Chapter II

by Kate Chopin

　　Mrs. Pontellier's eyes were quick and bright; they were ayellowish brown, about the color of her hair. She had a way ofturning them swiftly upon an object and holding them there as iflost in some inward maze of contemplation or thought.Her eyebrows were a shade darker than her hair. They werethick and almost horizontal, emphasizing the depth of her eyes.She was rather handsome than beautiful. Her face was captivatingby reason of a certain frankness of expression and a contradictorysubtle play of features. Her manner was engaging.Robert rolled a cigarette. He smoked cigarettes because hecould not afford cigars, he said. He had a cigar in his pocketwhich Mr. Pontellier had presented him with, and he was saving itfor his after-dinner smoke.This seemed quite proper and natural on his part. In coloringhe was not unlike his companion. A clean-shaved face made theresemblance more pronounced than it would otherwise have been.There rested no shadow of care upon his open countenance. His eyesgathered in and reflected the light and languor of the summer day.Mrs. Pontellier reached over for a palm-leaf fan that lay onthe porch and began to fan herself, while Robert sent between hislips light puffs from his cigarette. They chatted incessantly:about the things around them; their amusing adventure out in thewater-it had again assumed its entertaining aspect; about the wind, the trees,the people who had gone to the Cheniere; about the children playing croquetunder the oaks, and the Farival twins, who were now performing the overtureto "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 aboutherself for the same reason. Each was interested in what the othersaid. Robert spoke of his intention to go to Mexico in the autumn,where fortune awaited him. He was always intending to go toMexico, but some way never got there. Meanwhile he held on to hismodest position in a mercantile house in New Orleans, where anequal familiarity with English, French and Spanish gave him nosmall value as a clerk and correspondent.He was spending his summer vacation, as he always did, withhis mother at Grand Isle. In former times, before Robert couldremember, "the house" had been a summer luxury of the Lebruns.Now, flanked by its dozen or more cottages, which were alwaysfilled with exclusive visitors from the "Quartier Francais,"it enabled Madame Lebrun to maintain the easy and comfortableexistence which appeared to be her birthright.Mrs. Pontellier talked about her father's Mississippiplantation and her girlhood home in the old Kentucky bluegrasscountry. She was an American woman, with a small infusion ofFrench which seemed to have been lost in dilution. She read aletter from her sister, who was away in the East, and who hadengaged herself to be married. Robert was interested, and wantedto know what manner of girls the sisters were, what the father waslike, and how long the mother had been dead.When Mrs. Pontellier folded the letter it was time for her todress for the early dinner."I see Leonce isn't coming back," she said, with a glance inthe direction whence her husband had disappeared. Robert supposedhe 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 mandescended the steps and strolled over toward the croquet players,where, during the half-hour before dinner, he amused himself withthe little Pontellier children, who were very fond of him.