The Awakening Kate Chopin (best affordable ebook reader .TXT) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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âIt seems to me, my dear child,â said the Doctor at parting, holding her hand, âyou seem to me to be in trouble. I am not going to ask for your confidence. I will only say that if ever you feel moved to give it to me, perhaps I might help you. I know I would understand. And I tell you there are not many who wouldâ ânot many, my dear.â
âSome way I donât feel moved to speak of things that trouble me. Donât think I am ungrateful or that I donât appreciate your sympathy. There are periods of despondency and suffering which take possession of me. But I donât want anything but my own way. That is wanting a good deal, of course, when you have to trample upon the lives, the hearts, the prejudices of othersâ âbut no matterâ âstill, I shouldnât want to trample upon the little lives. Oh! I donât know what Iâm saying, Doctor. Good night. Donât blame me for anything.â
âYes, I will blame you if you donât come and see me soon. We will talk of things you never have dreamt of talking about before. It will do us both good. I donât want you to blame yourself, whatever comes. Good night, my child.â
She let herself in at the gate, but instead of entering she sat upon the step of the porch. The night was quiet and soothing. All the tearing emotion of the last few hours seemed to fall away from her like a somber, uncomfortable garment, which she had but to loosen to be rid of. She went back to that hour before AdĂšle had sent for her; and her senses kindled afresh in thinking of Robertâs words, the pressure of his arms, and the feeling of his lips upon her own. She could picture at that moment no greater bliss on earth than possession of the beloved one. His expression of love had already given him to her in part. When she thought that he was there at hand, waiting for her, she grew numb with the intoxication of expectancy. It was so late; he would be asleep perhaps. She would awaken him with a kiss. She hoped he would be asleep that she might arouse him with her caresses.
Still, she remembered AdĂšleâs voice whispering, âThink of the children; think of them.â She meant to think of them; that determination had driven into her soul like a death woundâ âbut not tonight. Tomorrow would be time to think of everything.
Robert was not waiting for her in the little parlor. He was nowhere at hand. The house was empty. But he had scrawled on a piece of paper that lay in the lamplight:
âI love you. Goodbyeâ âbecause I love you.â
Edna grew faint when she read the words. She went and sat on the sofa. Then she stretched herself out there, never uttering a sound. She did not sleep. She did not go to bed. The lamp sputtered and went out. She was still awake in the morning, when Celestine unlocked the kitchen door and came in to light the fire.
XXXIXVictor, with hammer and nails and scraps of scantling, was patching a corner of one of the galleries. Mariequita sat near by, dangling her legs, watching him work, and handing him nails from the toolbox. The sun was beating down upon them. The girl had covered her head with her apron folded into a square pad. They had been talking for an hour or more. She was never tired of hearing Victor describe the dinner at Mrs. Pontellierâs. He exaggerated every detail, making it appear a veritable Lucillean feast. The flowers were in tubs, he said. The champagne was quaffed from huge golden goblets. Venus rising from the foam could have presented no more entrancing a spectacle than Mrs. Pontellier, blazing with beauty and diamonds at the head of the board, while the other women were all of them youthful houris, possessed of incomparable charms. She got it into her head that Victor was in love with Mrs. Pontellier, and he gave her evasive answers, framed so as to confirm her belief. She grew sullen and cried a little, threatening to go off and leave him to his fine ladies. There were a dozen men crazy about her at the ChĂ©niĂšre; and since it was the fashion to be in love with married people, why, she could run away any time she liked to New Orleans with Celinaâs husband.
Celinaâs husband was a fool, a coward, and a pig, and to prove it to her, Victor intended to hammer his head into a jelly the next time he encountered him. This assurance was very consoling to Mariequita. She dried her eyes, and grew cheerful at the prospect.
They were still talking of the dinner and the allurements of city life when Mrs. Pontellier herself slipped around the corner of the house. The two youngsters stayed dumb with amazement before what they considered to be an apparition. But it was really she in flesh and blood, looking tired and a little travel-stained.
âI walked up from the wharf,â she said, âand heard the hammering. I supposed it was you, mending the porch. Itâs a good thing. I was always tripping over those loose planks last summer. How dreary and deserted everything looks!â
It took Victor some little time to comprehend that she had come in Beaudeletâs lugger, that she had come alone, and for no purpose but to rest.
âThereâs nothing fixed up yet, you see. Iâll give you my room; itâs the only place.â
âAny corner will do,â she assured him.
âAnd if you can stand Philomelâs cooking,â he went on, âthough I might try to get her mother while you are here. Do you think she would come?â turning to Mariequita.
Mariequita thought that perhaps Philomelâs mother might come for a few days, and money enough.
Beholding Mrs. Pontellier make her appearance, the girl had at once suspected a loversâ rendezvous. But Victorâs astonishment was so genuine, and Mrs. Pontellierâs indifference
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