The Awakening

h hung in a cage outside the do

ez vous-en! Saprist

od, unless it was the mocking-bird that hung on the other side of the door

er with any degree of comfort, arose with

ated before the door of the main house. The parrot and the mockingbird were the property of Madame Lebrun, and they had the right

ce 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 ac

t and rather slender build; he stooped a little. His hair was brown and

ing 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 w

unt 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 w

claimed Mr. Pontellier. He himself had taken a plunge a

rawing 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

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. Pontel

ut Robert admitted quite frankly that he preferre

hen he bores you, Edna,” instructed

out to him. He accepted the sunshade, and lifting i

en-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 compa

n they saw him starting out. He kissed them and