READ STUDY GUIDE: Chapters X–XIV |
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Part X
| At all events Robert proposed it, and there was not a |
| dissenting voice. There was not one but was ready to follow when |
| he led the way. He did not lead the way, however, he directed the |
| way; and he himself loitered behind with the lovers, who had |
| betrayed a disposition to linger and hold themselves apart. He |
| walked between them, whether with malicious or mischievous intent |
| was not wholly clear, even to himself. |
| The Pontelliers and Ratignolles walked ahead; the women |
| leaning upon the arms of their husbands. Edna could hear Robert's |
| voice behind them, and could sometimes hear what he said. She |
| wondered why he did not join them. It was unlike him not to. Of |
| late he had sometimes held away from her for an entire day, |
| redoubling his devotion upon the next and the next, as though to |
| make up for hours that had been lost. She missed him the days when |
| some pretext served to take him away from her, just as one misses |
| the sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sun |
| when it was shining. |
| The people walked in little groups toward the beach. They |
| talked and laughed; some of them sang. There was a band playing |
| down at Klein's hotel, and the strains reached them faintly, |
| tempered by the distance. There were strange, rare odors abroad— |
| a tangle of the sea smell and of weeds and damp, new-plowed earth, |
| mingled with the heavy perfume of a field of white blossoms |
| somewhere near. But the night sat lightly upon the sea and the |
| land. There was no weight of darkness; there were no shadows. The |
| white light of the moon had fallen upon the world like the mystery |
| and the softness of sleep. |
| Most of them walked into the water as though into a native element. |
| The sea was quiet now, and swelled lazily in broad billows that melted |
| into one another and did not break except upon the beach in little |
| foamy crests that coiled back like slow, white serpents. |
| Edna had attempted all summer to learn to swim. She had |
| received instructions from both the men and women; in some |
| instances from the children. Robert had pursued a system of |
| lessons almost daily; and he was nearly at the point of |
| discouragement in realizing the futility of his efforts. A certain |
| ungovernable dread hung about her when in the water, unless there |
| was a hand near by that might reach out and reassure her. |
| But that night she was like the little tottering, stumbling, |
| clutching child, who of a sudden realizes its powers, and walks for |
| the first time alone, boldly and with over-confidence. She could |
| have shouted for joy. She did shout for joy, as with a sweeping |
| stroke or two she lifted her body to the surface of the water. |
| A feeling of exultation overtook her, as if some power of |
| significant import had been given her to control the working of her |
| body and her soul. She grew daring and reckless, overestimating |
| her strength. She wanted to swim far out, where no woman had swum |
| before. |
| Her unlooked-for achievement was the subject of wonder, |
| applause, and admiration. Each one congratulated himself that his |
| special teachings had accomplished this desired end. |
| "How easy it is!" she thought. "It is nothing," she said |
| aloud; "why did I not discover before that it was nothing. Think |
| of the time I have lost splashing about like a baby!" She would not |
| join the groups in their sports and bouts, but intoxicated with her |
| newly conquered power, she swam out alone. |
| She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of |
| space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and |
| melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As |
| she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which |
| to lose herself. |
| Once she turned and looked toward the shore, toward the people |
| she had left there. She had not gone any great distance that is, |
| what would have been a great distance for an experienced swimmer. |
| But to her unaccustomed vision the stretch of water behind her |
| assumed the aspect of a barrier which her unaided strength |
| would never be able to overcome. |
| A quick vision of death smote her soul, and for a second of |
| time appalled and enfeebled her senses. But by an effort she |
| rallied her staggering faculties and managed to regain the land. |
| She made no mention of her encounter with death and her flash |
| of terror, except to say to her husband, "I thought I should have |
| perished out there alone." |
| "You were not so very far, my dear; I was watching you", he |
| told her. |
| Edna went at once to the bath-house, and she had put on her |
| dry clothes and was ready to return home before the others had left |
| the water. She started to walk away alone. They all called to her |
| and shouted to her. She waved a dissenting hand, and went on, |
| paying no further heed to their renewed cries which sought to |
| detain her. |
| "Sometimes I am tempted to think that Mrs. Pontellier is |
