her and be happy; she is yours,' I should laugh +at you both." + +His face grew a little white. "What do you mean?" he asked. + +There was a knock at the door. Old Celestine came in to say +that Madame Ratignolle's servant had come around the back way with +a message that Madame had been taken sick and begged Mrs. +Pontellier to go to her immediately. + +"Yes, yes," said Edna, rising; "I promised. Tell her yes--to +wait for me. I'll go back with her." + +"Let me walk over with you," offered Robert. + +"No," she said; "I will go with the servant. She went into +her room to put on her hat, and when she came in again she sat once +more upon the sofa beside him. He had not stirred. She put her +arms about his neck. + +"Good-by, my sweet Robert. Tell me good-by." He kissed her +with a degree of passion which had not before entered into his +caress, and strained her to him. + +"I love you," she whispered, "only you; no one but you. It +was you who awoke me last summer out of a life-long, stupid dream. +Oh! you have made me so unhappy with your indifference. Oh! I have +suffered, suffered! Now you are here we shall love each other, my +Robert. We shall be everything to each other. Nothing else in the +world is of any consequence. I must go to my friend; but you will +wait for me? No matter how late; you will wait for me, Robert?" + +"Don't go; don't go! Oh! Edna, stay with me," he pleaded. +"Why should you go? Stay with me, stay with me." + +"I shall come back as soon as I can; I shall find you here." +She buried her face in his neck, and said good-by again. Her +seductive voice, together with his great love for her, had +enthralled his senses, had deprived him of every impulse but the +longing to hold her and keep her. + + + + +XXXVII + + + +Edna looked in at the drug store. Monsieur Ratignolle was +putting up a mixture himself, very carefully, dropping a red liquid +into a tiny glass. He was grateful to Edna for having come; her +presence would be a comfort to his wife. Madame Ratignolle's +sister, who had always been with her at such trying times, had not +been able to come up from the plantation, and Adele had been +inconsolable until Mrs. Pontellier so kindly promised to come to +her. The nurse had been with them at night for the past week, as +she lived a great distance away. And Dr. Mandelet had been coming +and going all the afternoon. They were then looking for him any +moment. + +Edna hastened upstairs by a private stairway that led from the +rear of the store to the apartments above. The children were all +sleeping in a back room. Madame Ratignolle was in the salon, +whither she had strayed in her suffering impatience. She sat on +the sofa, clad in an ample white peignoir, holding a +handkerchief tight in her hand with a nervous clutch. Her face was +drawn and pinched, her sweet blue eyes haggard and unnatural. All +her beautiful hair had been drawn back and plaited. It lay in a +long braid on the sofa pillow, coiled like a golden serpent. The +nurse, a comfortable looking Griffe woman in white apron and +cap, was urging her to return to her bedroom. + +"There is no use, there is no use," she said at once to Edna. +"We must get rid of Mandelet; he is getting too old and careless. +He said he would be here at half-past seven; now it must be eight. +See what time it is, Josephine." + +The woman was possessed of a cheerful nature, and refused +to take any situation too seriously, especially a situation +withwhich she was so familiar. She urged Madame to have +courage and patience. But Madame only set her teeth hard +into her under lip, and Edna saw the sweat gather in beads +on her white forehead. After a moment or two she uttered +a profound sigh and wiped her face with the handkerchief +rolled in a ball. She appeared exhausted. The nurse gave her +a fresh handkerchief, sprinkled with cologne water. + +"This is too much!" she cried. "Mandelet ought to be killed! +Where is Alphonse? Is it possible I am to be abandoned like +this-neglected by every one?" + +"Neglected, indeed!" exclaimed the nurse. Wasn't she there? +And here was Mrs. Pontellier leaving, no doubt, a pleasant evening +at home to devote to her? And wasn't Monsieur Ratignolle coming +that very instant through the hall? And Josephine was quite sure +she had heard Doctor Mandelet's coupe. Yes, there it was, +down at the door. + +Adele consented to go back to her room. She sat on the edge +of a little low couch next to her bed. + +Doctor Mandelet paid no attention to Madame Ratignolle's +upbraidings. He was accustomed to them at such times, and was too +well convinced of her loyalty to doubt it. + +He was glad to see Edna, and wanted her to go with him into +the salon and entertain him. But Madame Ratignolle would not +consent that Edna should leave her for an instant. Between +agonizing moments, she chatted a little, and said it took her mind +off her sufferings. + +Edna began to feel uneasy. She was seized with a vague dread. +Her own like experiences seemed far away, unreal, and only half +remembered. She recalled faintly an ecstasy of pain, the heavy +odor of chloroform, a stupor which had deadened sensation, and an +awakening to find a little new life to which she had given being, +added to the great unnumbered multitude of souls that come and go. + +She began to wish she had not come; her presence was not +necessary. She might have invented a pretext for staying away; she +might even invent a pretext now for going. But Edna did not go. +With an inward agony, with a flaming, outspoken revolt against +the ways of Nature, she witnessed the scene of torture. + +She was still stunned and speechless with emotion when later +she leaned over her friend to kiss her and softly say good-by. +Adele, pressing her cheek, whispered in an exhausted voice: +"Think of the children, Edna. Oh think of the children! Remember them!" + + + + +XXXVIII + + + +Edna still felt dazed when she got outside in the open air. +The Doctor's coupe had returned for him and stood before the +porte cochere. She did not wish to enter the coupe, and told +Doctor Mandelet she would walk; she was not afraid, and would go +alone. He directed his carriage to meet him at Mrs. Pontellier's, +and he started to walk home with her. + +Up--away up, over the narrow street between the tall houses, +the stars were blazing. The air was mild and caressing, but cool +with the breath of spring and the night. They walked slowly, the +Doctor with a heavy, measured tread and his hands behind him; Edna, +in an absent-minded way, as she had walked one night at Grand Isle, +as if her thoughts had gone ahead of her and she was striving to +overtake them. + +"You shouldn't have been there, Mrs. Pontellier," he said. +"That was no place for you. Adele is full of whims at such times. +There were a dozen women she might have had with her, +unimpressionable women. I felt that it was cruel, cruel. You +shouldn't have gone." + +"Oh, well!" she answered, indifferently. "I don't know that +it matters after all. One has to think of the children some time +or other; the sooner the better." + +"When is Leonce coming back?" + +"Quite soon. Some time in March." + +"And you are going abroad?" + +"Perhaps--no, I am not going. I'm not going to be forced into +doing things. I don't want to go abroad. I want to be let alone. +Nobody has any right--except children, perhaps--and even then, it +seems to me--or it did seem--" She felt that her speech was voicing +the incoherency of her thoughts, and stopped abruptly. + +"The trouble is," sighed the Doctor, grasping her meaning +intuitively, "that youth is given up to illusions. It seems to be +a provision of Nature; a decoy to secure mothers for the race. And +Nature takes no account of moral consequences, of arbitrary +conditions which we create, and which we feel obliged to maintain +at any cost." + +"Yes," she said. "The years that are gone seem like +dreams--if one might go on sleeping and dreaming--but to wake up and +find--oh! well! perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to +suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one's life." + +"It seems to me, my dear child," said the Doctor at parting, +holding her hand, "you seem to me to be in trouble. I am not going +to ask for your confidence. I will only say that if ever you feel +moved to give it to me, perhaps I might help you. I know I would +understand, And I tell you there are not many who would--not many, +my dear." + +"Some way I don't feel moved to speak of things that trouble +me. Don't think I am ungrateful or that I don't appreciate your +sympathy. There are periods of despondency and suffering which +take possession of me. But I don't want anything but my own way. +That is wanting a good deal, of course, when you have to trample +upon the lives, the hearts, the prejudices of others--but no +matter-still, I shouldn't want to trample upon the little lives. +Oh! I don't know what I'm saying, Doctor. Good night. Don't blame +me for anything." + +"Yes, I will blame you if you don't come and see me soon. +We will talk of things you never have dreamt of talking +about before. It will do us both good. I don't want you +to blame yourself, whatever comes. Good night, my child." + +She let herself in at the gate, but instead of entering she +sat upon the step of the porch. The night was quiet and soothing. +All the tearing emotion of the last few hours seemed to fall away +from her like a somber, uncomfortable garment, which she had but to +loosen to be rid of. She went back to that hour before Adele had +sent for her; and her senses kindled afresh in thinking of Robert's +words, the pressure of his arms, and the feeling of his lips upon +her own. She could picture at that moment no greater bliss on +earth than possession of the beloved one. His expression of love +had already given him to her in part. When she thought that he was +there at hand, waiting for her, she grew numb with the intoxication +of expectancy. It was so late; he would be asleep perhaps. She +would awaken him with a kiss. She hoped he would be asleep that +she might arouse him with her caresses. + +Still, she remembered Adele's voice whispering, "Think of the +children; think of them." She meant to think of them; that +determination had driven into her soul like a death wound--but not +to-night. To-morrow would be time to think of everything. + +Robert was not waiting for her in the little parlor. He was +nowhere at hand. The house was empty. But he had scrawled on a +piece of paper that lay in the lamplight: + +"I love you. Good-by--because I love you." + +Edna grew faint when she read the words. She went and sat on +the sofa. Then she stretched herself out there, never uttering a +sound. She did not sleep. She did not go to bed. The lamp +sputtered and went out. She was still awake in the morning, when +Celestine unlocked the kitchen door and came in to light the fire. + + + + +XXXIX + + + +Victor, with hammer and nails and scraps of scantling, was +patching a corner of one of the galleries. Mariequita sat near by, +dangling her legs, watching him work, and handing him nails from +the tool-box. The sun was beating down upon them. The girl had +covered her head with her apron folded into a square pad. They had +been talking for an hour or more. She was never tired of hearing +Victor describe the dinner at Mrs. Pontellier's. He exaggerated +every detail, making it appear a veritable Lucullean feast. The +flowers were in tubs, he said. The champagne was quaffed from huge +golden goblets. Venus rising from the foam could have presented no +more entrancing a spectacle than Mrs. Pontellier, blazing with +beauty and diamonds at the head of the board, while the other women +were all of them youthful houris, possessed of incomparable charms. +She got it into her head that Victor was in love with Mrs. +Pontellier, and he gave her evasive answers, framed so as to +confirm her belief. She grew sullen and cried a little, +threatening to go off and leave him to his fine ladies. There were +a dozen men crazy about her at the Cheniere; and since it was +the fashion to be in love with married people, why, she could run +away any time she liked to New Orleans with Celina's husband. + +Celina's husband was a fool, a coward, and a pig, and to prove +it to her, Victor intended to hammer his head into a jelly the next +time he encountered him. This assurance was very consoling to +Mariequita. She dried her