Chapter XV

by Kate Chopin

　　When Edna entered the dining-room one evening a little late,as was her habit, an unusually animated conversation seemed to begoing on. Several persons were talking at once, and Victor's voicewas predominating, even over that of his mother. Edna had returnedlate from her bath, had dressed in some haste, and her face wasflushed. Her head, set off by her dainty white gown, suggested arich, rare blossom. She took her seat at table between oldMonsieur Farival and Madame Ratignolle.As she seated herself and was about to begin to eat her soup,which had been served when she entered the room, several personsinformed her simultaneously that Robert was going to Mexico.She laid her spoon down and looked about her bewildered.He had been with her, reading to her all the morning,and had never even mentioned such a place as Mexico.She had not seen him during the afternoon; she had heardsome one say he was at the house, upstairs with his mother.This she had thought nothing of, though she was surprisedwhen he did not join her later in the afternoon,when she went down to the beach.She looked across at him, where he sat beside Madame Lebrun,who presided. Edna's face was a blank picture of bewilderment,which she never thought of disguising. He lifted his eyebrows withthe pretext of a smile as he returned her glance. He lookedembarrassed and uneasy. "When is he going?" she asked of everybodyin general, as if Robert were not there to answer for himself."To-night!" "This very evening!" "Did you ever!""What possesses him!" were some of the replies she gathered,uttered simultaneously in French and English."Impossible!" she exclaimed. "How can a person start off fromGrand Isle to Mexico at a moment's notice, as if he were going overto Klein's or to the wharf or down to the beach?""I said all along I was going to Mexico; I've been saying sofor years!" cried Robert, in an excited and irritable tone, withthe air of a man defending himself against a swarm of stinginginsects.Madame Lebrun knocked on the table with her knife handle."Please let Robert explain why he is going, and why he isgoing to-night," she called out. "Really, this table is getting tobe more and more like Bedlam every day, with everybody talking atonce. Sometimes--I hope God will forgive me--but positively,sometimes I wish Victor would lose the power of speech."Victor laughed sardonically as he thanked his mother for herholy wish, of which he failed to see the benefit to anybody, exceptthat it might afford her a more ample opportunity and license totalk herself.Monsieur Farival thought that Victor should have been takenout in mid-ocean in his earliest youth and drowned. Victor thoughtthere would be more logic in thus disposing of old people with anestablished claim for making themselves universally obnoxious.Madame Lebrun grew a trifle hysterical; Robert called his brothersome sharp, hard names."There's nothing much to explain, mother," he said; though heexplained, nevertheless--looking chiefly at Edna--that he couldonly meet the gentleman whom he intended to join at Vera Cruz bytaking such and such a steamer, which left New Orleans on such aday; that Beaudelet was going out with his lugger-load ofvegetables that night, which gave him an opportunity of reachingthe city and making his vessel in time."But when did you make up your mind to all this?" demandedMonsieur Farival."This afternoon," returned Robert, with a shade of annoyance."At what time this afternoon?" persisted the old gentleman,with nagging determination, as if he were cross-questioning acriminal in a court of justice."At four o'clock this afternoon, Monsieur Farival," Robertreplied, in a high voice and with a lofty air, which reminded Ednaof some gentleman on the stage.She had forced herself to eat most of her soup, and now shewas picking the flaky bits of a court bouillon with her fork.The lovers were profiting by the general conversation onMexico to speak in whispers of matters which they rightlyconsidered were interesting to no one but themselves. The lady inblack had once received a pair of prayer-beads of curiousworkmanship from Mexico, with very special indulgence attached tothem, but she had never been able to ascertain whether theindulgence extended outside the Mexican border. Father Fochel ofthe Cathedral had attempted to explain it; but he had not done soto her satisfaction. And she begged that Robert would interesthimself, and discover, if possible, whether she was entitled tothe indulgence accompanying the remarkably curious Mexican prayer-beads.Madame Ratignolle hoped that Robert would exercise extremecaution in dealing with the Mexicans, who, she considered, were atreacherous people, unscrupulous and revengeful. She trusted shedid them no injustice in thus condemning them as a race. She hadknown personally but one Mexican, who made and sold excellenttamales, and whom she would have trusted implicitly, so softspokenwas he. One day he was arrested for stabbing his wife. She neverknew whether he had been hanged or not.Victor had grown hilarious, and was attempting to tell ananecdote about a Mexican girl who served chocolate one winter in arestaurant in Dauphine Street. No one would listen to him but oldMonsieur Farival, who went into convulsions over the droll story.Edna wondered if they had all gone mad, to be talking andclamoring at that rate. She herself could think of nothing to sayabout Mexico or the Mexicans."At what time do you leave?" she asked Robert."At ten," he told her. "Beaudelet wants to wait for the moon.""Are you all ready to go?""Quite ready. I shall only take a hand-bag, and shall pack mytrunk in the city."He turned to answer some question put to him by his mother,and Edna, having finished her black coffee, left the table.She went directly to her room. The little cottage was closeand stuffy after leaving the outer air. But she did not mind;there appeared to be a hundred different things demanding