Chapter XXII

by Kate Chopin

　　One morning on his way into town Mr. Pontellier stopped at thehouse of his old friend and family physician, Doctor Mandelet. TheDoctor was a semi-retired physician, resting, as the saying is,upon his laurels. He bore a reputation for wisdom rather thanskill--leaving the active practice of medicine to his assistantsand younger contemporaries--and was much sought for in matters ofconsultation. A few families, united to him by bonds offriendship, he still attended when they required the services of aphysician. The Pontelliers were among these.Mr. Pontellier found the Doctor reading at the open window ofhis study. His house stood rather far back from the street, in thecenter of a delightful garden, so that it was quiet and peaceful atthe old gentleman's study window. He was a great reader. Hestared up disapprovingly over his eye-glasses as Mr. Pontellierentered, wondering who had the temerity to disturb him at that hourof 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 aprofusion of gray hair, and small blue eyes which age had robbedof much of their brightness but none of their penetration."Oh! I'm never sick, Doctor. You know that I come of toughfiber--of that old Creole race of Pontelliers that dry up andfinally blow away. I came to consult--no, not precisely toconsult--to talk to you about Edna. I don't know what ails her.""Madame Pontellier not well," marveled the Doctor. "Why, Isaw her--I think it was a week ago--walking along Canal Street, thepicture of health, it seemed to me.""Yes, yes; she seems quite well," said Mr. Pontellier, leaningforward and whirling his stick between his two hands; "but shedoesn't act well. She's odd, she's not like herself. I can't makeher 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 goto 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 wholeattitude--toward me and everybody and everything--has changed. Youknow I have a quick temper, but I don't want to quarrel or be rudeto a woman, especially my wife; yet I'm driven to it, and feel liketen thousand devils after I've made a fool of myself. She's makingit devilishly uncomfortable for me," he went on nervously. "She'sgot some sort of notion in her head concerning the eternal rightsof women; and--you understand--we meet in the morning at thebreakfast table."The old gentleman lifted his shaggy eyebrows, protruded histhick nether lip, and tapped the arms of his chair with hiscushioned fingertips."What have you been doing to her, Pontellier?""Doing! Parbleu!""Has she," asked the Doctor, with a smile, "has she been associatingof late with a circle of pseudo-intellectual women--super-spiritualsuperior beings? My wife has been telling me about them.""That's the trouble," broke in Mr. Pontellier, "she hasn'tbeen associating with any one. She has abandoned her Tuesdays athome, has thrown over all her acquaintances, and goes trampingabout 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 littleworried over it."This was a new aspect for the Doctor. "Nothing hereditary?"he asked, seriously. "Nothing peculiar about her familyantecedents, is there?""Oh, no, indeed! She comes of sound old Presbyterian Kentuckystock. The old gentleman, her father, I have heard, used to atonefor his weekday sins with his Sunday devotions. I know for a fact,that his race horses literally ran away with the prettiest bit ofKentucky farming land I ever laid eyes upon. Margaret--you knowMargaret--she has all the Presbyterianism undiluted. And theyoungest is something of a vixen. By the way, she gets married in acouple of weeks from now.""Send your wife up to the wedding," exclaimed the Doctor,foreseeing a happy solution. "Let her stay among her own peoplefor 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 onearth. Nice thing for a woman to say to her husband!" exclaimedMr. 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 lether bother you. Woman, my dear friend, is a very peculiar anddelicate organism--a sensitive and highly organized woman, such asI know Mrs. Pontellier to be, is especially peculiar. It wouldrequire an inspired psychologist to deal successfully with them.And when ordinary fellows like you and me attempt to cope withtheir idiosyncrasies the result is bungling. Most women are moodyand whimsical. This is some passing whim of your wife, due to somecause 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'lldrop in to dinner some evening en bon ami."Do! by all means," urged Mr. Pontellier. "What evening willyou come? Say Thursday. Will you come Thursday?" he asked, risingto take his leave."Very well; Thursday. My wife may possibly have someengagement 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 bigscheme on hand, and want to be on the field proper to pull theropes and handle the ribbons. We'll let you in on the inside ifyou say so, Doctor," he laughed."No, I thank you, my dear sir," returned the Doctor. "I leavesuch ventures to you younger men with the fever of life still inyour blood.""What I wanted to say," continued Mr. Pontellier, with hishand on the knob; "I may have to be absent a good while. Would youadvise 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 maytake a month, two, three months--possibly longer, but it will pass;have patience.""Well, good-by, a jeudi, " said Mr. Pontellier, as he lethimself out.The Doctor would have liked during the course of conversationto ask, "Is there any man in the case?" but he knew his Creole toowell to make such a blunder as that.He did not resume his book immediately, but sat for a whilemeditatively looking out into the garden.