eyes, and grew cheerful at the prospect. + +They were still talking of the dinner and the allurements of city life +when Mrs. Pontellier herself slipped around the corner of the house. +The two youngsters stayed dumb with amazement before what they considered +to be an apparition. But it was really she in flesh and blood, +looking tired and a little travel-stained. + +"I walked up from the wharf", she said, "and heard the hammering. +I supposed it was you, mending the porch. It's a good thing. +I was always tripping over those loose planks last summer. +How dreary and deserted everything looks!" + +It took Victor some little time to comprehend that she had +come in Beaudelet's lugger, that she had come alone, and for no +purpose but to rest. + +"There's nothing fixed up yet, you see. I'll give you my room; +it's the only place." + +"Any corner will do," she assured him. + +"And if you can stand Philomel's cooking," he went on, "though +I might try to get her mother while you are here. Do you think she +would come?" turning to Mariequita. + +Mariequita thought that perhaps Philomel's mother might come +for a few days, and money enough. + +Beholding Mrs. Pontellier make her appearance, the girl had at +once suspected a lovers' rendezvous. But Victor's astonishment was +so genuine, and Mrs. Pontellier's indifference so apparent, that +the disturbing notion did not lodge long in her brain. She +contemplated with the greatest interest this woman who gave the +most sumptuous dinners in America, and who had all the men in New +Orleans at her feet. + +"What time will you have dinner?" asked Edna. "I'm very +hungry; but don't get anything extra." + +"I'll have it ready in little or no time," he said, bustling +and packing away his tools. "You may go to my room to brush up and +rest yourself. Mariequita will show you." + +"Thank you", said Edna. "But, do you know, I have a notion to +go down to the beach and take a good wash and even a little swim, +before dinner?" + +"The water is too cold!" they both exclaimed. "Don't think of it." + +"Well, I might go down and try--dip my toes in. Why, it seems to me +the sun is hot enough to have warmed the very depths of the ocean. +Could you get me a couple of towels? I'd better go right away, +so as to be back in time. It would be a little too chilly +if I waited till this afternoon." + +Mariequita ran over to Victor's room, and returned +with some towels, which she gave to Edna. + +"I hope you have fish for dinner," said Edna, as she started +to walk away; "but don't do anything extra if you haven't." + +"Run and find Philomel's mother," Victor instructed the girl. +"I'll go to the kitchen and see what I can do. By Gimminy! +Women have no consideration! She might have sent me word." + +Edna walked on down to the beach rather mechanically, not +noticing anything special except that the sun was hot. She was not +dwelling upon any particular train of thought. She had done all +the thinking which was necessary after Robert went away, when she +lay awake upon the sofa till morning. + +She had said over and over to herself: "To-day it is Arobin; +to-morrow it will be some one else. It makes no difference to me, +it doesn't matter about Leonce Pontellier--but Raoul and Etienne!" +She understood now clearly what she had meant long ago when she +said to Adele Ratignolle that she would give up the unessential, +but she would never sacrifice herself for her children. + +Despondency had come upon her there in the wakeful night, and +had never lifted. There was no one thing in the world that she +desired. There was no human being whom she wanted near her except +Robert; and she even realized that the day would come when he, too, +and the thought of him would melt out of her existence, leaving her +alone. The children appeared before her like antagonists who had +overcome her; who had overpowered and sought to drag her into the +soul's slavery for the rest of her days. But she knew a way to +elude them. She was not thinking of these things when she walked +down to the beach. + +The water of the Gulf stretched out before her, gleaming with +the million lights of the sun. The voice of the sea is seductive, +never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul +to wander in abysses of solitude. All along the white beach, +up and down, there was no living thing in sight. A bird +with a broken wing was beating the air above, reeling, +fluttering, circling disabled down, down to the water. + +Edna had found her old bathing suit still hanging, faded, +upon its accustomed peg. + +She put it on, leaving her clothing in the bath-house. But +when she was there beside the sea, absolutely alone, she cast the +unpleasant, pricking garments from her, and for the first time in +her life she stood naked in the open air, at the mercy of the sun, +the breeze that beat upon her, and the waves that invited her. + +How strange and awful it seemed to stand naked under the sky! +how delicious! She felt like some new-born creature, opening its +eyes in a familiar world that it had never known. + +The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet, and coiled +like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was +chill, but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her +white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch +of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close +embrace. + +She went on and on. She remembered the night she swam far +out, and recalled the terror that seized her at the fear of being +unable to regain the shore. She did not look back now, but went on +and on, thinking of the blue-grass meadow that she had traversed +when a little child, believing that it had no beginning and no end. + +Her arms and legs were growing tired. + +She thought of Leonce and the children. They were a part of +her life. But they need not have thought that they could possess +her, body and soul. How Mademoiselle Reisz would have laughed, +perhaps sneered, if she knew! "And you call yourself an artist! +What pretensions, Madame! The artist must possess the courageous +soul that dares and defies." + +Exhaustion was pressing upon and overpowering her. + +"Good-by--because I love you." He did not know; he did not +understand. He would never understand. Perhaps Doctor Mandelet +would have understood if she had seen him--but it was too late; the +shore was far behind her, and her strength was gone. + +She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for +an instant, then sank again. Edna heard her father's voice and her +sister Margaret's. She heard the barking of an old dog that was +chained to the sycamore tree. The spurs of the cavalry officer +clanged as he walked across the porch. There was the hum of bees, +and the musky odor of pinks filled the air. + + + + + + + + + +Beyond the Bayou + + + +The bayou curved like a crescent around the point of land on +which La Folle's cabin stood. Between the stream and the hut lay +a big abandoned field, where cattle were pastured when the bayou +supplied them with water enough. Through the woods that spread +back into unknown regions the woman had drawn an imaginary line, +and past this circle she never stepped. This was the form of her +only mania. + +She was now a large, gaunt black woman, past thirty-five. Her +real name was Jacqueline, but every one on the plantation called +her La Folle, because in childhood she had been frightened +literally "out of her senses," and had never wholly regained them. + +It was when there had been skirmishing and sharpshooting all +day in the woods. Evening was near when P'tit Maitre, black with +powder and crimson with blood, had staggered into the cabin of +Jacqueline's mother, his pursuers close at his heels. The sight +had stunned her childish reason. + +She dwelt alone in her solitary cabin, for the rest of the +quarters had long since been removed beyond her sight and +knowledge. She had more physical strength than most men, and made +her patch of cotton and corn and tobacco like the best of them. +But of the world beyond the bayou she had long known nothing, +save what her morbid fancy conceived. + +People at Bellissime had grown used to her and her way, and +they thought nothing of it. Even when "Old Mis'" died, they did +not wonder that La Folle had not crossed the bayou, but had stood +upon her side of it, wailing and lamenting. + +P'tit Maitre was now the owner of Bellissime. He was a +middle-aged man, with a family of beautiful daughters about him, +and a little son whom La Folle loved as if he had been her own. +She called him Cheri, and so did every one else because she did. + +None of the girls had ever been to her what Cheri was. They +had each and all loved to be with her, and to listen to her +wondrous stories of things that always happened "yonda, beyon' de +bayou." + +But none of them had stroked her black hand quite as Cheri +did, nor rested their heads against her knee so confidingly, nor +fallen asleep in her arms as he used to do. For Cheri hardly did +such things now, since he had become the proud possessor of a gun, +and had had his black curls cut off. + +That summer--the summer Cheri gave La Folle two black curls +tied with a knot of red ribbon--the water ran so low in the bayou +that even the little children at Bellissime were able to cross it +on foot, and the cattle were sent to pasture down by the river. La +Folle was sorry when they were gone, for she loved these dumb +companions well, and liked to feel that they were there, and to +hear them browsing by night up to her own enclosure. + +It was Saturday afternoon, when the fields were deserted. The +men had flocked to a neighboring village to do their week's +trading, and the women were occupied with household affairs,--La +Folle as well as the others. It was then she mended and washed her +handful of clothes, scoured her house, and did her baking. + +In this last employment she never forgot Cheri. To-day +she had fashioned croquignoles of the most fantastic and +alluring shapes for him. So when she saw the boy come trudging +across the old field with his gleaming little new rifle on his +shoulder, she called out gayly to him, "Cheri! Cheri!" + +But Cheri did not need the summons, for he was coming straight +to her. His pockets all bulged out with almonds and raisins and an +orange that he had secured for her from the very fine dinner which +had been given that day up at his father's house. + +He was a sunny-faced youngster of ten. When he had emptied +his pockets, La Folle patted his round red cheek, wiped his soiled +hands on her apron, and smoothed his hair. Then she watched him +as, with his cakes in his hand, he crossed her strip of cotton back +of the cabin, and disappeared into the wood. + +He had boasted of the things he was going to do with his gun +out there. + +"You think they got plenty deer in the wood, La Folle?" he had +inquired, with the calculating air of an experienced hunter. + +"Non, non!" the woman laughed. "Don't you look fo' no deer, Cheri. +Dat's too big. But you bring La Folle one good fat squirrel +fo' her dinner to-morrow, an' she goin' be satisfi'." + +"One squirrel ain't a bite. I'll bring you mo' 'an one, La +Folle," he had boasted pompously as he went away. + +When the woman, an hour later, heard the report of the boy's +rifle close to the wood's edge, she would have thought nothing of +it if a sharp cry of distress had not followed the sound. + +She withdrew her arms from the tub of suds in which they had +been plunged, dried them upon her apron, and as quickly as her +trembling limbs would bear her, hurried to the spot whence the +ominous report had come. + +It was as she feared. There she found Cheri stretched upon +the ground, with his rifle beside him. He moaned +piteously:-- +"I'm dead, La Folle! I'm dead! I'm gone!" + +"Non, non!" she exclaimed resolutely, as she knelt beside +him. "Put you' arm 'roun' La Folle's nake, Cheri. Dat's nuttin'; +dat goin' be nuttin'." She lifted him in her powerful arms. + +Cheri had carried his gun muzzle-downward. He had +stumbled,--he did not know how. He only knew that he had a ball lodged +somewhere in his leg, and he thought that his end was at hand. +Now, with his head upon the woman's shoulder, he moaned and wept +with pain and fright. + +"Oh, La Folle! La Folle! it hurt so bad! I can' stan' it, La Folle!" + +"Don't cry, mon bebe, mon bebe, mon Cheri!" the woman +spoke soothingly as she covered