Biloxi?" And he related the story of Alcee Arobin and the consul's

wife; and another about the tenor of the French Opera, who received
letters which should never have been written; and still other stories,

grave and gay, till Mrs. Pontellier and her possible propensity for
taking young men seriously was apparently forgotten.

Madame Ratignolle, when they had regained her cottage, went in
to take the hour's rest which she considered helpful. Before

leaving her, Robert begged her pardon for the impatience--he called
it rudeness--with which he had received her well-meant caution.

"You made one mistake, Adele," he said, with a light smile;
"there is no earthlypossibility of Mrs. Pontellier ever taking me

seriously. You should have warned me against taking myself
seriously. Your advice might then have carried some weight and

given me subject for some reflection. Au revoir. But you look
tired," he added, solicitously. "Would you like a cup of bouillon?

Shall I stir you a toddy? Let me mix you a toddy with a drop of
Angostura."

She acceded to the suggestion of bouillon, which was grateful
and acceptable. He went himself to the kitchen, which was a

building apart from the cottages and lying to the rear of the
house. And he himself brought her the golden-brown bouillon, in a

dainty Sevres cup, with a flaky cracker or two on the saucer.
She thrust a bare, white arm from the curtain which shielded

her open door, and received the cup from his hands. She told him
he was a bon garcon, and she meant it. Robert thanked her and

turned away toward "the house."
The lovers were just entering the grounds of the pension.

They were leaning toward each other as the wateroaks bent from the
sea. There was not a particle of earth beneath their feet. Their

heads might have been turned upside-down, so absolutely did they
tread upon blue ether. The lady in black, creeping behind them,

looked a trifle paler and more jaded than usual. There was no sign
of Mrs. Pontellier and the children. Robert scanned the distance

for any such apparition. They would doubtless remain away till the
dinner hour. The young man ascended to his mother's room. It was

situated at the top of the house, made up of odd angles and a queer,
sloping ceiling. Two broad dormer windows looked out toward the Gulf,

and as far across it as a man's eye might reach. The furnishings
of the room were light, cool, and practical.

Madame Lebrun was busily engaged at the sewing-machine. A
little black girl sat on the floor, and with her hands worked the

treadle of the machine. The Creole woman does not take any chances
which may be avoided of imperiling her health.

Robert went over and seated himself on the broad sill of one
of the dormer windows. He took a book from his pocket and began

energetically to read it, judging by the precision and frequency
with which he turned the leaves. The sewing-machine made a

resounding clatter in the room; it was of a ponderous, by-gone
make. In the lulls, Robert and his mother exchanged bits of

desultory conversation.
"Where is Mrs. Pontellier?"

"Down at the beach with the children."
"I promised to lend her the Goncourt. Don't forget to take it

down when you go; it's there on the bookshelf over the small
table." Clatter, clatter, clatter, bang! for the next five or eight

minutes.
"Where is Victor going with the rockaway?"

"The rockaway? Victor?"
"Yes; down there in front. He seems to be getting ready to

drive away somewhere."
"Call him." Clatter, clatter!

Robert uttered a shrill, piercingwhistle which might have
been heard back at the wharf.

"He won't look up."
Madame Lebrun flew to the window. She called "Victor!" She

waved a handkerchief and called again. The young fellow below got
into the vehicle and started the horse off at a gallop.

Madame Lebrun went back to the machine, crimson with
annoyance. Victor was the younger son and brother--a tete

montee, with a temper which invited violence and a will which no
ax could break.

"Whenever you say the word I'm ready to thrash any amount of
reason into him that he's able to hold."

"If your father had only lived!" Clatter, clatter, clatter,
clatter, bang! It was a fixed belief with Madame Lebrun that the

conduct of the universe and all things pertaining thereto would
have been manifestly of a more intelligent and higher order had not

Monsieur Lebrun been removed to other spheres during the early
years of their married life.

"What do you hear from Montel?" Montel was a middleaged
gentleman whose vain ambition and desire for the past twenty years

had been to fill the void which Monsieur Lebrun's taking off had
left in the Lebrun household. Clatter, clatter, bang, clatter!

"I have a letter somewhere," looking in the machine drawer
and finding the letter in the bottom of the workbasket.

"He says to tell you he will be in Vera Cruz the beginning of
next month,"-- clatter, clatter!--"and if you still have

the intention of joining him"--bang! clatter, clatter, bang!
"Why didn't you tell me so before, mother? You know I

wanted--"Clatter, clatter, clatter!
"Do you see Mrs. Pontellier starting back with the children?

She will be in late to luncheon again. She never starts to get
ready for luncheon till the last minute." Clatter, clatter!

"Where are you going?"
"Where did you say the Goncourt was?"

IX
Every light in the hall was ablaze; every lamp turned as high

as it could be without smoking the chimney or threatening explosion.
The lamps were fixed at intervals against the wall, encircling the whole room.

Some one had gathered orange and lemon branches, and with these fashioned
graceful festoons between. The dark green of the branches stood out

and glistened against the white muslin curtains which draped the windows,
and which puffed, floated, and flapped at the capricious will of a stiff

breeze that swept up from the Gulf.
It was Saturday night a few weeks after the intimate

conversation held between Robert and Madame Ratignolle on their way
from the beach. An unusual number of husbands, fathers, and

friends had come down to stay over Sunday; and they were being
suitably entertained by their families, with the material help of

Madame Lebrun. The dining tables had all been removed to one end
of the hall, and the chairs ranged about in rows and in clusters.

Each little family group had had its say and exchanged its domestic
gossip earlier in the evening. There was now an apparent

disposition to relax; to widen the circle of confidences and give
a more general tone to the conversation.

Many of the children had been permitted to sit up beyond their
usual bedtime. A small band of them were lying on their stomachs

on the floor looking at the colored sheets of the comic papers
which Mr. Pontellier had brought down. The little Pontellier boys

were permitting them to do so, and making their authority felt.
Music, dancing, and a recitation or two were the

entertainments furnished, or rather, offered. But there was nothing
systematic about the programme, no appearance of prearrangement nor

even premeditation.
At an early hour in the evening the Farival twins were

prevailed upon to play the piano. They were girls of fourteen,
always clad in the Virgin's colors, blue and white, having been

dedicated to the Blessed Virgin at their baptism. They played a
duet from "Zampa," and at the earnest solicitation of every one