Chapter X

by Kate Chopin

　　At all events Robert proposed it, and there was not adissenting voice. There was not one but was ready to follow whenhe led the way. He did not lead the way, however, he directed theway; and he himself loitered behind with the lovers, who hadbetrayed a disposition to linger and hold themselves apart. Hewalked between them, whether with malicious or mischievous intentwas not wholly clear, even to himself.The Pontelliers and Ratignolles walked ahead; the womenleaning upon the arms of their husbands. Edna could hear Robert'svoice behind them, and could sometimes hear what he said. Shewondered why he did not join them. It was unlike him not to. Oflate he had sometimes held away from her for an entire day,redoubling his devotion upon the next and the next, as though tomake up for hours that had been lost. She missed him the days whensome pretext served to take him away from her, just as one missesthe sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sunwhen it was shining.The people walked in little groups toward the beach. Theytalked and laughed; some of them sang. There was a band playingdown at Klein's hotel, and the strains reached them faintly,tempered by the distance. There were strange, rare odors abroad--a tangle of the sea smell and of weeds and damp, new-plowed earth,mingled with the heavy perfume of a field of white blossomssomewhere near. But the night sat lightly upon the sea and theland. There was no weight of darkness; there were no shadows. Thewhite light of the moon had fallen upon the world like the mysteryand the softness of sleep.Most of them walked into the water as though into a native element.The sea was quiet now, and swelled lazily in broad billows that meltedinto one another and did not break except upon the beach in littlefoamy crests that coiled back like slow, white serpents.Edna had attempted all summer to learn to swim. She hadreceived instructions from both the men and women; in someinstances from the children. Robert had pursued a system oflessons almost daily; and he was nearly at the point ofdiscouragement in realizing the futility of his efforts. A certainungovernable dread hung about her when in the water, unless therewas a hand near by that might reach out and reassure her.But that night she was like the little tottering, stumbling,clutching child, who of a sudden realizes its powers, and walks forthe first time alone, boldly and with over-confidence. She couldhave shouted for joy. She did shout for joy, as with a sweepingstroke or two she lifted her body to the surface of the water.A feeling of exultation overtook her, as if some power ofsignificant import had been given her to control the working of herbody and her soul. She grew daring and reckless, overestimatingher strength. She wanted to swim far out, where no woman had swumbefore.Her unlooked-for achievement was the subject of wonder,applause, and admiration. Each one congratulated himself that hisspecial teachings had accomplished this desired end."How easy it is!" she thought. "It is nothing," she saidaloud; "why did I not discover before that it was nothing. Thinkof the time I have lost splashing about like a baby!" She would notjoin the groups in their sports and bouts, but intoxicated with hernewly conquered power, she swam out alone.She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression ofspace and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting andmelting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. Asshe swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in whichto lose herself.Once she turned and looked toward the shore, toward the peopleshe had left there. She had not gone any great distance that is,what would have been a great distance for an experienced swimmer.But to her unaccustomed vision the stretch of water behind herassumed the aspect of a barrier which her unaided strengthwould never be able to overcome.A quick vision of death smote her soul, and for a second oftime appalled and enfeebled her senses. But by an effort sherallied her staggering faculties and managed to regain the land.She made no mention of her encounter with death and her flashof terror, except to say to her husband, "I thought I should haveperished out there alone.""You were not so very far, my dear; I was watching you", hetold her.Edna went at once to the bath-house, and she had put on herdry clothes and was ready to return home before the others had leftthe water. She started to walk away alone. They all called to herand shouted to her. She waved a dissenting hand, and went on,paying no further heed to their renewed cries which sought todetain her."Sometimes I am