the ground with long strides. +"La Folle goin' mine you; Doctor Bonfils goin' come make +mon Cheri well agin." + +She had reached the abandoned field. As she crossed it with +her precious burden, she looked constantly and restlessly from side +to side. A terrible fear was upon her, --the fear of the world +beyond the bayou, the morbid and insane dread she had been under +since childhood. + +When she was at the bayou's edge she stood there, and shouted +for help as if a life depended upon +it:-- +"Oh, P'tit Maitre! P'tit Maitre! Venez donc! Au secours! Au secours!" + +No voice responded. Cheri's hot tears were scalding her neck. +She called for each and every one upon the place, and still no +answer came. + +She shouted, she wailed; but whether her voice remained +unheard or unheeded, no reply came to her frenzied cries. And all +the while Cheri moaned and wept and entreated to be taken home to +his mother. + +La Folle gave a last despairing look around her. Extreme +terror was upon her. She clasped the child close against her +breast, where he could feel her heart beat like a muffled hammer. +Then shutting her eyes, she ran suddenly down the shallow bank of +the bayou, and never stopped till she had climbed the opposite +shore. + +She stood there quivering an instant as she opened her eyes. +Then she plunged into the footpath through the trees. + +She spoke no more to Cheri, but muttered constantly, "Bon +Dieu, ayez pitie La Folle! Bon Dieu, ayez pitie moi!" + +Instinct seemed to guide her. When the pathway spread clear +and smooth enough before her, she again closed her eyes tightly +against the sight of that unknown and terrifying world. + +A child, playing in some weeds, caught sight of her as she +neared the quarters. The little one uttered a cry of dismay. + +"La Folle!" she screamed, in her piercing treble. "La Folle +done cross de bayer!" + +Quickly the cry passed down the line of cabins. + +"Yonda, La Folle done cross de bayou!" + +Children, old men, old women, young ones with infants in their +arms, flocked to doors and windows to see this awe-inspiring +spectacle. Most of them shuddered with superstitious dread of what +it might portend. "She totin' Cheri!" some of them shouted. + +Some of the more daring gathered about her, and followed at +her heels, only to fall back with new terror when she turned her +distorted face upon them. Her eyes were bloodshot and the saliva +had gathered in a white foam on her black lips. + +Some one had run ahead of her to where P'tit Maitre sat with +his family and guests upon the gallery. + +"P'tit Maitre! La Folle done cross de bayou! Look her! Look +her yonda totin' Cheri!" This startling intimation was the first +which they had of the woman's approach. + +She was now near at hand. She walked with long strides. Her +eyes were fixed desperately before her, and she breathed heavily, +as a tired ox. + +At the foot of the stairway, which she could not have mounted, +she laid the boy in his father's arms. Then the world that had +looked red to La Folle suddenly turned black,--like that day she +had seen powder and blood. + +She reeled for an instant. Before a sustaining arm could +reach her, she fell heavily to the ground. + +When La Folle regained consciousness, she was at home again, +in her own cabin and upon her own bed. The moon rays, streaming in +through the open door and windows, gave what light was needed to +the old black mammy who stood at the table concocting a tisane of +fragrant herbs. It was very late. + +Others who had come, and found that the stupor clung to her, +had gone again. P'tit Maitre had been there, and with him Doctor +Bonfils, who said that La Folle might die. + +But death had passed her by. The voice was very clear and +steady with which she spoke to Tante Lizette, brewing her tisane +there in a corner. + +"Ef you will give me one good drink tisane, Tante Lizette, I +b'lieve I'm goin' sleep, me." + +And she did sleep; so soundly, so healthfully, that old +Lizette without compunction stole softly away, to creep back +through the moonlit fields to her own cabin in the new quarters. + +The first touch of the cool gray morning awoke La Folle. She +arose, calmly, as if no tempest had shaken and threatened her +existence but yesterday. + +She donned her new blue cottonade and white apron, for she +remembered that this was Sunday. When she had made for herself a +cup of strong black coffee, and drunk it with relish, she quitted +the cabin and walked across the old familiar field to the bayou's +edge again. + +She did not stop there as she had always done before, but +crossed with a long, steady stride as if she had done this all her +life. + +When she had made her way through the brush and scrub +cottonwood-trees that lined the opposite bank, she found herself +upon the border of a field where the white, bursting cotton, with +the dew upon it, gleamed for acres and acres like frosted silver in +the early dawn. + +La Folle drew a long, deep breath as she gazed across +the country. She walked slowly and uncertainly, like one who +hardly knows how, looking about her as she went. + +The cabins, that yesterday had sent a clamor of voices to +pursue her, were quiet now. No one was yet astir at Bellissime. +Only the birds that darted here and there from hedges were awake, +and singing their matins. + +When La Folle came to the broad stretch of velvety lawn that +surrounded the house, she moved slowly and with delight over the +springy turf, that was delicious beneath her tread. + +She stopped to find whence came those perfumes that were +assailing her senses with memories from a time far gone. + +There they were, stealing up to her from the thousand blue +violets that peeped out from green, luxuriant beds. There they +were, showering down from the big waxen bells of the magnolias far +above her head, and from the jessamine clumps around her. + +There were roses, too, without number. To right and left +palms spread in broad and graceful curves. It all looked like +enchantment beneath the sparkling sheen of dew. + +When La Folle had slowly and cautiously mounted the many steps +that led up to the veranda, she turned to look back at the perilous +ascent she had made. Then she caught sight of the river, bending +like a silver bow at the foot of Bellissime. Exultation possessed +her soul. + +La Folle rapped softly upon a door near at hand. Cheri's +mother soon cautiously opened it. Quickly and cleverly she +dissembled the astonishment she felt at seeing La Folle. + +"Ah, La Folle! Is it you, so early?" + +"Oui, madame. I come ax how my po' li'le Cheri do, 's mo'nin'." + +"He is feeling easier, thank you, La Folle. Dr. Bonfils says +it will be nothing serious. He's sleeping now. Will you come back +when he awakes?" + +"Non, madame. I'm goin' wait yair tell Cheri wake +up." La Folle seated herself upon the topmost step of the veranda. + +A look of wonder and deep content crept into her face as she +watched for the first time the sun rise upon the new, the beautiful +world beyond the bayou. + + + + + + + +Ma'ame Pelagie + + + + +I + + + +When the war began, there stood on Cote Joyeuse an imposing +mansion of red brick, shaped like the Pantheon. A grove of +majestic live-oaks surrounded it. + +Thirty years later, only the thick walls were standing, with +the dull red brick showing here and there through a matted growth +of clinging vines. The huge round pillars were intact; so to some +extent was the stone flagging of hall and portico. There had been +no home so stately along the whole stretch of Cote Joyeuse. Every +one knew that, as they knew it had cost Philippe Valmet sixty +thousand dollars to build, away back in 1840. No one was in danger +of forgetting that fact, so long as his daughter Pelagie survived. +She was a queenly, white-haired woman of fifty. "Ma'ame Pelagie," +they called her, though she was unmarried, as was her sister +Pauline, a child in Ma'ame Pelagie's eyes; a child of thirty-five. + +The two lived alone in a three-roomed cabin, almost within the +shadow of the ruin. They lived for a dream, for Ma'ame Pelagie's +dream, which was to rebuild the old home. + +It would be pitiful to tell how their days were spent to +accomplish this end; how the dollars had been saved for thirty +years and the picayunes hoarded; and yet, not half enough gathered! +But Ma'ame Pelagie felt sure of twenty years of life before her, +and counted upon as many more for her sister. And what could not +come to pass in twenty--in forty--years? + +Often, of pleasant afternoons, the two would drink their black +coffee, seated upon the stone-flagged portico whose canopy was the +blue sky of Louisiana. They loved to sit there in the silence, +with only each other and the sheeny, prying lizards for company, +talking of the old times and planning for the new; while light +breezes stirred the tattered vines high up among the columns, where +owls nested. + +"We can never hope to have all just as it was, Pauline," +Ma'ame Pelagie would say; "perhaps the marble pillars of the salon +will have to be replaced by wooden ones, and the crystal candelabra +left out. Should you be willing, Pauline?" + +"Oh, yes Sesoeur, I shall be willing." It was always, "Yes, +Sesoeur," or "No, Sesoeur," "Just as you please, Sesoeur," with +poor little Mam'selle Pauline. For what did she remember of that +old life and that old spendor? Only a faint gleam here and there; +the half-consciousness of a young, uneventful existence; and then +a great crash. That meant the nearness of war; the revolt of +slaves; confusion ending in fire and flame through which she was +borne safely in the strong arms of Pelagie, and carried to the log +cabin which was still their home. Their brother, Leandre, had +known more of it all than Pauline, and not so much as Pelagie. He +had left the management of the big plantation with all its memories +and traditions to his older sister, and had gone away to dwell in +cities. That was many years ago. Now, Leandre's business called +him frequently and upon long journeys from home, and his motherless +daughter was coming to stay with her aunts at Cote Joyeuse. + +They talked about it, sipping their coffee on the ruined +portico. Mam'selle Pauline was terribly excited; the flush that +throbbed into her pale, nervous face showed it; and she locked her +thin fingers in and out incessantly. + +"But what shall we do with La Petite, Sesoeur? Where shall we +put her? How shall we amuse her? Ah, Seigneur!" + +"She will sleep upon a cot in the room next to ours," +responded Ma'ame Pelagie, "and live as we do. She knows how we +live, and why we live; her father has told her. She knows we have +money and could squander it if we chose. Do not fret, Pauline; let +us hope La Petite is a true Valmet." + +Then Ma'ame Pelagie rose with stately deliberation and went to +saddle her horse, for she had yet to make her last daily round +through the fields; and Mam'selle Pauline threaded her way slowly +among the tangled grasses toward the cabin. + +The coming of La Petite, bringing with her as she did the +pungent atmosphere of an outside and dimly known world, was a shock +to these two, living their dream-life. The girl was quite as tall +as her aunt Pelagie, with dark eyes that reflected joy as a still +pool reflects the light of stars; and her rounded cheek was tinged +like the pink crepe myrtle. Mam'selle Pauline kissed her and +trembled. Ma'ame Pelagie looked into her eyes with a searching +gaze, which seemed to seek a likeness of the past in the living +present. + +And they made room between them for this young life. + + + + +II + +La Petite had determined upon trying to fit herself to the +strange, narrow existence which she knew awaited her at Cote +Joyeuse. It went well enough at first. Sometimes she followed +Ma'ame Pelagie into the fields to note how the cotton was opening, +ripe and white; or to count the ears of corn upon the hardy stalks. +But oftener she was with her aunt Pauline, assisting in household +offices, chattering of her brief past, or walking with the older +woman arm-in-arm under the trailing moss of the giant oaks. + +Mam'selle Pauline's steps grew very buoyant that summer, and +her eyes were sometimes as bright as a bird's, unless La Petite +were away from her side, when they would lose all other light but +one of uneasy expectancy. The girl seemed to love her well in +return, and called her endearingly Tan'tante. But as the time went +by, La Petite became very quiet,--not listless, but thoughtful, and +slow in her movements. Then her cheeks began to pale, till they +were tinged like the creamy plumes of the white crepe myrtle that +grew in the ruin. + +One day when she sat within its shadow, between her aunts, +holding a hand of each, she said: "Tante Pelagie, I must tell you +something, you and Tan'tante." She spoke low, but clearly and firmly. +"I love you both,--please remember that I love you both. But I must go +away from you. I can't live any longer here at Cote Joyeuse. " + +A spasm passed through Mam'selle Pauline's delicate frame. La Petite +could feel the twitch of it in the wiry fingers that were intertwined +with her own. Ma'ame Pelagie remained unchanged and motionless. +No human eye could penetrate so deep as to see the satisfaction +which her soul felt. She said: "What do you mean, Petite? +Your father has sent you to us, and I am sure it is his wish that you remain." + +"My father loves me, tante Pelagie, and such will not be his +wish when he knows. Oh!" she continued with a restless, movement, +"it is as though a weight were pressing me backward here. I must +live another life; the life I lived before. I want to know things +that are happening from day to day over the world, and hear them +talked about. I want my music, my books, my companions. If I had +known no other life but this one of privation, I suppose it would +be different. If I had to live this life, I should make the best +of it. But I do not have to; and you know, tante Pelagie, you do +not need to. It seems to me," she added in a whisper, "that it is +a sin against myself. Ah, Tan'tante!