Chapter XXXVIII

by Kate Chopin

　　Edna still felt dazed when she got outside in the open air.The Doctor's coupe had returned for him and stood before theporte cochere. She did not wish to enter the coupe, and toldDoctor Mandelet she would walk; she was not afraid, and would goalone. He directed his carriage to meet him at Mrs. Pontellier's,and he started to walk home with her.Up--away up, over the narrow street between the tall houses,the stars were blazing. The air was mild and caressing, but coolwith the breath of spring and the night. They walked slowly, theDoctor with a heavy, measured tread and his hands behind him; Edna,in an absent-minded way, as she had walked one night at Grand Isle,as if her thoughts had gone ahead of her and she was striving toovertake them."You shouldn't have been there, Mrs. Pontellier," he said."That was no place for you. Adele is full of whims at such times.There were a dozen women she might have had with her,unimpressionable women. I felt that it was cruel, cruel. Youshouldn't have gone.""Oh, well!" she answered, indifferently. "I don't know thatit matters after all. One has to think of the children some timeor other; the sooner the better.""When is Leonce coming back?""Quite soon. Some time in March.""And you are going abroad?""Perhaps--no, I am not going. I'm not going to be forced intodoing things. I don't want to go abroad. I want to be let alone.Nobody has any right--except children, perhaps--and even then, itseems to me--or it did seem--" She felt that her speech was voicingthe incoherency of her thoughts, and stopped abruptly."The trouble is," sighed the Doctor, grasping her meaningintuitively, "that youth is given up to illusions. It seems to bea provision of Nature; a decoy to secure mothers for the race. AndNature takes no account of moral consequences, of arbitraryconditions which we create, and which we feel obliged to maintainat any cost.""Yes," she said. "The years that are gone seem likedreams--if one might go on sleeping and dreaming--but to wake up andfind--oh! well! perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even tosuffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one's life.""It seems to me, my dear child," said the Doctor at parting,holding her hand, "you seem to me to be in trouble. I am not goingto ask for your confidence. I will only say that if ever you feelmoved to give it to me, perhaps I might help you. I know I wouldunderstand, And I tell you there are not many who would--not many,my dear.""Some way I don't feel moved to speak of things that troubleme. Don't think I am ungrateful or that I don't appreciate yoursympathy. There are periods of despondency and suffering whichtake possession of me. But I don't want anything but my own way.That is wanting a good deal, of course, when you have to trampleupon the lives, the hearts, the prejudices of others--but nomatter-still, I shouldn't want to trample upon the little lives.Oh! I don't know what I'm saying, Doctor. Good night. Don't blameme for anything.""Yes, I will blame you if you don't come and see me soon.We will talk of things you never have dreamt of talkingabout before. It will do us both good. I don't want youto blame yourself, whatever comes. Good night, my child."She let herself in at the gate, but instead of entering shesat upon the step of the porch. The night was quiet and soothing.All the tearing emotion of the last few hours seemed to fall awayfrom her like a somber, uncomfortable garment, which she had but toloosen to be rid of. She went back to that hour before Adele hadsent for her; and her senses kindled afresh in thinking of Robert'swords, the pressure of his arms, and the feeling of his lips uponher own. She could picture at that moment no greater bliss onearth than possession of the beloved one. His expression of lovehad already given him to her in part. When she thought that he wasthere at hand, waiting for her, she grew numb with the intoxicationof expectancy. It was so late; he would be asleep perhaps. Shewould awaken him with a kiss. She hoped he would be asleep thatshe might arouse him with her caresses.Still, she remembered Adele's voice whispering, "Think of thechildren; think of them." She meant to think of them; thatdetermination had driven into her soul like a death wound--but notto-night. To-morrow would be time to think of everything.Robert was not waiting for her in the little parlor. He wasnowhere at hand. The house was empty. But he had scrawled on apiece of paper that lay in the lamplight:"I love you. Good-by--because I love you."Edna grew faint when she read the words. She went and sat onthe sofa. Then she stretched herself out there, never uttering asound. She did not sleep. She did not go to bed. The lampsputtered and went out. She was still awake in the morning, whenCelestine unlocked the kitchen door and came in to light the fire.