tempted to think that Mrs. Pontellier iscapricious," said Madame Lebrun, who was amusing herself immenselyand feared that Edna's abrupt departure might put an end to thepleasure."I know she is," assented Mr. Pontellier; "sometimes, notoften."Edna had not traversed a quarter of the distance on her wayhome before she was overtaken by Robert."Did you think I was afraid?" she asked him, without a shadeof annoyance."No; I knew you weren't afraid.""Then why did you come? Why didn't you stay out there with theothers?""I never thought of it.""Thought of what?""Of anything. What difference does it make?""I'm very tired," she uttered, complainingly."I know you are.""You don't know anything about it. Why should you know? Inever was so exhausted in my life. But it isn't unpleasant. Athousand emotions have swept through me to-night. I don'tcomprehend half of them. Don't mind what I'm saying; I am justthinking aloud. I wonder if I shall ever be stirred again asMademoiselle Reisz's playing moved me to-night. I wonder if anynight on earth will ever again be like this one. It is like anight in a dream. The people about me are like some uncanny,half-human beings. There must be spirits abroad to-night.""There are," whispered Robert, "Didn't you know this wasthe twenty-eighth of August?""The twenty-eighth of August?""Yes. On the twenty-eighth of August, at the hour ofmidnight, and if the moon is shining--the moon must be shining--aspirit that has haunted these shores for ages rises up from theGulf. With its own penetrating vision the spirit seeks some onemortal worthy to hold him company, worthy of being exalted for afew hours into realms of the semi-celestials. His search hasalways hitherto been fruitless, and he has sunk back, disheartened,into the sea. But to-night he found Mrs. Pontellier. Perhaps hewill never wholly release her from the spell. Perhaps she willnever again suffer a poor, unworthy earthling to walk in the shadowof her divine presence.""Don't banter me," she said, wounded at what appeared to behis flippancy. He did not mind the entreaty, but the tone with itsdelicate note of pathos was like a reproach. He could not explain;he could not tell her that he had penetrated her mood andunderstood. He said nothing except to offer her his arm, for, byher own admission, she was exhausted. She had been walking alonewith her arms hanging limp, letting her white skirts trail alongthe dewy path. She took his arm, but she did not lean upon it.She let her hand lie listlessly, as though her thoughts wereelsewhere--somewhere in advance of her body, and she was strivingto overtake them.Robert assisted her into the hammock which swung from the postbefore her door out to the trunk of a tree."Will you stay out here and wait for Mr. Pontellier?" heasked."I'll stay out here. Good-night.""Shall I get you a pillow?""There's one here," she said, feeling about, for they were inthe shadow."It must be soiled; the children have been tumbling it about.""No matter." And having discovered the pillow, she adjusted itbeneath her head. She extended herself in the hammock with a deepbreath of relief. She was not a supercilious or an over-daintywoman. She was not much given to reclining in the hammock, andwhen she did so it was with no cat-like suggestion of voluptuousease, but with a beneficent repose which seemed to invade her wholebody."Shall I stay with you till Mr. Pontellier comes?" askedRobert, seating himself on the outer edge of one of the steps andtaking hold of the hammock rope which was fastened to the post."If you wish. Don't swing the hammock. Will you get my whiteshawl which I left on the window-sill over at the house?""Are you chilly?""No; but I shall be presently.""Presently?" he laughed. "Do you know what time it is?How long are you going to stay out here?""I don't know. Will you get the shawl?""Of course I will," he said, rising. He went over to thehouse, walking along the grass. She watched his figure pass in andout of the strips of moonlight. It was past midnight. It was veryquiet.When he returned with the shawl she took it and kept it in herhand. She did not put it around her."Did you say I should stay till Mr. Pontellier came back?""I said you might if you wished to."He seated himself again and rolled a cigarette, which hesmoked in silence. Neither did Mrs. Pontellier speak.No multitude of words could have been more significant than thosemoments of silence, or more pregnant with the first-felt throbbingsof desire.When the voices of the bathers were heard approaching, Robertsaid good-night. She did not answer him. He thought she wasasleep. Again she watched his figure pass in and out of the stripsof moonlight as he walked away.