--what is the matter with +Tan'tante?" + +It was nothing; only a slight feeling of faintness, that would +soon pass. She entreated them to take no notice; but they brought +her some water and fanned her with a palmetto leaf. + +But that night, in the stillness of the room, Mam'selle +Pauline sobbed and would not be comforted. Ma'ame Pelagie took her +in her arms. + +"Pauline, my little sister Pauline," she entreated, "I never +have seen you like this before. Do you no longer love me? +Have we not been happy together, you and I?" + +"Oh, yes, Sesoeur." + +"Is it because La Petite is going away?" + +"Yes, Sesoeur." + +"Then she is dearer to you than I!" spoke Ma'ame Pelagie with +sharp resentment. "Than I, who held you and warmed you in my arms +the day you were born; than I, your mother, father, sister, +everything that could cherish you. Pauline, don't tell me that." + +Mam'selle Pauline tried to talk through her sobs. + +"I can't explain it to you, Sesoeur. I don't understand it +myself. I love you as I have always loved you; next to God. But if +La Petite goes away I shall die. I can't understand,--help me, +Sesoeur. She seems--she seems like a saviour; like one who had +come and taken me by the hand and was leading me +somewhere-somewhere I want to go." + +Ma'ame Pelagie had been sitting beside the bed in her peignoir +and slippers. She held the hand of her sister who lay there, and +smoothed down the woman's soft brown hair. She said not a word, +and the silence was broken only by Mam'selle Pauline's continued +sobs. Once Ma'ame Pelagie arose to mix a drink of orange-flower +water, which she gave to her sister, as she would have offered it +to a nervous, fretful child. Almost an hour passed before Ma'ame +Pelagie spoke again. Then she said:-- + +"Pauline, you must cease that sobbing, now, and sleep. You will +make yourself ill. La Petite will not go away. Do you hear me? +Do you understand? She will stay, I promise you." + +Mam'selle Pauline could not clearly comprehend, but she had +great faith in the word of her sister, and soothed by the promise +and the touch of Ma'ame Pelagie's strong, gentle hand, she fell asleep. + + + + +III + + + +Ma'ame Pelagie, when she saw that her sister slept, arose +noiselessly and stepped outside upon the low-roofed narrow gallery. +She did not linger there, but with a step that was hurried and agitated, +she crossed the distance that divided her cabin from the ruin. + +The night was not a dark one, for the sky was clear and the +moon resplendent. But light or dark would have made no difference +to Ma'ame Pelagie. It was not the first time she had stolen away +to the ruin at night-time, when the whole plantation slept; but she +never before had been there with a heart so nearly broken. She was +going there for the last time to dream her dreams; to see the +visions that hitherto had crowded her days and nights, and to bid +them farewell. + +There was the first of them, awaiting her upon the very +portal; a robust old white-haired man, chiding her for returning +home so late. There are guests to be entertained. Does she not +know it? Guests from the city and from the near plantations. Yes, +she knows it is late. She had been abroad with Felix, and they did +not notice how the time was speeding. Felix is there; he will +explain it all. He is there beside her, but she does not want to +hear what he will tell her father. + +Ma'ame Pelagie had sunk upon the bench where she and her +sister so often came to sit. Turning, she gazed in through the +gaping chasm of the window at her side. The interior of the ruin +is ablaze. Not with the moonlight, for that is faint beside the +other one--the sparkle from the crystal candelabra, which negroes, +moving noiselessly and respectfully about, are lighting, one after +the other. How the gleam of them reflects and glances from the +polished marble pillars! + +The room holds a number of guests. There is old Monsieur +Lucien Santien, leaning against one of the pillars, and laughing at +something which Monsieur Lafirme is telling him, till his fat +shoulders shake. His son Jules is with him--Jules, who wants to +marry her. She laughs. She wonders if Felix has told her father +yet. There is young Jerome Lafirme playing at checkers upon the +sofa with Leandre. Little Pauline stands annoying them and +disturbing the game. Leandre reproves her. She begins to cry, and +old black Clementine, her nurse, who is not far off, limps across +the room to pick her up and carry her away. How sensitive the +little one is! But she trots about and takes care of herself +better than she did a year or two ago, when she fell upon +the stone hall floor and raised a great "bo-bo" on her forehead. +Pelagie was hurt and angry enough about it; and she ordered rugs +and buffalo robes to be brought and laid thick upon the tiles, till +the little one's steps were surer. + +"Il ne faut pas faire mal a Pauline." She was saying it aloud +--"faire mal a Pauline." + +But she gazes beyond the salon, back into the big dining hall, +where the white crepe myrtle grows. Ha! how low that bat has +circled. It has struck Ma'ame Pelagie full on the breast. She +does not know it. She is beyond there in the dining hall, where +her father sits with a group of friends over their wine. As usual +they are talking politics. How tiresome! She has heard them say +"la guerre" oftener than once. La guerre. Bah! She and Felix have +something pleasanter to talk about, out under the oaks, or back in +the shadow of the oleanders. + +But they were right! The sound of a cannon, shot at Sumter, +has rolled across the Southern States, and its echo is heard along +the whole stretch of Cote Joyeuse. + +Yet Pelagie does not believe it. Not till La Ricaneuse stands +before her with bare, black arms akimbo, uttering a volley of vile +abuse and of brazen impudence. Pelagie wants to kill her. But yet +she will not believe. Not till Felix comes to her in the chamber +above the dining hall--there where that trumpet vine hangs--comes +to say good-by to her. The hurt which the big brass buttons of his +new gray uniform pressed into the tender flesh of her bosom has +never left it. She sits upon the sofa, and he beside her, both +speechless with pain. That room would not have been altered. Even +the sofa would have been there in the same spot, and Ma'ame Pelagie +had meant all along, for thirty years, all along, to lie there upon +it some day when the time came to die. + +But there is no time to weep, with the enemy at the door. The +door has been no barrier. They are clattering through the halls +now, drinking the wines, shattering the crystal and glass, slashing +the portraits. + +One of them stands before her and tells her to leave the +house. She slaps his face. How the stigma stands out red as blood +upon his blanched cheek! + +Now there is a roar of fire and the flames are bearing down +upon her motionless figure. She wants to show them how a daughter +of Louisiana can perish before her conquerors. But little Pauline +clings to her knees in an agony of terror. Little Pauline must be +saved. + +"Il ne faut pas faire mal a Pauline." Again she is saying it +aloud--"faire mal a Pauline." + +The night was nearly spent; Ma'ame Pelagie had glided from the +bench upon which she had rested, and for hours lay prone upon the +stone flagging, motionless. When she dragged herself to her feet +it was to walk like one in a dream. About the great, solemn +pillars, one after the other, she reached her arms, and pressed her +cheek and her lips upon the senseless brick. + +"Adieu, adieu!" whispered Ma'ame Pelagie. + +There was no longer the moon to guide her steps across the +familiar pathway to the cabin. The brightest light in the sky was +Venus, that swung low in the east. The bats had ceased to beat +their wings about the ruin. Even the mocking-bird that had warbled +for hours in the old mulberry-tree had sung himself asleep. That +darkest hour before the day was mantling the earth. Ma'ame Pelagie +hurried through the wet, clinging grass, beating aside the heavy +moss that swept across her face, walking on toward the cabin-toward +Pauline. Not once did she look back upon the ruin that brooded +like a huge monster--a black spot in the darkness that enveloped +it. + + + + +IV + + + +Little more than a year later the transformation which the old +Valmet place had undergone was the talk and wonder of Cote Joyeuse. +One would have looked in vain for the ruin; it was no longer there; +neither was the log cabin. But out in the open, where the sun +shone upon it, and the breezes blew about it, was a shapely +structure fashioned from woods that the forests of the State had +furnished. It rested upon a solid foundation of brick. + +Upon a corner of the pleasant gallery sat Leandre smoking his +afternoon cigar, and chatting with neighbors who had called. This +was to be his pied a terre now; the home where his sisters and +his daughter dwelt. The laughter of young people was heard out +under the trees, and within the house where La Petite was playing +upon the piano. With the enthusiasm of a young artist she drew +from the keys strains that seemed marvelously beautiful to +Mam'selle Pauline, who stood enraptured near her. Mam'selle +Pauline had been touched by the re-creation of Valmet. Her cheek +was as full and almost as flushed as La Petite's. The years were +falling away from her. + +Ma'ame Pelagie had been conversing with her brother and his +friends. Then she turned and walked away; stopping to listen +awhile to the music which La Petite was making. But it was only +for a moment. She went on around the curve of the veranda, where +she found herself alone. She stayed there, erect, holding to the +banister rail and looking out calmly in the distance across the +fields. + +She was dressed in black, with the white kerchief she always wore +folded across her bosom. Her thick, glossy hair rose like a silver +diadem from her brow. In her deep, dark eyes smouldered the light +of fires that would never flame. She had grown very old. +Years instead of months seemed to have passed over her +since the night she bade farewell to her visions. + +Poor Ma'ame Pelagie! How could it be different! While the +outward pressure of a young and joyous existence had forced her +footsteps into the light, her soul had stayed in the shadow of the +ruin. + + + + + +Desiree's Baby + + + +As the day was pleasant, Madame Valmonde drove over to L'Abri +to see Desiree and the baby. + +It made her laugh to think of Desiree with a baby. Why, it +seemed but yesterday that Desiree was little more than a baby +herself; when Monsieur in riding through the gateway of Valmonde +had found her lying asleep in the shadow of the big stone pillar. + +The little one awoke in his arms and began to cry for "Dada." +That