Part I

A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the

door, kept repeating over and over:

"Allez vous-en! Allez vous-en! Sapristi! That's all right!"

He could speak a little Spanish, and also a language which

nobody understood, unless it was the mocking-bird that hung on the

other side of the door, whistling his fluty notes out upon the

breeze with maddening persistence.

Mr. Pontellier, unable to read his newspaper with any degree

of comfort, arose with an expression and an exclamation of disgust.

He walked down the gallery and across the narrow "bridges" which

connected the Lebrun cottages one with the other. He had been

seated before the door of the main house. The parrot and the

mockingbird were the property of Madame Lebrun, and they had the

right to make all the noise they wished. Mr. Pontellier had the

privilege of quitting their society when they ceased to be

entertaining.

He stopped before the door of his own cottage, which was the

fourth one from the main building and next to the last. Seating

himself in a wicker rocker which was there, he once more applied

himself to the task of reading the newspaper. The day was Sunday;

the paper was a day old. The Sunday papers had not yet reached

Grand Isle. He was already acquainted with the market reports,

and he glanced restlessly over the editorials and bits of news which

he had not had time to read before quitting New Orleans the day before.

Mr. Pontellier wore eye-glasses. He was a man of forty, of

medium height and rather slender build; he stooped a little. His

hair was brown and straight, parted on one side. His beard was

neatly and closely trimmed.

Once in a while he withdrew his glance from the newspaper and

looked about him. There was more noise than ever over at the

house. The main building was called "the house," to distinguish it

from the cottages. The chattering and whistling birds were still

at it. Two young girls, the Farival twins, were playing a duet

from "Zampa" upon the piano. Madame Lebrun was bustling in and

out, giving orders in a high key to a yard-boy whenever she got

inside the house, and directions in an equally high voice to a

dining-room servant whenever she got outside. She was a fresh,

pretty woman, clad always in white with elbow sleeves. Her

starched skirts crinkled as she came and went. Farther down,

before one of the cottages, a lady in black was walking demurely up

and down, telling her beads. A good many persons of the pension

had gone over to the Cheniere Caminada in Beaudelet's

lugger to hear mass. Some young people were out under the

wateroaks playing croquet. Mr. Pontellier's two children were there

sturdy little fellows of four and five. A quadroon nurse followed

them about with a faraway, meditative air.

Mr. Pontellier finally lit a cigar and began to smoke, letting

the paper drag idly from his hand. He fixed his gaze upon a white

sunshade that was advancing at snail's pace from the beach. He

could see it plainly between the gaunt trunks of the water-oaks and

across the stretch of yellow camomile. The gulf looked far away,

melting hazily into the blue of the horizon. The sunshade

continued to approach slowly. Beneath its pink-lined shelter were

his wife, Mrs. Pontellier, and young Robert Lebrun. When they

reached the cottage, the two seated themselves with some appearance

of fatigue upon the upper step of the porch, facing each other,

each leaning against a supporting post.

"What folly! to bathe at such an hour in such heat!" exclaimed

Mr. Pontellier. He himself had taken a plunge at daylight. That

was why the morning seemed long to him.

"You are burnt beyond recognition," he added, looking at his

wife as one looks at a valuable piece of personal property which

has suffered some damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely

hands, and surveyed them critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves

above the wrists. Looking at them reminded her of her rings, which

she had given to her husband before leaving for the beach. She

silently reached out to him, and he, understanding, took the rings

from his vest pocket and dropped them into her open palm. She

slipped them upon her fingers; then clasping her knees, she looked

across at Robert and began to laugh. The rings sparkled upon her

fingers. He sent back an answering smile.

"What is it?" asked Pontellier, looking lazily and amused from

one to the other. It was some utter nonsense; some adventure out

there in the water, and they both tried to relate it at once. It

did not seem half so amusing when told. They realized this, and so

did Mr. Pontellier. He yawned and stretched himself. Then he got

up, saying he had half a mind to go over to Klein's hotel and play

a game of billiards.

"Come go along, Lebrun," he proposed to Robert. But Robert

admitted quite frankly that he preferred to stay where he was and

talk to Mrs. Pontellier.

"Well, send him about his business when he bores you, Edna,"

instructed her husband as he prepared to leave.

"Here, take the umbrella," she exclaimed, holding it out to

him. He accepted the sunshade, and lifting it over his head

descended the steps and walked away.

"Coming back to dinner?" his wife called after him. He halted

a moment and shrugged his shoulders. He felt in his vest pocket;

there was a ten-dollar bill there. He did not know; perhaps he

would return for the early dinner and perhaps he would not.

It all depended upon the company which he found over at Klein's

and the size of "the game." He did not say this, but she understood it,

and laughed, nodding good-by to him.

Both children wanted to follow their father when they saw him

starting out. He kissed them and promised to bring them back

bonbons and peanuts.