Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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But with Cazeau there was no doubt or speculation when he accosted the young fellow. âMontĂ©clin, wâat have you done with AthĂ©naĂŻse?â he questioned bluntly. They had met in the open road on horseback, just as Cazeau ascended the river bank before his house.
âWâat have you done to AthĂ©naĂŻse?â returned MontĂ©clin for answer.
âI donât reckon youâve considered yoâ conduct by any light of decency anâ propriety in encouraging yoâ sister to such an action, but let me tell youââ â
âVoyons! you can let me alone with yoâ decency anâ morality anâ fiddlesticks. I know you musâ âaâ done AthĂ©naĂŻse pretty mean that she canât live with you; anâ foâ my part, Iâm mighty durn glad she had the spirit to quit you.â
âI ainât in the humor to take any notice of yoâ impertinence, MontĂ©clin; but let me remine you that AthĂ©naĂŻse is nothing but a chile in character; besides that, sheâs my wife, anâ I hole you responsible foâ her safety anâ welfare. If any harm of any description happens to her, Iâll strangle you, by God, like a rat, and fling you in Cane river, if I have to hang foâ it!â He had not lifted his voice. The only sign of anger was a savage gleam in his eyes.
âI reckon you better keep yoâ big talk foâ the women, Cazeau,â replied MontĂ©clin, riding away.
But he went doubly armed after that, and intimated that the precaution was not needless, in view of the threats and menaces that were abroad touching his personal safety.
VIAthénaïse reached her destination sound of skin and limb, but a good deal flustered, a little frightened, and altogether excited and interested by her unusual experiences.
Her destination was the house of Sylvie, on Dauphine Street, in New Orleansâ âa three-story gray brick, standing directly on the banquette, with three broad stone steps leading to the deep front entrance. From the second-story balcony swung a small sign, conveying to passersby the intelligence that within were âchambres garnies.â
It was one morning in the last week of April that Athénaïse presented herself at the Dauphine Street house. Sylvie was expecting her, and introduced her at once to her apartment, which was in the second story of the back ell, and accessible by an open, outside gallery. There was a yard below, paved with broad stone flagging; many fragrant flowering shrubs and plants grew in a bed along the side of the opposite wall, and others were distributed about in tubs and green boxes.
It was a plain but large enough room into which Athénaïse was ushered, with matting on the floor, green shades and Nottingham-lace curtains at the windows that looked out on the gallery, and furnished with a cheap walnut suit. But everything looked exquisitely clean, and the whole place smelled of cleanliness.
Athénaïse at once fell into the rocking-chair, with the air of exhaustion and intense relief of one who has come to the end of her troubles. Sylvie, entering behind her, laid the big traveling-bag on the floor and deposited the jacket on the bed.
She was a portly quadroon of fifty or thereabout, clad in an ample volante of the old-fashioned purple calico so much affected by her class. She wore large golden hoop-earrings, and her hair was combed plainly, with every appearance of effort to smooth out the kinks. She had broad, coarse features, with a nose that turned up, exposing the wide nostrils, and that seemed to emphasize the loftiness and command of her bearingâ âa dignity that in the presence of white people assumed a character of respectfulness, but never of obsequiousness. Sylvie believed firmly in maintaining the colorline, and would not suffer a white person, even a child, to call her âMadame Sylvie,ââ âa title which she exacted religiously, however, from those of her own race.
âI hope you be pleaseâ wid yoâ room, madame,â she observed amiably. âDatâs de same room wâat yoâ brother, Mâsieur MichĂ©, all time like wâen he come to New Orleanâ. He well, Mâsieur MichĂ©? I receiveâ his letter lasâ week, anâ dat same day a gentâman want I give âim dat room. I say, âNo, dat room already ingageâ.â Ev-body like dat room on âcount it so quite (quiet). Mâsieur Gouvernail, dere in naxâ room, you canât pay âim! He been stay târee yearâ in dat room; but all fixâ up fine wid his own furnâture anâ books, âtel you canât see! I say to âim plenty timeâ, âMâsieur Gouvernail, wây you donât take dat târee-story front, now, long itâs empty?â He tells me, âLeave me âlone, Sylvie; I know a good room wâen I fine it, me.âââ
She had been moving slowly and majestically about the apartment, straightening and smoothing down bed and pillows, peering into ewer and basin, evidently casting an eye around to make sure that everything was as it should be.
âI senâ you some fresh water, madame,â she offered upon retiring from the room. âAnâ wâen you want anâtâing, you jusâ go out on de gallâry anâ call Pousette: she year you plainâ âshe right down dere in de kitchen.â
Athénaïse was really not so exhausted as she had every reason to be after that interminable and circuitous way by which Montéclin had seen fit to have her conveyed to the city.
Would she ever forget that dark and truly dangerous midnight ride along the âcoastâ to the mouth of Cane river! There MontĂ©clin had parted with her, after seeing her aboard the St. Louis and Shreveport packet which he knew would pass there before dawn. She had received instructions to disembark at the mouth of Red river, and there transfer to the first southbound steamer for New Orleans; all of which instructions she had followed implicitly, even to making her way at once to Sylvieâs upon her arrival in the city. MontĂ©clin had enjoined secrecy and
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