was as much as she could do or say. Some people thought she +might have strayed there of her own accord, for she was of the +toddling age. The prevailing belief was that she had been +purposely left by a party of Texans, whose canvas-covered wagon, +late in the day, had crossed the ferry that Coton Mais kept, just +below the plantation. In time Madame Valmonde abandoned every +speculation but the one that Desiree had been sent to her by a +beneficent Providence to be the child of her affection, seeing that +she was without child of the flesh. For the girl grew to be +beautiful and gentle, affectionate and sincere,--the idol of Valmonde. + +It was no wonder, when she stood one day against the stone +pillar in whose shadow she had lain asleep, eighteen years before, +that Armand Aubigny riding by and seeing her there, had fallen in +love with her. That was the way all the Aubignys fell in love, +as if struck by a pistol shot. The wonder was that he had not +loved her before; for he had known her since his father brought +him home from Paris, a boy of eight, after his mother died there. +The passion that awoke in him that day, when he saw her at the gate, +swept along like an avalanche, or like a prairie fire, or like +anything that drives headlong over all obstacles. + +Monsieur Valmonde grew practical and wanted things well considered: +that is, the girl's obscure origin. Armand looked into her eyes +and did not care. He was reminded that she was nameless. +What did it matter about a name when he could give her one of the +oldest and proudest in Louisiana? He ordered the corbeille from +Paris, and contained himself with what patience he could until it +arrived; then they were married. + +Madame Valmonde had not seen Desiree and the baby for four +weeks. When she reached L'Abri she shuddered at the first sight of +it, as she always did. It was a sad looking place, which for many +years had not known the gentle presence of a mistress, old Monsieur +Aubigny having married and buried his wife in France, and she +having loved her own land too well ever to leave it. The roof came +down steep and black like a cowl, reaching out beyond the wide +galleries that encircled the yellow stuccoed house. Big, solemn +oaks grew close to it, and their thick-leaved, far-reaching +branches shadowed it like a pall. Young Aubigny's rule was a +strict one, too, and under it his negroes had forgotten how to be +gay, as they had been during the old master's easy-going and +indulgent lifetime. + +The young mother was recovering slowly, and lay full length, +in her soft white muslins and laces, upon a couch. The baby was +beside her, upon her arm, where he had fallen asleep, at her +breast. The yellow nurse woman sat beside a window fanning +herself. + +Madame Valmonde bent her portly figure over Desiree and kissed +her, holding her an instant tenderly in her arms. Then she turned +to the child. + +"This is not the baby!" she exclaimed, in startled tones. +French was the language spoken at Valmonde in those days. + +"I knew you would be astonished," laughed Desiree, "at the way +he has grown. The little cochon de lait! Look at his legs, +mamma, and his hands and fingernails,--real finger-nails. Zandrine +had to cut them this morning. Isn't it true, Zandrine?" + +The woman bowed her turbaned head majestically, "Mais si, Madame." + +"And the way he cries," went on Desiree, "is deafening. +Armand heard him the other day as far away as La Blanche's cabin." + +Madame Valmonde had never removed her eyes from the child. +She lifted it and walked with it over to the window that was +lightest. She scanned the baby narrowly, then looked as +searchingly at Zandrine, whose face was turned to gaze across the +fields. + +"Yes, the child has grown, has changed," said Madame Valmonde, +slowly, as she replaced it beside its mother. "What does Armand say?" + +Desiree's face became suffused with a glow that was happiness itself. + +"Oh, Armand is the proudest father in the parish, I believe, +chiefly because it is a boy, to bear his name; though he says +not,--that he would have loved a girl as well. But I know it isn't +true. I know he says that to please me. And mamma," she added, +drawing Madame Valmonde's head down to her, and speaking in a +whisper, "he hasn't punished one of them--not one of them--since +baby is born. Even Negrillon, who pretended to have burnt his leg +that he might rest from work--he only laughed, and said Negrillon +was a great scamp. oh, mamma, I'm so happy; it frightens me." + +What Desiree said was true. Marriage, and later the birth of +his son had softened Armand Aubigny's imperious and exacting nature +greatly. This was what made the gentle Desiree so happy, for she +loved him desperately. When he frowned she trembled, but loved +him. When he smiled, she asked no greater blessing of God. +But Armand's dark, handsome face had not often been disfigured +by frowns since the day he fell in love with her. + +When the baby was about three months old, Desiree awoke one +day to the conviction that there was something in the air menacing +her peace. It was at first too subtle to grasp. It had only been +a disquieting suggestion; an air of mystery among the blacks; +unexpected visits from far-off neighbors who could hardly account +for their coming. Then a strange, an awful change in her husband's +manner, which she dared not ask him to explain. When he spoke to +her, it was with averted eyes, from which the old love-light seemed +to have gone out. He absented himself from home; and when there, +avoided her presence and that of her child, without excuse. And +the very spirit of Satan seemed suddenly to take hold of him in his +dealings with the slaves. Desiree was miserable enough to die. + +She sat in her room, one hot afternoon, in her peignoir, +listlessly drawing through her fingers the strands of her long, +silky brown hair that hung about her shoulders. The baby, half +naked, lay asleep upon her own great mahogany bed, that was like a +sumptuous throne, with its satin-lined half-canopy. One of La +Blanche's little quadroon boys--half naked too--stood fanning the +child slowly with a fan of peacock feathers. Desiree's eyes had +been fixed absently and sadly upon the baby, while she was striving +to penetrate the threatening mist that she felt closing about her. +She looked from her child to the boy who stood beside him, and back +again; over and over. "Ah!" It was a cry that she could not help; +which she was not conscious of having uttered. The blood turned +like ice in her veins, and a clammy moisture gathered upon her face. + +She tried to speak to the little quadroon boy; but no sound +would come, at first. When he heard his name uttered, he looked +up, and his mistress was pointing to the door. He laid aside the +great, soft fan, and obediently stole away, over the polished +floor, on his bare tiptoes. + +She stayed motionless, with gaze riveted upon her child, and +her face the picture of fright. + +Presently her husband entered the room, and without noticing +her, went to a table and began to search among some papers which +covered it. + +"Armand," she called to him, in a voice which must have +stabbed him, if he was human. But he did not notice. "Armand," +she said again. Then she rose and tottered towards him. "Armand," +she panted once more, clutching his arm, "look at our child. What +does it mean? tell me." + +He coldly but gently loosened her fingers from about his arm +and thrust the hand away from him. "Tell me what it means!" +she cried despairingly. + +"It means," he answered lightly, "that the child is not white; +it means that you are not white." + +A quick conception of all that this accusation meant for her +nerved her with unwonted courage to deny it. "It is a lie; it is +not true, I am white! Look at my hair, it is brown; and my eyes +are gray, Armand, you know they are gray. And my skin is fair," +seizing his wrist. "Look at my hand; whiter than yours, Armand," +she laughed hysterically. + +"As white as La Blanche's," he returned cruelly; and went away +leaving her alone with their child. + +When she could hold a pen in her hand, she sent a despairing +letter to Madame Valmonde. + +"My mother, they tell me I am not white. Armand has told me +I am not white. For God's sake tell them it is not true. You must +know it is not true. I shall die. I must die. I cannot be so +unhappy, and live." + +The answer that came was brief: + +"My own Desiree: Come home to Valmonde; back to your mother +who loves you. Come with your child." + +When the letter reached Desiree she went with it to her +husband's study, and laid it open upon the desk before which he +sat. She was like a stone image: silent, white, motionless after +she placed it there. + +In silence he ran his cold eyes over the written words. + +He said nothing. "Shall I go, Armand?" she asked in tones sharp +with agonized suspense. + +"Yes, go." + +"Do you want me to go?" + +"Yes, I want you to go." + +He thought Almighty God had dealt cruelly and unjustly with +him; and felt, somehow, that he was paying Him back in kind when he +stabbed thus into his wife's soul. Moreover he no longer loved +her, because of the unconscious injury she had brought upon his +home and his name. + +She turned away like one stunned by a blow, and walked slowly +towards the door, hoping he would call her back. + +"Good-by, Armand," she moaned. + +He did not answer her. That was his last blow at fate. + +Desiree went in search of her child. Zandrine was pacing the +sombre gallery with it. She took the little one from the nurse's +arms with no word of explanation, and descending the steps, walked +away, under the live-oak branches. + +It was an October afternoon; the sun was just sinking. Out in +the still fields the negroes were picking cotton. + +Desiree had not changed the thin white garment nor the +slippers which she wore. Her hair was uncovered and the sun's rays +brought a golden gleam from its brown meshes. She did not take the +broad, beaten road which led to the far-off plantation of Valmonde. +She walked across a deserted field, where the stubble bruised her +tender feet, so delicately shod, and tore her thin gown to shreds. + +She disappeared among the reeds and willows that grew thick +along the banks of the deep, sluggish bayou; and she did not come +back again. + + + +Some weeks later there was a curious scene enacted at L'Abri. +In the centre of the smoothly swept back yard was a great bonfire. +Armand Aubigny sat in the wide hallway that commanded a view of the +spectacle; and it was he who dealt out to a half dozen negroes the +material which kept this fire ablaze. + +A graceful cradle of willow, with all its dainty furbishings, +was laid upon the pyre, which had already been fed with the +richness of a priceless layette. Then there were silk gowns, +and velvet and satin ones added to these; laces, too, and +embroideries; bonnets and gloves; for the corbeille had been of +rare quality. + +The last thing to go was a tiny bundle of letters; innocent +little scribblings that Desiree had sent to him during the days of +their espousal. There was the remnant of one back in the drawer +from which he took them. But it was not Desiree's; it was part of +an old letter from his mother to his father. He read it. She was +thanking God for the blessing of her husband's love:-- + +"But above all," she wrote, "night and day, I thank the good +God for having so arranged our lives that our dear Armand will +never know that his mother, who adores him, belongs to the race +that is cursed with the brand of slavery." + + + + + + + +A Respectable Woman + + + +Mrs. Baroda was a little provoked to learn that her husband +expected his friend, Gouvernail, up to spend a week or two on the +plantation. + +They had entertained a good deal during the winter; much of +the time had also been passed in New Orleans in various forms of +mild dissipation. She was looking forward to a period of unbroken +rest, now, and undisturbed tete-a-tete with her husband, when he +informed her that Gouvernail was coming up to stay a week or two. + +This was a man she had heard much of but never seen. He had +been her husband's college friend; was now a journalist, and in no +sense a society man or "a man about town," which were, perhaps, +some of the reasons she had never met him. But she had +unconsciously formed an image of him in her mind. She pictured him +tall, slim, cynical; with eye-glasses, and his hands in his +pockets; and she did not like him. Gouvernail was slim enough, but +he wasn't very tall nor very cynical; neither did he wear +eyeglasses nor carry his hands in his pockets. And she rather liked +him when he first presented himself. + +But why she liked him she could not explain satisfactorily to +herself when she partly attempted to do so. She could discover in +him none of those brilliant and promising traits which Gaston, her +husband, had often assured her that he possessed. On the contrary, +he sat rather mute and receptive before her chatty eagerness to +make him feel at home and in face of Gaston's frank and wordy hospitality. +His manner was as courteous toward her as the most exacting woman +could require; but he made no direct appeal to her approval or even esteem. + +Once settled at the plantation he seemed to like to sit upon +the wide portico in the shade of one of the big Corinthian pillars, +smoking his cigar lazily and listening attentively to Gaston's +experience as a sugar planter. + +"This is what I call living," he would utter with deep +satisfaction, as the air that swept across the sugar field caressed +him with its warm and scented velvety touch. It pleased him also +to get on familiar terms with the big dogs that came about him, +rubbing themselves sociably against his legs. He did not care to +fish, and displayed no eagerness to go out and kill grosbecs when +Gaston proposed doing so. + +Gouvernail's personality puzzled Mrs. Baroda, but she liked +him. Indeed, he was a lovable, inoffensive fellow. After a few +days, when she could understand him no better than at first, she +gave over being puzzled and remained piqued. In this mood she left +her husband and her guest, for the most part, alone together. Then +finding that Gouvernail took no manner of exception to her action, +she imposed her society upon him, accompanying him in his idle +strolls to the mill and walks along the batture. She persistently +sought to penetrate the reserve in which he had unconsciously +enveloped himself. + +"When is he going--your friend?" she one day asked her +husband. "For my part, he tires me frightfully." + +"Not for a week yet, dear. I can't understand; he gives you +no trouble." + +"No. I should like him better if he did; if he were more like +others, and I had to plan somewhat for his comfort and enjoyment." + +Gaston took his wife's pretty face between his hands and +looked tenderly and laughingly into her troubled eyes. + +They were making a bit of toilet sociably together in Mrs. Baroda's +dressing-room. + +"You are full of surprises, ma belle," he said to her. "Even +I can never count upon how you are going to act under given +conditions." He kissed her and turned to fasten his cravat before +the mirror. + +"Here you are," he went on, "taking poor Gouvernail seriously +and making a commotion over him, the last thing he would desire or +expect." + +"Commotion!" she hotly resented. "Nonsense! How can you say +such a thing? Commotion, indeed! But, you know, you said he was clever." + +"So he is. But the poor fellow is run down by overwork now. +That's why I asked him here to take a rest." + +"You used to say he was a man of ideas," she retorted, +unconciliated. "I expected him to be interesting, at least. I'm +going to the city in the morning to have my spring gowns fitted. +Let me know when Mr. Gouvernail is gone; I shall be at my Aunt +Octavie's." + +That night she went and sat alone upon a bench that stood +beneath a live oak tree at the edge of the gravel walk. + +She had never known her thoughts or her intentions to be so +confused. She could gather nothing from them but the feeling of a +distinct necessity to quit her home in the morning. + +Mrs. Baroda heard footsteps crunching the gravel; but could +discern in the darkness only the approaching red point of a lighted +cigar. She knew it was Gouvernail, for her husband did not smoke. +She hoped to remain unnoticed, but her white gown revealed her to +him. He threw away his cigar and seated himself upon the bench +beside her; without a suspicion that she might object to his +presence. + +"Your husband told me to bring this to you, Mrs. Baroda," he +said, handing her a filmy, white scarf with which she sometimes +enveloped her head and shoulders. She accepted the scarf from him +with a murmur of thanks, and let it lie in her lap. + +He made some commonplace observation upon the baneful effect +of the night air at the season. Then as his gaze reached out into +the darkness, he murmured, half to himself: + + + +"`Night of south winds--night of the large few stars! + +Still nodding night--'" + + + +She made no reply to this apostrophe to the night, which, +indeed, was not addressed to her. + +Gouvernail was in no sense a diffident man, for he was not a +self-conscious one. His periods of reserve were not +constitutional, but the result of moods. Sitting there beside Mrs. +Baroda, his silence melted for the time. + +He talked freely and intimately in a low, hesitating drawl +that was not unpleasant to hear. He talked of the old college days +when he and Gaston had been a good deal to each other; of the days +of keen and blind ambitions and large intentions. Now there was +left with him, at least, a philosophic acquiescence to the existing +order--only a desire to be permitted to exist, with now and then a +little whiff of genuine life, such as he was breathing now. + +Her mind only vaguely grasped what he was saying. Her +physical being was for the moment predominant. She was not +thinking of his words, only drinking in the tones of his voice. +She wanted to reach out her hand in the darkness and touch him with +the sensitive tips of her fingers upon the face or the lips. She +wanted to draw close to him and whisper against his cheek--she did +not care what--as she might have done if she had not been a +respectable woman. + +The stronger the impulse grew to bring herself near him, the +further, in fact, did she draw away from him. As soon as she could +do so without an appearance of too great rudeness, she rose and +left him there alone. + +Before she reached the house, Gouvernail had lighted a fresh +cigar and ended his apostrophe to the night. + +Mrs. Baroda was greatly tempted that night to tell her +husband--who was also her friend--of this folly that had +seized her. But she did not yield to the temptation. Beside being +a respectable woman she was a very sensible one; and she knew there +are some battles in life which a human being must fight alone. + +When Gaston arose in the morning, his wife had already +departed. She had taken an early morning train to the city. She +did not return till Gouvernail was gone from under her roof. + +There was some talk of having him back during the summer that +followed. That is, Gaston greatly desired it; but this desire +yielded to his wife's strenuous opposition. + +However, before the year ended, she proposed, wholly from +herself, to have Gouvernail visit them again. Her husband was +surprised and delighted with the suggestion coming from her. + +"I am glad, chere amie, to know that you have finally overcome +your dislike for him; truly he did not deserve it." + +"Oh," she told him, laughingly, after pressing a long, tender +kiss upon his lips, "I have overcome everything! you will see. +This time I shall be very nice to him." + + + + + + + +The Kiss + + + +It was still quite light out of doors, but inside with the +curtains drawn and the smouldering fire sending out a dim, +uncertain glow, the room was full of deep shadows. + +Brantain sat in one of these shadows; it had overtaken him and +he did not mind. The obscurity lent him courage to keep his eves +fastened as ardently as he liked upon the girl who sat in the +firelight. + +She was very handsome, with a certain fine, rich coloring that +belongs to the healthy brune type. She was quite composed, as she +idly stroked the satiny coat of the cat that lay curled in her lap, +and she occasionally sent a slow glance into the shadow where her +companion sat. They were talking low, of indifferent things which +plainly were not the things that occupied their thoughts. She knew +that he loved her--a frank, blustering fellow without guile enough +to conceal his feelings, and no desire to do so. For two weeks past +he had sought her society eagerly and persistently. She was +confidently waiting for him to declare himself and she meant to +accept him. The rather insignificant and unattractive Brantain was +enormously rich; and she liked and required the entourage which +wealth could give her. + +During one of the pauses between their talk of the last tea +and the next reception the door opened and a young man +entered whom Brantain knew quite well. The girl turned her +face toward him. A stride or two brought him to her side, and +bending over her chair--before she could suspect his intention, +for she did not realize that he had not seen her visitor--he pressed +an ardent, lingering kiss upon her lips. + +Brantain slowly arose; so did the girl arise, but quickly, and +the newcomer stood between them, a little amusement and some +defiance struggling with the confusion in his face. + +"I believe," stammered Brantain, "I see that I have stayed too long. +I--I had no idea--that is, I must wish you good-by." He was clutching +his hat with both hands, and probably did not perceive that she was +extending her hand to him, her presence of mind had not completely +deserted her; but she could not have trusted herself to speak. + +"Hang me if I saw him sitting there, Nattie! I know it's +deuced awkward for you. But I hope you'll forgive me this +once--this very first break. Why, what's the matter?" + +"Don't touch me; don't come near me," she returned angrily. +"What do you mean by entering the house without ringing?" + +"I came in with your brother, as I often do," he answered +coldly, in self-justification. "We came in the side way. He went +upstairs and I came in here hoping to find you. The explanation is +simple enough and ought to satisfy you that the misadventure was +unavoidable. But do say that you forgive me, Nathalie," he +entreated, softening. + +"Forgive you! You don't know what you are talking about. Let +me pass. It depends upon--a good deal whether I ever forgive you." + +At that next reception which she and Brantain had been talking +about she approached the young man with a delicious frankness of +manner when she saw him there. + +"Will you let me speak to you a moment or two, Mr. Brantain?" +she asked with an engaging but perturbed smile. He seemed +extremely unhappy; but when she took his arm and walked +away with him, seeking a retired corner, a ray of hope +mingled with the almost comical misery of his expression. +She was apparently very outspoken. + +"Perhaps I should not have sought this interview, Mr. +Brantain; but--but, oh, I have been very uncomfortable, almost +miserable since that little encounter the other afternoon. When I +thought how you might have misinterpreted it, and believed things" +--hope was plainly gaining the ascendancy over misery in Brantain's +round, guileless face--"Of course, I know it is nothing to you, but +for my own sake I do want you to understand that Mr. Harvy is an +intimate friend of long standing. Why, we have always been like +cousins--like brother and sister, I may say. He is my brother's +most intimate associate and often fancies that he is entitled to +the same privileges as the family. Oh, I know it is absurd, +uncalled for, to tell you this; undignified even," she was almost +weeping, "but it makes so much difference to me what you think +of--of me." Her voice had grown very low and agitated. The misery had +all disappeared from Brantain's face. + +"Then you do really care what I think, Miss Nathalie? May I +call you Miss Nathalie?" They turned into a long, dim corridor that +was lined on either side with tall, graceful plants. They walked +slowly to the very end of it. When they turned to retrace their +steps Brantain's face was radiant and hers was triumphant. + + + +Harvy was among the guests at the wedding; and he sought her +out in a rare moment when she stood alone. + +"Your husband," he said, smiling, "has sent me over to kiss +you. " + +A quick blush suffused her face and round polished throat. "I +suppose it's natural for a man to feel and act generously on an +occasion of this kind. He tells me he doesn't