Chapter XVIII

by Kate Chopin

　　The following morning Mr. Pontellier, upon leaving for hisoffice, asked Edna if she would not meet him in town in order tolook at some new fixtures for the library."I hardly think we need new fixtures, Leonce. Don't let usget anything new; you are too extravagant. I don't believe youever think of saving or putting by.""The way to become rich is to make money, my dear Edna, not tosave it," he said. He regretted that she did not feel inclined togo with him and select new fixtures. He kissed her good-by, andtold her she was not looking well and must take care of herself.She was unusually pale and very quiet.She stood on the front veranda as he quitted the house, andabsently picked a few sprays of jessamine that grew upon a trellisnear by. She inhaled the odor of the blossoms and thrust them intothe bosom of her white morning gown. The boys were dragging alongthe banquette a small "express wagon," which they had filled withblocks and sticks. The quadroon was following them with littlequick steps, having assumed a fictitious animation and alacrity forthe occasion. A fruit vender was crying his wares in the street.Edna looked straight before her with a self-absorbedexpression upon her face. She felt no interest in anything abouther. The street, the children, the fruit vender, the flowersgrowing there under her eyes, were all part and parcel of an alienworld which had suddenly become antagonistic.She went back into the house. She had thought of speaking tothe cook concerning her blunders of the previous night; but Mr.Pontellier had saved her that disagreeable mission, for whichshe was so poorly fitted. Mr. Pontellier's arguments were usuallyconvincing with those whom he employed. He left home feeling quite surethat he and Edna would sit down that evening, and possibly a fewsubsequent evenings, to a dinner deserving of the name.Edna spent an hour or two in looking over some of her oldsketches. She could see their shortcomings and defects, which wereglaring in her eyes. She tried to work a little, but found she wasnot in the humor. Finally she gathered together a few of thesketches--those which she considered the least discreditable; andshe carried them with her when, a little later, she dressed andleft the house. She looked handsome and distinguished in herstreet gown. The tan of the seashore had left her face, and herforehead was smooth, white, and polished beneath her heavy,yellow-brown hair. There were a few freckles on her face, and a small,dark mole near the under lip and one on the temple, half-hidden inher hair.As Edna walked along the street she was thinking of Robert.She was still under the spell of her infatuation. She had tried toforget him, realizing the inutility of remembering. But thethought of him was like an obsession, ever pressing itself uponher. It was not that she dwelt upon details of their acquaintance,or recalled in any special or peculiar way his personality; it washis being, his existence, which dominated her thought, fadingsometimes as if it would melt into the mist of the forgotten,reviving again with an intensity which filled her with anincomprehensible longing.Edna was on her way to Madame Ratignolle's. Their intimacy,begun at Grand Isle, had not declined, and they had seen each otherwith some frequency since their return to the city. TheRatignolles lived at no great distance from Edna's home, on thecorner of a side street, where Monsieur Ratignolle owned andconducted a drug store which enjoyed a steady and prosperous trade.His father had been in the business before him, and MonsieurRatignolle stood well in the community and bore an enviablereputation for integrity and clearheadedness. His familylived in commodious apartments over the store, having an entranceon the side within the porte cochere. There was somethingwhich Edna thought very French, very foreign, about their wholemanner of living. In the large and pleasant salon which extendedacross the width of the house, the Ratignolles entertained theirfriends once a fortnight with a soiree musicale, sometimesdiversified by card-playing. There was a friend who played uponthe 'cello. One brought his flute and another his violin, whilethere were some who sang and a number who performed upon the pianowith various degrees of taste and agility. The Ratignolles' soireesmusicales were widely known, and it was considered a privilegeto be invited to them.Edna found her friend engaged in assorting the clothes whichhad returned that morning from the laundry. She at once abandonedher occupation upon seeing Edna, who had been ushered withoutceremony into her presence."`Cite can do it as well as I; it is really her business," sheexplained to Edna, who apologized for interrupting her. And shesummoned a young black woman, whom she instructed, in French, to bevery careful in checking off the list which she handed her. Shetold her to notice particularly if a fine linen handkerchief ofMonsieur Ratignolle's, which was missing last week, had beenreturned; and to be sure to set to one side such pieces as requiredmending and darning.Then placing an arm around Edna's waist, she led her to thefront of the house, to the salon, where it was cool and sweet withthe odor of great roses that stood upon the hearth in jars.Madame Ratignolle looked more beautiful than ever there athome, in a neglige which left her arms almost wholly bare andexposed the rich, melting curves of her white throat."Perhaps I shall be able to paint your picture some day," saidEdna with a smile when they were seated. She produced the roll ofsketches and started to unfold them. "I believe I ought to work again.I feel as if I wanted to be doing something. What do you think of them?Do you think it worth while to take it up again and study some more?I might study for a while with Laidpore."She knew that Madame Ratignolle's opinion in such a matterwould be next to valueless, that she herself had not alone decided,but determined; but she sought the words of praise andencouragement that would help her to put heart into her venture."Your talent is immense, dear!""Nonsense!" protested Edna, well pleased."Immense, I tell you," persisted Madame Ratignolle, surveyingthe sketches one by one, at close range, then holding them at arm'slength, narrowing her eyes, and dropping her head on one side."Surely, this Bavarian peasant is worthy of framing; and thisbasket of apples! never have I seen anything more lifelike. Onemight almost be tempted to reach out a hand and take one."Edna could not control a feeling which bordered uponcomplacency at her friend's praise, even realizing, as she did, itstrue worth. She retained a few of the sketches, and gave all therest to Madame Ratignolle, who appreciated the gift far beyond itsvalue and proudly exhibited the pictures to her husband when hecame up from the store a little later for his midday dinner.Mr. Ratignolle was one of those men who are called the salt ofthe earth. His cheerfulness was unbounded, and it was matched byhis goodness of heart, his broad charity, and common sense. He andhis wife spoke English with an accent which was only discerniblethrough its un-English emphasis and a certain carefulness anddeliberation. Edna's husband spoke English with no accentwhatever. The Ratignolles understood each other perfectly. Ifever the fusion of two human beings into one has been accomplishedon this sphere it was surely in their union.As Edna seated herself at table with them she thought, "Bettera dinner of herbs," though it did not take her long to discoverthat it was no dinner of herbs, but a delicious repast,simple, choice, and in every way satisfying.Monsieur Ratignolle was delighted to see her, though he foundher looking not so well as at Grand Isle, and he advised a tonic.He talked a good deal on various topics, a little politics, somecity news and neighborhood gossip. He spoke with an animation andearnestness that gave an exaggerated importance to every syllablehe uttered. His wife was keenly interested in everything he said,laying down her fork the better to listen, chiming in, taking thewords out of his mouth.Edna felt depressed rather than soothed after leaving them.The little glimpse of domestic harmony which had been offered her,gave her no regret, no longing. It was not a condition of lifewhich fitted her, and she could see in it but an appalling andhopeless ennui. She was moved by a kind of commiseration forMadame Ratignolle,--a pity for that colorless existence which neveruplifted its possessor beyond the region of blind contentment, inwhich no moment of anguish ever visited her soul, in which shewould never have the taste of life's delirium. Edna vaguelywondered what she meant by "life's delirium." It had crossed herthought like some unsought, extraneous impression.