The Awakening Other Short Stories | Page 5

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,