Chapter XVII

by Kate Chopin

　　The Pontelliers possessed a very charming home on EsplanadeStreet in New Orleans. It was a large, double cottage, with abroad front veranda, whose round, fluted columns supported thesloping roof. The house was painted a dazzling white; the outsideshutters, or jalousies, were green. In the yard, which was keptscrupulously neat, were flowers and plants of every descriptionwhich flourishes in South Louisiana. Within doors the appointmentswere perfect after the conventional type. The softest carpets andrugs covered the floors; rich and tasteful draperies hung at doorsand windows. There were paintings, selected with judgment anddiscrimination, upon the walls. The cut glass, the silver, theheavy damask which daily appeared upon the table were the envy ofmany women whose husbands were less generous than Mr. Pontellier.Mr. Pontellier was very fond of walking about his houseexamining its various appointments and details, to see that nothingwas amiss. He greatly valued his possessions, chiefly because theywere his, and derived genuine pleasure from contemplating apainting, a statuette, a rare lace curtain--no matter what--afterhe had bought it and placed it among his household gods.On Tuesday afternoons--Tuesday being Mrs. Pontellier'sreception day--there was a constant stream of callers--women whocame in carriages or in the street cars, or walked when the air wassoft and distance permitted. A light-colored mulatto boy,in dress coat and bearing a diminutive silver trayfor the reception of cards, admitted them. A maid,in white fluted cap, offered the callers liqueur, coffee,or chocolate, as they might desire. Mrs. Pontellier, attired in ahandsome reception gown, remained in the drawing-room the entireafternoon receiving her visitors. Men sometimes called in theevening with their wives.This had been the programme which Mrs. Pontellier hadreligiously followed since her marriage, six years before. Certainevenings during the week she and her husband attended the opera orsometimes the play.Mr. Pontellier left his home in the mornings between nine andten o'clock, and rarely returned before half-past six or seven inthe evening--dinner being served at half-past seven.He and his wife seated themselves at table one Tuesdayevening, a few weeks after their return from Grand Isle. They werealone together. The boys were being put to bed; the patter oftheir bare, escaping feet could be heard occasionally, as well asthe pursuing voice of the quadroon, lifted in mild protest andentreaty. Mrs. Pontellier did not wear her usual Tuesday receptiongown; she was in ordinary house dress. Mr. Pontellier, who wasobservant about such things, noticed it, as he served the soup andhanded it to the boy in waiting."Tired out, Edna? Whom did you have? Many callers?" he asked.He tasted his soup and began to season it with pepper, salt,vinegar, mustard--everything within reach."There were a good many," replied Edna, who was eating hersoup with evident satisfaction. "I found their cards when I gothome; I was out.""Out!" exclaimed her husband, with something like genuineconsternation in his voice as he laid down the vinegar cruet andlooked at her through his glasses. "Why, what could have taken youout on Tuesday? What did you have to do?""Nothing. I simply felt like going out, and I went out.""Well, I hope you left some suitable excuse," said her husband,somewhat appeased, as he added a dash of cayenne pepper to the soup."No, I left no excuse. I told Joe to say I was out, that was all.""Why, my dear, I should think you'd understand by this timethat people don't do such things; we've got to observe lesconvenances if we ever expect to get on and keep up with theprocession. If you felt that you had to leave home this afternoon,you should have left some suitable explanation for your absence."This soup is really impossible; it's strange that womanhasn't learned yet to make a decent soup. Any free-lunch stand intown serves a better one. Was Mrs. Belthrop here?""Bring the tray with the cards, Joe. I don't remember who was here."The boy retired and returned after a moment, bringing the tinysilver tray, which was covered with ladies' visiting cards. Hehanded it to Mrs. Pontellier."Give it to Mr. Pontellier," she said.Joe offered the tray to Mr. Pontellier, and removed the soup.Mr. Pontellier scanned the names of his wife's callers,reading some of them aloud, with comments as he read."`The Misses Delasidas.' I worked a big deal in futures fortheir father this morning; nice girls; it's time they were gettingmarried. `Mrs. Belthrop.' I tell you what it is, Edna; you can'tafford to snub Mrs. Belthrop. Why, Belthrop could buy and sell usten times over. His business is worth a good, round sum to me.You'd better write her a note. `Mrs. James Highcamp.' Hugh! theless you have to do with Mrs. Highcamp, the better. `MadameLaforce.' Came all the way from Carrolton, too, poor old soul.'Miss Wiggs,' `Mrs. Eleanor Boltons.'" He pushed the cards aside."Mercy!" exclaimed Edna, who had been fuming. "Why are youtaking the thing so seriously and making such a fuss over it?""I'm not making any fuss over it. But it's just such seeming triflesthat we've got to take seriously; such things count."The fish was scorched. Mr. Pontellier would not touch it.Edna said she did not mind a little scorched taste. The roast wasin some way not to his fancy, and he did not like the manner inwhich the vegetables were served."It seems to me," he said, "we spend money enough in thishouse to procure at least one meal a day which a man could eat andretain his self-respect.""You used to think the cook was a treasure," returned Edna,indifferently."Perhaps she was when she first came; but cooks are onlyhuman. They need looking after, like any other class of personsthat you employ. Suppose I didn't look after the clerks in myoffice, just let them run things their own way; they'd soon make anice mess of me and my business.""Where are you going?" asked Edna, seeing that her husbandarose from table without having eaten a morsel except a taste ofthe highly-seasoned soup."I'm going to get my dinner at the club. Good night." He wentinto the hall, took his hat and stick from the stand, and left thehouse.She was somewhat familiar with such scenes. They had oftenmade her very unhappy. On a few previous occasions she had beencompletely deprived of any desire to finish her dinner. Sometimesshe had gone into the kitchen to administer a tardy rebuke to thecook. Once she went to her room and studied the cookbook during anentire evening, finally writing out a menu for the week, which lefther harassed with a feeling that, after all, she had accomplishedno good that was worth the name.But that evening Edna finished her dinner alone, with forceddeliberation. Her face was flushed and her eyes flamed with someinward fire that lighted them. After finishing her dinner she wentto her room, having instructed the boy to tell any other callersthat she was indisposed.It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque inthe soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She wentand stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangleof the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the nightseemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the duskyand tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seekingherself and finding herself in just such sweet, half-darkness whichmet her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to herfrom the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered andsounded mournful notes without promise, devoid even of hope. Sheturned back into the room and began to walk to and fro down itswhole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried inher hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolledinto a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking offher wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lyingthere, she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But hersmall boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon thelittle glittering circlet.In a sweeping passion she seized a glass vase from the tableand flung it upon the tiles of the hearth. She wanted to destroysomething. The crash and clatter were what she wanted to hear.A maid, alarmed at the din of breaking glass, entered the roomto discover what was the matter."A vase fell upon the hearth," said Edna. "Never mind; leaveit till morning.""Oh! you might get some of the glass in your feet, ma'am,"insisted the young woman, picking up bits of the broken vase thatwere scattered upon the carpet. "And here's your ring, ma'am,under the chair."Edna held out her hand, and taking the ring, slipped it uponher finger.