herattention indoors. She began to set the toilet-stand to rights,grumbling at the negligence of the quadroon, who was in theadjoining room putting the children to bed. She gathered togetherstray garments that were hanging on the backs of chairs, and puteach where it belonged in closet or bureau drawer. She changed hergown for a more comfortable and commodious wrapper. She rearrangedher hair, combing and brushing it with unusual energy. Then she went inand assisted the quadroon in getting the boys to bed.They were very playful and inclined to talk--to do anythingbut lie quiet and go to sleep. Edna sent the quadroon away to hersupper and told her she need not return. Then she sat and told thechildren a story. Instead of soothing it excited them, and addedto their wakefulness. She left them in heated argument,speculating about the conclusion of the tale which their motherpromised to finish the following night.The little black girl came in to say that Madame Lebrun wouldlike to have Mrs. Pontellier go and sit with them over at the housetill Mr. Robert went away. Edna returned answer that she hadalready undressed, that she did not feel quite well, but perhapsshe would go over to the house later. She started to dress again,and got as far advanced as to remove her peignoir. Butchanging her mind once more she resumed the peignoir, and wentoutside and sat down before her door. She was overheated andirritable, and fanned herself energetically for a while. MadameRatignolle came down to discover what was the matter."All that noise and confusion at the table must have upsetme," replied Edna, "and moreover, I hate shocks and surprises.The idea of Robert starting off in such a ridiculously suddenand dramatic way! As if it were a matter of life and death!Never saying a word about it all morning when he was with me.""Yes," agreed Madame Ratignolle. "I think it was showing usall--you especially--very little consideration. It wouldn't havesurprised me in any of the others; those Lebruns are all given toheroics. But I must say I should never have expected such a thingfrom Robert. Are you not coming down? Come on, dear; it doesn'tlook friendly.""No," said Edna, a little sullenly. "I can't go to thetrouble of dressing again; I don't feel like it.""You needn't dress; you look all right; fasten a belt aroundyour waist. Just look at me!""No," persisted Edna; "but you go on. Madame Lebrun might beoffended if we both stayed away."Madame Ratignolle kissed Edna good-night, and went away, beingin truth rather desirous of joining in the general and animatedconversation which was still in progress concerning Mexico and theMexicans.Somewhat later Robert came up, carrying his hand-bag."Aren't you feeling well?" he asked."Oh, well enough. Are you going right away?"He lit a match and looked at his watch. "In twenty minutes,"he said. The sudden and brief flare of the match emphasized thedarkness for a while. He sat down upon a stool which the childrenhad left out on the porch."Get a chair," said Edna."This will do," he replied. He put on his soft hat andnervously took it off again, and wiping his face with hishandkerchief, complained of the heat."Take the fan," said Edna, offering it to him."Oh, no! Thank you. It does no good; you have to stop fanningsome time, and feel all the more uncomfortable afterward.""That's one of the ridiculous things which men always say. Ihave never known one to speak otherwise of fanning. How long willyou be gone?""Forever, perhaps. I don't know. It depends upon a good many things.""Well, in case it shouldn't be forever, how long will it be?""I don't know.""This seems to me perfectly preposterous and uncalled for. Idon't like it. I don't understand your motive for silence andmystery, never saying a word to me about it this morning." Heremained silent, not offering to defend himself. He only said,after a moment:"Don't part from me in any ill humor. I never knew you to beout of patience with me before.""I don't want to part in any ill humor," she said. "But can'tyou understand? I've grown used to seeing you, to having you withme all the time, and your action seems unfriendly, even unkind.You don't even offer an excuse for it. Why, I was planning to be together,thinking of how pleasant it would be to see you in the city next winter.""So was I," he blurted. "Perhaps that's the--" He stood upsuddenly and held out his hand. "Good-by, my dear Mrs. Pontellier;good-by. You won't--I hope you won't completely forget me."She clung to his hand, striving to detain him."Write to me when you get there, won't you, Robert?" she entreated."I will, thank you. Good-by."How unlike Robert! The merest acquaintance would have saidsomething more emphatic than "I will, thank you; good-by," to sucha request.He had evidently already taken leave of the people over at thehouse, for he descended the steps and went to join Beaudelet, whowas out there with an oar across his shoulder waiting for Robert.They walked away in the darkness. She could only hear Beaudelet'svoice; Robert had apparently not even spoken a word of greeting tohis companion.Edna bit her handkerchief convulsively, striving to hold backand to hide, even from herself as she would have hidden fromanother, the emotion which was troubling--tearing--her. Her eyeswere brimming with tears.For the first time she recognized the symptoms of infatuationwhich she had felt incipiently as a child, as a girl in herearliest teens, and later as a young woman. The recognition didnot lessen the reality, the poignancy of the revelation by anysuggestion or promise of instability. The past was nothing to her;offered no lesson which she was willing to heed. The future was amystery which she never attempted to penetrate. The present alonewas significant; was hers, to torture her as it was doing then withthe biting conviction that she had lost that which she had held,that she had been denied that which her impassioned, newly awakenedbeing demanded.