Chapter XXI

by Kate Chopin

　　Some people contended that the reason Mademoiselle Reiszalways chose apartments up under the roof was to discourage theapproach of beggars, peddlars and callers. There were plenty ofwindows in her little front room. They were for the most partdingy, but as they were nearly always open it did not make so muchdifference. They often admitted into the room a good deal of smokeand soot; but at the same time all the light and air that there wascame through them. From her windows could be seen the crescent ofthe river, the masts of ships and the big chimneys of theMississippi steamers. A magnificent piano crowded the apartment.In the next room she slept, and in the third and last she harboreda gasoline stove on which she cooked her meals when disinclined todescend to the neighboring restaurant. It was there also that sheate, keeping her belongings in a rare old buffet, dingy andbattered from a hundred years of use.When Edna knocked at Mademoiselle Reisz's front room door andentered, she discovered that person standing beside the window,engaged in mending or patching an old prunella gaiter. The littlemusician laughed all over when she saw Edna. Her laugh consistedof 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 violetson 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. Thetwo had seated themselves on a little bumpy sofa which stoodagainst the wall. "I am glad, however, that you came. I have thewater 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'shand 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 nevercome. She promised as those women in society always do, withoutmeaning it. She will not come.' For I really don't believe youlike me, Mrs. Pontellier.""I don't know whether I like you or not," replied Edna, gazingdown at the little woman with a quizzical look.The candor of Mrs. Pontellier's admission greatly pleasedMademoiselle Reisz. She expressed her gratification by repairingforthwith to the region of the gasoline stove and rewarding herguest with the promised cup of coffee. The coffee and the biscuitaccompanying it proved very acceptable to Edna, who had declinedrefreshment at Madame Lebrun's and was now beginning to feelhungry. Mademoiselle set the tray which she brought in upon asmall table near at hand, and seated herself once again on thelumpy sofa."I have had a letter from your friend," she remarked, as shepoured 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 yourcoffee; drink it. Though the letter might as well have been sentto 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 andthe 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. Pontelliersays,' or `as Mrs. Pontellier once said.' `If Mrs. Pontelliershould call upon you, play for her that Impromptu of Chopin's, myfavorite. I heard it here a day or two ago, but not as you playit. I should like to know how it affects her,' and so on, as if hesupposed 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 yourtalent or your temperament. To be an artist includes much;one must possess many gifts--absolute gifts--which have notbeen acquired by one's own effort. And, moreover, to succeed, theartist must possess the courageous soul.""What do you mean by the courageous soul?""Courageous, ma foi! The brave soul. The soul that daresand defies.""Show me the letter and play for me the Impromptu. You see thatI 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 littletable upon which Edna had just placed her coffee cup. Mademoiselleopened the drawer and drew forth the letter, the topmost one. Sheplaced it in Edna's hands, and without further comment arose andwent to the piano.Mademoiselle played a soft interlude. It was animprovisation. She sat low at the instrument, and the lines of her bodysettled into ungraceful curves and angles that gave it anappearance of deformity. Gradually and imperceptibly the interludemelted into the soft opening minor chords of the Chopin Impromptu.Edna did not know when the Impromptu began or ended. She satin the sofa corner reading Robert's letter by the fading light.Mademoiselle had glided from the Chopin into the quiveringlovenotes of Isolde's song, and back again to the Impromptu with itssoulful and poignant longing.The shadows deepened in the little room. The music grewstrange and fantastic--turbulent, insistent, plaintive and softwith entreaty. The shadows grew deeper. The music filled theroom. It floated out upon the night, over the housetops, thecrescent of the river, losing itself in the silence of the upperair.Edna was sobbing, just as she had wept one midnight at GrandIsle when strange, new voices awoke in her. She arose in some agitationto take her departure. "May I come again, Mademoiselle?" she askedat the threshold."Come whenever you feel like it. Be careful; the stairs andlandings are dark; don't stumble."Mademoiselle reentered and lit a candle. Robert's letter wason the floor. She stooped and picked it up. It was crumpled anddamp with tears. Mademoiselle smoothed the letter out, restored itto the envelope, and replaced it in the table drawer.