want his marriage to +interrupt wholly that pleasant intimacy which has existed between +you and me. I don't know what you've been telling him," with an +insolent smile, "but he has sent me here to kiss you." + +She felt like a chess player who, by the clever handling of +his pieces, sees the game taking the course intended. Her eyes +were bright and tender with a smile as they glanced up into his; +and her lips looked hungry for the kiss which they invited. + +"But, you know," he went on quietly, "I didn't tell him +so, it would have seemed ungrateful, but I can tell you. I've +stopped kissing women; it's dangerous." + +Well, she had Brantain and his million left. A person can't +have everything in this world; and it was a little unreasonable of +her to expect it. + + + + + + + +A Pair of Silk Stockings + + + +Little Mrs. Sommers one day found herself the unexpected +possessor of fifteen dollars. It seemed to her a very large amount +of money, and the way in which it stuffed and bulged her worn old +porte-monnaie gave her a feeling of importance such as she had +not enjoyed for years. + +The question of investment was one that occupied her greatly. +For a day or two she walked about apparently in a dreamy state, but +really absorbed in speculation and calculation. She did not wish +to act hastily, to do anything she might afterward regret. But it +was during the still hours of the night when she lay awake +revolving plans in her mind that she seemed to see her way clearly +toward a proper and judicious use of the money. + +A dollar or two should be added to the price usually paid for +Janie's shoes, which would insure their lasting an appreciable time +longer than they usually did. She would buy so and so many yards +of percale for new shirt waists for the boys and Janie and Mag. +She had intended to make the old ones do by skilful patching. Mag +should have another gown. She had seen some beautiful patterns, +veritable bargains in the shop windows. And still there would be +left enough for new stockings--two pairs apiece--and what darning +that would save for a while! She would get caps for the boys and +sailor-hats for the girls. The vision of her little brood +looking fresh and dainty and new for once in their lives +excited her and made her restless and wakeful with anticipation. + +The neighbors sometimes talked of certain "better days" that +little Mrs. Sommers had known before she had ever thought of being +Mrs. Sommers. She herself indulged in no such morbid +retrospection. She had no time--no second of time to devote to the +past. The needs of the present absorbed her every faculty. A +vision of the future like some dim, gaunt monster sometimes +appalled her, but luckily to-morrow never comes. + +Mrs. Sommers was one who knew the value of bargains; who could +stand for hours making her way inch by inch toward the desired +object that was selling below cost. She could elbow her way if +need be; she had learned to clutch a piece of goods and hold it and +stick to it with persistence and determination till her turn came +to be served, no matter when it came. + +But that day she was a little faint and tired. She had +swallowed a light luncheon--no! when she came to think of it, +between getting the children fed and the place righted, and +preparing herself for the shopping bout, she had actually forgotten +to eat any luncheon at all! + +She sat herself upon a revolving stool before a counter that +was comparatively deserted, trying to gather strength and courage +to charge through an eager multitude that was besieging +breastworks of shirting and figured lawn. An all-gone limp feeling had +come over her and she rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter. +She wore no gloves. By degrees she grew aware that her hand had +encountered something very soothing, very pleasant to touch. She +looked down to see that her hand lay upon a pile of silk stockings. +A placard near by announced that they had been reduced in price +from two dollars and fifty cents to one dollar and ninety-eight +cents; and a young girl who stood behind the counter asked her if +she wished to examine their line of silk hosiery. She smiled, +just as if she had been asked to inspect a tiara of diamonds +with the ultimate view of purchasing it. But she went on +feeling the soft, sheeny luxurious things--with both hands now, +holding them up to see them glisten, and to feel them glide +serpent-like through her fingers. + +Two hectic blotches came suddenly into her pale cheeks. She +looked up at the girl. + +"Do you think there are any eights-and-a-half among these?" + +There were any number of eights-and-a-half. In fact, there +were more of that size than any other. Here was a light-blue pair; +there were some lavender, some all black and various shades of tan +and gray. Mrs. Sommers selected a black pair and looked at them +very long and closely. She pretended to be examining their +texture, which the clerk assured her was excellent. + +"A dollar and ninety-eight cents," she mused aloud. "Well, +I'll take this pair." She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and +waited for her change and for her parcel. What a very small parcel +it was! It seemed lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping-bag. + +Mrs. Sommers after that did not move in the direction of the +bargain counter. She took the elevator, which carried her to an +upper floor into the region of the ladies' waiting-rooms. Here, in +a retired corner, she exchanged her cotton stockings for the new +silk ones which she had just bought. She was not going through any +acute mental process or reasoning with herself, nor was she +striving to explain to her satisfaction the motive of her action. +She was not thinking at all. She seemed for the time to be taking +a rest from that laborious and fatiguing function and to have +abandoned herself to some mechanical impulse that directed her +actions and freed her of responsibility. + +How good was the touch of the raw silk to her flesh! She felt +like lying back in the cushioned chair and reveling for a while in +the luxury of it. She did for a little while. Then she replaced +her shoes, rolled the cotton stockings together and thrust them +into her bag. After doing this she crossed straight over to the +shoe department and took her seat to be fitted. + +She was fastidious. The clerk could not make her out; he +could not reconcile her shoes with her stockings, and she was not +too easily pleased. She held back her skirts and turned her feet +one way and her head another way as she glanced down at the +polished, pointed-tipped boots. Her foot and ankle looked very +pretty. She could not realize that they belonged to her and were +a part of herself. She wanted an excellent and stylish fit, she +told the young fellow who served her, and she did not mind the +difference of a dollar or two more in the price so long as she got +what she desired. + +It was a long time since Mrs. Sommers had been fitted with +gloves. On rare occasions when she had bought a pair they were +always "bargains," so cheap that it would have been preposterous +and unreasonable to have expected them to be fitted to the hand. + +Now she rested her elbow on the cushion of the glove counter, +and a pretty, pleasant young creature, delicate and deft of touch, +drew a long-wristed "kid" over Mrs. Sommers's hand. She smoothed +it down over the wrist and buttoned it neatly, and both lost +themselves for a second or two in admiring contemplation of the +little symmetrical gloved hand. But there were other places where +money might be spent. + +There were books and magazines piled up in the window of a +stall a few paces down the street. Mrs. Sommers bought two +high-priced magazines such as she had been accustomed to read in the +days when she had been accustomed to other pleasant things. She +carried them without wrapping. As well as she could she lifted her +skirts at the crossings. Her stockings and boots and well fitting +gloves had worked marvels in her bearing--had given her a feeling +of assurance, a sense of belonging to the well-dressed multitude. + +She was very hungry. Another time she would have stilled the +cravings for food until reaching her own home, where she would have +brewed herself a cup of tea and taken a snack of anything that was +available. But the impulse that was guiding her would not suffer her +to entertain any such thought. + +There was a restaurant at the corner. She had never entered +its doors; from the outside she had sometimes caught glimpses of +spotless damask and shining crystal, and soft-stepping waiters +serving people of fashion. + +When she entered her appearance created no surprise, no +consternation, as she had half feared it might. She seated herself +at a small table alone, and an attentive waiter at once approached +to take her order. She did not want a profusion; she craved a nice +and tasty bite--a half dozen blue-points, a plump chop with cress, +a something sweet--a creme-frappee, for instance; a glass of Rhine +wine, and after all a small cup of black coffee. + +While waiting to be served she removed her gloves very +leisurely and laid them beside her. Then she picked up a magazine +and glanced through it, cutting the pages with a blunt edge of her +knife. It was all very agreeable. The damask was even more +spotless than it had seemed through the window, and the crystal +more sparkling. There were quiet ladies and gentlemen, who did not +notice her, lunching at the small tables like her own. A soft, +pleasing strain of music could be heard, and a gentle breeze, was +blowing through the window. She tasted a bite, and she read a word +or two, and she sipped the amber wine and wiggled her toes in the +silk stockings. The price of it made no difference. She counted +the money out to the waiter and left an extra coin on his tray, +whereupon he bowed before her as before a princess of royal blood. + +There was still money in her purse, and her next temptation +presented itself in the shape of a matinee poster. + +It was a little later when she entered the theatre, the play +had begun and the house seemed to her to be packed. But there were +vacant seats here and there, and into one of them she was ushered, +between brilliantly dressed women who had gone there to kill time +and eat candy and display their gaudy attire. There were many +others who were there solely for the play and acting. It is safe +to say there was no one present who bore quite the attitude which Mrs. +Sommers did to her surroundings. She gathered in the whole--stage +and players and people in one wide impression, and absorbed it and +enjoyed it. She laughed at the comedy and wept--she and the gaudy +woman next to her wept over the tragedy. And they talked a little +together over it. And the gaudy woman wiped her eyes and sniffled +on a tiny square of filmy, perfumed lace and passed little Mrs. +Sommers her box of candy. + +The play was over, the music ceased, the crowd filed out. It +was like a dream ended. People scattered in all directions. Mrs. +Sommers went to the corner and waited for the cable car. + +A man with keen eyes, who sat opposite to her, seemed to like +the study of her small, pale face. It puzzled him to decipher what +he saw there. In truth, he saw nothing-unless he were wizard +enough to detect a poignant wish, a powerful longing that the cable +car would never stop anywhere, but go on and on with her forever. + + + + + + + +The Locket + + + + +I + + + +One night in autumn a few men were gathered about a fire on +the slope of a hill. They belonged to a small detachment of +Confederate forces and were awaiting orders to march. Their gray +uniforms were worn beyond the point of shabbiness. One of the men +was heating something in a tin cup over the embers. Two were lying +at full length a little distance away, while a fourth was trying to +decipher a letter and had drawn close to the light. He had +unfastened his collar and a good bit of his flannel shirt front. + +"What's that you got around your neck, Ned?" asked one of the +men lying in the obscurity. + +Ned--or Edmond--mechanically fastened another button of his +shirt and did not reply. He went on reading his letter. + +"Is it your sweet heart's picture?" + +"`Taint no gal's picture," offered the man at the fire. He +had removed his tin cup and was engaged in stirring its grimy +contents with a small stick. "That's a charm; some kind of hoodoo +business that one o' them priests gave him to keep him out o' +trouble. I know them Cath'lics. That's how come Frenchy got +permoted an never got a scratch sence he's been in the ranks. Hey, +French! aint I right?" Edmond looked up absently from his letter. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Aint that a charm you got round your neck?" + +"It must be, Nick," returned Edmond with a smile. "I don't know +how I could have gone through this year and a half without it." + +The letter had made Edmond heart sick and home sick. He +stretched himself on his back and looked straight up at the +blinking stars. But he was not thinking of them nor of anything +but a certain spring day when the bees were humming in the +clematis; when a girl was saying good bye to him. He could see her +as she unclasped from her neck the locket which she fastened about +his own. It was an old fashioned golden locket bearing miniatures +of her father and mother with their names and the date of their +marriage. It was her most precious earthly possession. Edmond +could feel again the folds of the girl's soft white gown, and see +the droop of the angel-sleeves as she circled her fair arms about +his neck. Her sweet face, appealing, pathetic, tormented by the +pain of parting, appeared before him as vividly as life. He turned +over, burying his face in his arm and there he lay, still and +motionless. + +The profound and treacherous night with its silence and +semblance of peace settled upon the camp. He dreamed that the fair +Octavie brought him a letter. He had no chair to offer her and was +pained and embarrassed at the condition of his garments. He was +ashamed of the poor food which comprised the dinner at which he +begged her to join them. + +He dreamt of a serpent coiling around his throat, and when he +strove to grasp it the slimy thing glided away from his clutch. +Then his dream was clamor. + +"Git your duds! you! Frenchy!" Nick was bellowing in his face. +There was what appeared to be a scramble and a rush rather than +any regulated movement. The hill side was alive with clatter +and motion; with sudden up-springing lights among the pines. +In the east the dawn was unfolding out of the darkness. +Its glimmer was yet dim in the plain below. + +"What's it all about?" wondered a big black bird perched in +the top of the tallest tree. He was an old solitary and a wise +one, yet he was not wise enough to guess what it was all about. +So all day long he kept blinking and wondering. + +The noise reached far out over the plain and across the hills +and awoke the little babes that were sleeping in their cradles. +The smoke curled up toward the sun and shadowed the plain so that +the stupid birds thought it was going to rain; but the wise one +knew better. + +"They are children playing a game," thought he. "I shall know +more about it if I watch long enough." + +At the approach of night they had all vanished away with their +din and smoke. Then the old bird plumed his feathers. At last he +had understood! With a flap of his great, black wings he shot +downward, circling toward the plain. + +A man was picking his way across the plain. He was dressed in +the garb of a clergyman. His mission was to administer the +consolations of religion to any of the prostrate figures in whom +there might yet linger a spark of life. A negro accompanied him, +bearing a bucket of water and a flask of wine. + +There were no wounded here; they had been borne away. But the +retreat had been hurried and the vultures and the good Samaritans +would have to look to the dead. + +There was a soldier--a mere boy--lying with his face to the +sky. His hands were clutching the sward on either side and his +finger nails were stuffed with earth and bits of grass that he had +gathered in his despairing grasp upon life. His musket was gone; +he was hatless and his face and clothing were begrimed. Around his +neck hung a gold chain and locket. The priest, bending over him, +unclasped the chain and removed it from the dead soldier's neck. +He had grown used to the terrors of war and could face them +unflinchingly; but its pathos, someway, always brought the tears +to his old, dim eyes. + +The angelus was ringing half a mile away. The priest and the +negro knelt and murmured together the evening benediction and a +prayer for the dead. + + + + +II + + + +The peace and beauty of a spring day had descended upon the +earth like a benediction. Along the leafy road which skirted a +narrow, tortuous stream in central Louisiana, rumbled an old +fashioned cabriolet, much the worse for hard and rough usage over +country roads and lanes. The fat, black horses went in a slow, +measured trot, notwithstanding constant urging on the part of the +fat, black coachman. Within the vehicle were seated the fair +Octavie and her old friend and neighbor, Judge Pillier, who had +come to take her for a morning drive. + +Octavie wore a plain black dress, severe in its simplicity. A +narrow belt held it at the waist and the sleeves were gathered into +close fitting wristbands. She had discarded her hoopskirt and +appeared not unlike a nun. Beneath the folds of her bodice nestled +the old locket. She never displayed it now. It had returned to +her sanctified in her eyes; made precious as material things +sometimes are by being forever identified with a significant moment +of one's existence. + +A hundred times she had read over the letter with which the +locket had come back to her. No later than that morning she had +again pored over it. As she sat beside the window, smoothing the +letter out upon her knee, heavy and spiced odors stole in to her +with the songs of birds and the humming of insects in the air. + +She was so young and the world was so beautiful that there +came over her a sense of unreality as she read again and again the +priest's letter. He told of that autumn day drawing to its close, +with the gold and the red fading out of the west, and the night +gathering its shadows to cover the faces of the dead. Oh! She +could not believe that one of those dead was her own! with visage +uplifted to the gray sky in an agony of supplication. A spasm of +resistance and rebellion seized and swept over her. Why was the +spring here with its flowers and its seductive breath if he was +dead! Why was she here! What further had she to do with life and +the living! + +Octavie had experienced many such moments of despair, but a +blessed resignation had never failed to follow, and it fell then +upon her like a mantle and enveloped her. + +"I shall grow old and quiet and sad like poor Aunt Tavie," she +murmured to herself as she folded the letter and replaced it in the +secretary. Already she gave herself a little demure air like her +Aunt Tavie. She walked with a slow glide in unconscious imitation +of Mademoiselle Tavie whom some youthful affliction had robbed of +earthly compensation while leaving her in possession of youth's +illusions. + +As she sat in the old cabriolet beside the father of her dead +lover, again there came to Octavie the terrible sense of loss which +had assailed her so often before. The soul of her youth clamored +for its rights; for a share in the world's glory and exultation. +She leaned back and drew her veil a little closer about her face. +It was an old black veil of her Aunt Tavie's. A whiff of dust from +the road had blown in and she wiped her cheeks and her eyes with +her soft, white handkerchief, a homemade handkerchief, fabricated +from one of her old fine muslin petticoats. + +"Will you do me the favor, Octavie," requested the judge in +the courteous tone which he never abandoned, "to remove that veil +which you wear. It seems out of harmony, someway, with the beauty +and promise of the day." + +The young girl obediently yielded to her old companion's wish +and unpinning the cumbersome, sombre drapery from her bonnet, +folded it neatly and laid it upon the seat in front of her. + +"Ah! that is better; far better!" he said in a tone expressing +unbounded relief. "Never put it on again, dear." Octavie felt a +little hurt; as if he wished to debar her from share and parcel in +the burden of affliction which had been placed upon all of them. +Again she drew forth the old muslin handkerchief. + +They had left the big road and turned into a level plain which +had formerly been an old meadow. There were clumps of thorn trees +here and there, gorgeous in their spring radiance. Some cattle +were grazing off in the distance in spots where the grass was tall +and luscious. At the far end of the meadow was the towering lilac +hedge, skirting the lane that led to Judge Pillier's house, and the +scent of its heavy blossoms met them like a soft and tender embrace +of welcome. + +As they neared the house the old gentleman placed an arm +around the girl's shoulders and turning her face up to him he said: +"Do you not think that on a day like this, miracles might happen? +When the whole earth is vibrant with life, does it not seem to you, +Octavie, that heaven might for once relent and give us back our +dead?" He spoke very low, advisedly, and impressively. In his +voice was an old quaver which was not habitual and there was +agitation in every line of his visage. She gazed at him with eyes +that were full of supplication and a certain terror of joy. + +They had been driving through the lane with the towering hedge +on one side and the open meadow on the other. The horses had +somewhat quickened their lazy pace. As they turned into the avenue +leading to the house, a whole choir of feathered songsters fluted +a sudden torrent of melodious greeting from their leafy hiding +places. + +Octavie felt as if she had passed into a stage of existence +which was like a dream, more poignant and real than life. +There was the old gray house with its sloping eaves. +Amid the blur of green, and dimly, she saw familiar faces +and heard voices as if they came from far across the fields, +and Edmond was holding her. Her dead Edmond; her living Edmond, +and she felt the beating of his heart against her and the agonizing +rapture of his kisses striving to awake her. It was as if the spirit +of life and the awakening spring had given back the soul to her youth +and bade her rejoice. + +It was many hours later that Octavie drew the locket from her +bosom and looked at Edmond with a questioning appeal in her glance. + +"It was the night before an engagement," he said. "In the +hurry of the encounter, and the retreat next day, I never missed it +till the fight was over. I thought of course I had lost it in the +heat of the struggle, but it was stolen." + +"Stolen," she shuddered, and thought of the dead soldier with +his face uplifted to the sky in an agony of supplication. + +Edmond said nothing; but he thought of his messmate; the one +who had lain far back in the shadow; the one who had said nothing. + + + + + + + +A Reflection + + + +Some people are born with a vital and responsive energy. It +not only enables them to keep abreast of the times; it qualifies +them to furnish in their own personality a good bit of the motive +power to the mad pace. They are fortunate beings. They do not +need to apprehend the significance of things. They do not grow +weary nor miss step, nor do they fall out of rank and sink by the +wayside to be left contemplating the moving procession. + +Ah! that moving procession that has left me by the road-side! +Its fantastic colors are more brilliant and beautiful than the sun +on the undulating waters. What matter if souls and bodies are +failing beneath the feet of the ever-pressing multitude! It moves +with the majestic rhythm of the spheres. Its discordant clashes +sweep upward in one harmonious tone that blends with the music of +other worlds--to complete God's orchestra. + +It is greater than the stars--that moving procession of human +energy; greater than the palpitating earth and the things growing +thereon. Oh! I could weep at being left by the wayside; left with +the grass and the clouds and a few dumb animals. True, I feel at +home in the society of these symbols of life's immutability. +In the procession I should feel the crushing feet, +the clashing discords, the ruthless hands and stifling breath. +I could not hear the rhythm of the march. + +Salve! ye dumb hearts. Let us be still and wait by the roadside. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of Awakening & Selected Short Stories + + + + |