The Awakening Other Short Stories | Page 4

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