Chapter V

by Kate Chopin

　　They formed a congenial group sitting there that summerafternoon--Madame Ratignolle sewing away, often stopping to relatea story or incident with much expressive gesture of her perfecthands; Robert and Mrs. Pontellier sitting idle, exchangingoccasional words, glances or smiles which indicated a certainadvanced stage of intimacy and camaraderie.He had lived in her shadow during the past month. No onethought anything of it. Many had predicted that Robert woulddevote himself to Mrs. Pontellier when he arrived. Since the ageof fifteen, which was eleven years before, Robert each summer atGrand Isle had constituted himself the devoted attendant of somefair dame or damsel. Sometimes it was a young girl, again a widow;but as often as not it was some interesting married woman.For two consecutive seasons he lived in the sunlight ofMademoiselle Duvigne's presence. But she died between summers;then Robert posed as an inconsolable, prostrating himself at thefeet of Madame Ratignolle for whatever crumbs of sympathy andcomfort she might be pleased to vouchsafe.Mrs. Pontellier liked to sit and gaze at her fair companion asshe might look upon a faultless Madonna."Could any one fathom the cruelty beneath that fair exterior?"murmured Robert. "She knew that I adored her once, and she let meadore her. It was `Robert, come; go; stand up; sit down; do this;do that; see if the baby sleeps; my thimble, please, that I leftGod knows where. Come and read Daudet to me while I sew.'""Par exemple! I never had to ask. You were always thereunder my feet, like a troublesome cat.""You mean like an adoring dog. And just as soon as Ratignolleappeared on the scene, then it was like a dog. `Passez! Adieu!Allez vous-en!'""Perhaps I feared to make Alphonse jealous," she interjoined, withexcessive naivete. That made them all laugh. The right handjealous of the left! The heart jealous of the soul! But for thatmatter, the Creole husband is never jealous; with him the gangrenepassion is one which has become dwarfed by disuse.Meanwhile Robert, addressing Mrs Pontellier, continued to tellof his one time hopeless passion for Madame Ratignolle; ofsleepless nights, of consuming flames till the very sea sizzledwhen he took his daily plunge. While the lady at the needle keptup a little running, contemptuous comment:"Blagueur--farceur--gros bete, va!"He never assumed this seriocomic tone when alone with Mrs.Pontellier. She never knew precisely what to make of it; at thatmoment it was impossible for her to guess how much of it was jestand what proportion was earnest. It was understood that he hadoften spoken words of love to Madame Ratignolle, without anythought of being taken seriously. Mrs. Pontellier was glad he hadnot assumed a similar role toward herself. It would have beenunacceptable and annoying.Mrs. Pontellier had brought her sketching materials, which shesometimes dabbled with in an unprofessional way. She liked thedabbling. She felt in it satisfaction of a kind which no otheremployment afforded her.She had long wished to try herself on Madame Ratignolle.Never had that lady seemed a more tempting subject than at thatmoment, seated there like some sensuous Madonna, with the gleam ofthe fading day enriching her splendid color.Robert crossed over and seated himself upon the step belowMrs. Pontellier, that he might watch her work. She handled herbrushes with a certain ease and freedom which came, not from longand close acquaintance with them, but from a natural aptitude.Robert followed her work with close attention, giving forth littleejaculatory expressions of appreciation in French, which he addressed toMadame Ratignolle."Mais ce n'est pas mal! Elle s'y connait, elle a de la force, oui."During his oblivious attention he once quietly rested his headagainst Mrs. Pontellier's arm. As gently she repulsed him. Onceagain he repeated the offense. She could not but believe it to bethoughtlessness on his part; yet that was no reason she shouldsubmit to it. She did not remonstrate, except again to repulse himquietly but firmly. He offered no apology.The picture completed bore no resemblance to Madame Ratignolle.She was greatly disappointed to find that it did not look like her.But it was a fair enough piece of work, and in many respectssatisfying.Mrs. Pontellier evidently did not think so. After surveyingthe sketch critically she drew a broad smudge of paint across itssurface, and crumpled the paper between her hands.The youngsters came tumbling up the steps, the quadroonfollowing at the respectful distance which they required her toobserve. Mrs. Pontellier made them carry her paints and thingsinto the house. She sought to detain them for a little talk andsome pleasantry. But they were greatly in earnest. They had onlycome to investigate the contents of the bonbon box. They acceptedwithout murmuring what she chose to give them, each holding out twochubby hands scoop-like, in the vain hope that they might befilled; and then away they went.The sun was low in the west, and the breeze soft andlanguorous that came up from the south, charged with the seductiveodor of the sea. Children freshly befurbelowed, were gathering fortheir games under the oaks. Their voices were high andpenetrating.Madame Ratignolle folded her sewing, placing thimble,scissors, and thread all neatly together in the roll, which shepinned securely. She complained of faintness. Mrs. Pontellierflew for the cologne water and a fan. She bathed Madame Ratignolle'sface with cologne, while Robert plied the fan with unnecessary vigor.The spell was soon over, and Mrs. Pontellier could not helpwondering if there were not a little imagination responsible forits origin, for the rose tint had never faded from her friend's face.She stood watching the fair woman walk down the long line ofgalleries with the grace and majesty which queens are sometimessupposed to possess. Her little ones ran to meet her. Two of themclung about her white skirts, the third she took from its nurse andwith a thousand endearments bore it along in her own fond,encircling arms. Though, as everybody well knew, the doctor hadforbidden her to lift so much as a pin!"Are you going bathing?" asked Robert of Mrs. Pontellier. Itwas not so much a question as a reminder."Oh, no," she answered, with a tone of indecision. "I'mtired; I think not." Her glance wandered from his face away towardthe Gulf, whose sonorous murmur reached her like a loving butimperative entreaty."Oh, come!" he insisted. "You mustn't miss your bath. Comeon. The water must be delicious; it will not hurt you. Come."He reached up for her big, rough straw hat that hung on a pegoutside the door, and put it on her head. They descended thesteps, and walked away together toward the beach. The sun was lowin the west and the breeze was soft and warm.