Chapter XXIV

by Kate Chopin

　　Edna and her father had a warm, and almost violent disputeupon the subject of her refusal to attend her sister's wedding.Mr. Pontellier declined to interfere, to interpose either hisinfluence or his authority. He was following Doctor Mandelet'sadvice, and letting her do as she liked. The Colonel reproachedhis daughter for her lack of filial kindness and respect, her wantof sisterly affection and womanly consideration. His argumentswere labored and unconvincing. He doubted if Janet would acceptany excuse--forgetting that Edna had offered none. He doubted ifJanet would ever speak to her again, and he was sure Margaret wouldnot.Edna was glad to be rid of her father when he finally tookhimself off with his wedding garments and his bridal gifts, withhis padded shoulders, his Bible reading, his "toddies" andponderous oaths.Mr. Pontellier followed him closely. He meant to stop at thewedding on his way to New York and endeavor by every means whichmoney and love could devise to atone somewhat for Edna'sincomprehensible action."You are too lenient, too lenient by far, Leonce," assertedthe Colonel. "Authority, coercion are what is needed. Put yourfoot down good and hard; the only way to manage a wife. Take myword for it."The Colonel was perhaps unaware that he had coerced his ownwife into her grave. Mr. Pontellier had a vague suspicion of itwhich he thought it needless to mention at that late day.Edna was not so consciously gratified at her husband's leavinghome as she had been over the departure of her father. As the dayapproached when he was to leave her for a comparatively long stay,she grew melting and affectionate, remembering his many acts of considerationand his repeated expressions of an ardent attachment. She was solicitousabout his health and his welfare. She bustled around, looking afterhis clothing, thinking about heavy underwear, quite as Madame Ratignollewould have done under similar circumstances. She cried when he went away,calling him her dear, good friend, and she was quite certain she wouldgrow lonely before very long and go to join him in New York.But after all, a radiant peace settled upon her when she atlast found herself alone. Even the children were gone. Old MadamePontellier had come herself and carried them off to Iberville withtheir quadroon. The old madame did not venture to say she wasafraid they would be neglected during Leonce's absence; she hardlyventured to think so. She was hungry for them--even a littlefierce in her attachment. She did not want them to be wholly"children of the pavement," she always said when begging to havethem for a space. She wished them to know the country, with itsstreams, its fields, its woods, its freedom, so delicious to theyoung. She wished them to taste something of the life their fatherhad lived and known and loved when he, too, was a little child.When Edna was at last alone, she breathed a big, genuine sighof relief. A feeling that was unfamiliar but very delicious cameover her. She walked all through the house, from one room toanother, as if inspecting it for the first time. She tried thevarious chairs and lounges, as if she had never sat and reclinedupon them before. And she perambulated around the outside of thehouse, investigating, looking to see if windows and shutters weresecure and in order. The flowers were like new acquaintances; sheapproached them in a familiar spirit, and made herself at homeamong them. The garden walks were damp, and Edna called to themaid to bring out her rubber sandals. And there she stayed, andstooped, digging around the plants, trimming, picking dead, dryleaves. The children's little dog came out, interfering, gettingin her way. She scolded him, laughed at him, played with him.The garden smelled so good and looked so pretty in the afternoonsunlight. Edna plucked all the bright flowers she could find,and went into the house with them, she and the little dog.Even the kitchen assumed a sudden interesting character whichshe had never before perceived. She went in to give directions tothe cook, to say that the butcher would have to bring much lessmeat, that they would require only half their usual quantity ofbread, of milk and groceries. She told the cook that she herselfwould be greatly occupied during Mr. Pontellier's absence, and shebegged her to take all thought and responsibility of the larderupon her own shoulders.That night Edna dined alone. The candelabra, with a fewcandies in the center of the table, gave all the light she needed.Outside the circle of light in which she sat, the large dining-roomlooked solemn and shadowy. The cook, placed upon her mettle,served a delicious repast--a luscious tenderloin broiled apoint. The wine tasted good; the marron glace seemed to bejust what she wanted. It was so pleasant, too, to dine in acomfortable peignoir.She thought a little sentimentally about Leonce and thechildren, and wondered what they were doing. As she gave a daintyscrap or two to the doggie, she talked intimately to him aboutEtienne and Raoul. He was beside himself with astonishment anddelight over these companionable advances, and showed hisappreciation by his little quick, snappy barks and a livelyagitation.Then Edna sat in the library after dinner and read Emersonuntil she grew sleepy. She realized that she had neglected herreading, and determined to start anew upon a course of improvingstudies, now that her time was completely her own to do with as sheliked.After a refreshing bath, Edna went to bed. And as shesnuggled comfortably beneath the eiderdown a sense of restfulnessinvaded her, such as she had not known before.