| capricious," said Madame Lebrun, who was amusing herself immensely |
| and feared that Edna's abrupt departure might put an end to the |
| pleasure. |
| "I know she is," assented Mr. Pontellier; "sometimes, not |
| often." |
| Edna had not traversed a quarter of the distance on her way |
| home before she was overtaken by Robert. |
| "Did you think I was afraid?" she asked him, without a shade |
| of annoyance. |
| "No; I knew you weren't afraid." |
| "Then why did you come? Why didn't you stay out there with the |
| others?" |
| "I never thought of it." |
| "Thought of what?" |
| "Of anything. What difference does it make?" |
| "I'm very tired," she uttered, complainingly. |
| "I know you are." |
| "You don't know anything about it. Why should you know? I |
| never was so exhausted in my life. But it isn't unpleasant. A |
| thousand emotions have swept through me to-night. I don't |
| comprehend half of them. Don't mind what I'm saying; I am just |
| thinking aloud. I wonder if I shall ever be stirred again as |
| Mademoiselle Reisz's playing moved me to-night. I wonder if any |
| night on earth will ever again be like this one. It is like a |
| night in a dream. The people about me are like some uncanny, |
| half-human beings. There must be spirits abroad to-night." |
| "There are," whispered Robert, "Didn't you know this was |
| the twenty-eighth of August?" |
| "The twenty-eighth of August?" |
| "Yes. On the twenty-eighth of August, at the hour of |
| midnight, and if the moon is shining—the moon must be shining—a |
| spirit that has haunted these shores for ages rises up from the |
| Gulf. With its own penetrating vision the spirit seeks some one |
| mortal worthy to hold him company, worthy of being exalted for a |
| few hours into realms of the semi-celestials. His search has |
| always hitherto been fruitless, and he has sunk back, disheartened, |
| into the sea. But to-night he found Mrs. Pontellier. Perhaps he |
| will never wholly release her from the spell. Perhaps she will |
| never again suffer a poor, unworthy earthling to walk in the shadow |
| of her divine presence." |
| "Don't banter me," she said, wounded at what appeared to be |
| his flippancy. He did not mind the entreaty, but the tone with its |
| delicate note of pathos was like a reproach. He could not explain; |
| he could not tell her that he had penetrated her mood and |
| understood. He said nothing except to offer her his arm, for, by |
| her own admission, she was exhausted. She had been walking alone |
| with her arms hanging limp, letting her white skirts trail along |
| the dewy path. She took his arm, but she did not lean upon it. |
| She let her hand lie listlessly, as though her thoughts were |
| elsewhere—somewhere in advance of her body, and she was striving |
| to overtake them. |
| Robert assisted her into the hammock which swung from the post |
| before her door out to the trunk of a tree. |
| "Will you stay out here and wait for Mr. Pontellier?" he |
| asked. |
| "I'll stay out here. Good-night." |
| "Shall I get you a pillow?" |
| "There's one here," she said, feeling about, for they were in |
| the shadow. |
| "It must be soiled; the children have been tumbling it about." |
| "No matter." And having discovered the pillow, she adjusted it |
| beneath her head. She extended herself in the hammock with a deep |
| breath of relief. She was not a supercilious or an over-dainty |
| woman. She was not much given to reclining in the hammock, and |
| when she did so it was with no cat-like suggestion of voluptuous |
| ease, but with a beneficent repose which seemed to invade her whole |
| body. |
| "Shall I stay with you till Mr. Pontellier comes?" asked |
| Robert, seating himself on the outer edge of one of the steps and |
| taking hold of the hammock rope which was fastened to the post. |
| "If you wish. Don't swing the hammock. Will you get my white |
| shawl which I left on the window-sill over at the house?" |
| "Are you chilly?" |
| "No; but I shall be presently." |
| "Presently?" he laughed. "Do you know what time it is? |
| How long are you going to stay out here?" |
| "I don't know. Will you get the shawl?" |
| "Of course I will," he said, rising. He went over to the |
| house, walking along the grass. She watched his figure pass in and |
| out of the strips of moonlight. It was past midnight. It was very |
| quiet. |
| When he returned with the shawl she took it and kept it in her |
| hand. She did not put it around her. |
| "Did you say I should stay till Mr. Pontellier came back?" |
| "I said you might if you wished to." |
| He seated himself again and rolled a cigarette, which he |
| smoked in silence. Neither did Mrs. Pontellier speak. |
| No multitude of words could have been more significant than those |
| moments of silence, or more pregnant with the first-felt throbbings |
| of desire. |
| When the voices of the bathers were heard approaching, Robert |
| said good-night. She did not answer him. He thought she was |
| asleep. Again she watched his figure pass in and out of the strips |
| of moonlight as he walked away. |
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