"What next?" he asked.
"The servants are all gone. They left when the musicians did.

I have dismissed them. The house has to be closed and locked, and
I shall trot around to the pigeon house, and shall send Celestine

over in the morning to straighten things up."
He looked around, and began to turn out some of the lights.

"What about upstairs?" he inquired.
"I think it is all right; but there may be a window or two

unlatched. We had better look; you might take a candle and see.
And bring me my wrap and hat on the foot of the bed in the middle

room."
He went up with the light, and Edna began closing doors and

windows. She hated to shut in the smoke and the fumes of the wine.
Arobin found her cape and hat, which he brought down and helped her

to put on.
When everything was secured and the lights put out, they left

through the front door, Arobin locking it and taking the key, which
he carried for Edna. He helped her down the steps.

"Will you have a spray of jessamine?" he asked, breaking off
a few blossoms as he passed.

"No; I don't want anything."
She seemed disheartened, and had nothing to say. She took his

arm, which he offered her, holding up the weight of her satin train
with the other hand. She looked down, noticing the black line of his leg

moving in and out so close to her against the yellow shimmer of her gown.
There was the whistle of a railway train somewhere in the distance,

and the midnight bells were ringing. They met no one in their short walk.
The "pigeon house" stood behind a locked gate, and a shallow

parterre that had been somewhat neglected. There was a small
front porch, upon which a long window and the front door opened.

The door opened directly into the parlor; there was no side entry.
Back in the yard was a room for servants, in which old Celestine

had been ensconced.
Edna had left a lamp burning low upon the table. She had

succeeded in making the room look habitable and homelike. There
were some books on the table and a lounge near at hand. On the

floor was a fresh matting, covered with a rug or two; and on the
walls hung a few tasteful pictures. But the room was filled with

flowers. These were a surprise to her. Arobin had sent them, and
had had Celestine distribute them during Edna's absence. Her

bedroom was adjoining, and across a small passage were the
diningroom and kitchen.

Edna seated herself with every appearance of discomfort.
"Are you tired?" he asked.

"Yes, and chilled, and miserable. I feel as if I had been
wound up to a certain pitch--too tight--and something inside of me

had snapped." She rested her head against the table upon her bare arm.
"You want to rest," he said, "and to be quiet. I'll go;

I'll leave you and let you rest."
"Yes," she replied.

He stood up beside her and smoothed her hair with his soft,
magnetic hand. His touch conveyed to her a certain physical

comfort. She could have fallen quietly asleep there if he had
continued to pass his hand over her hair. He brushed the hair

upward from the nape of her neck.
"I hope you will feel better and happier in the morning," he

said. "You have tried to do too much in the past few days.
The dinner was the last straw; you might have dispensed with it."

"Yes," she admitted; "it was stupid."
"No, it was delightful; but it has worn you out." His hand had

strayed to her beautiful shoulders, and he could feel the response
of her flesh to his touch. He seated himself beside her and kissed

her lightly upon the shoulder.
"I thought you were going away," she said, in an uneven voice.

"I am, after I have said good night."
"Good night," she murmured.

He did not answer, except to continue to caress her. He did
not say good night until she had become supple to his gentle,

seductive entreaties.
XXXII

When Mr. Pontellier learned of his wife's intention to abandon
her home and take up her residenceelsewhere, he immediately wrote

her a letter of unqualified disapproval and remonstrance. She had
given reasons which he was unwilling to acknowledge as adequate.

He hoped she had not acted upon her rash impulse; and he begged her
to consider first, foremost, and above all else, what people would

say. He was not dreaming of scandal when he uttered this warning;
that was a thing which would never have entered into his mind to

consider in connection with his wife's name or his own. He was
simply thinking of his financialintegrity. It might get noised

about that the Pontelliers had met with reverses, and were forced
to conduct their menage on a humbler scale than heretofore. It

might do incalculable mischief to his business prospects.
But remembering Edna's whimsical turn of mind of late, and

foreseeing that she had immediately acted upon her impetuous determination,
he grasped the situation with his usual promptness and handled it with

his well-known business tact and cleverness.
The same mail which brought. to Edna his letter of disapproval

carried instructions--the most minute instructions--to a well-known
architect concerning the remodeling of his home, changes which he

had long contemplated, and which he desired carried forward during
his temporaryabsence.

Expert and reliable packers and movers were engaged to convey
the furniture, carpets, pictures --everything movable, in short--to

places of security. And in an incredibly short time the Pontellier
house was turned over to the artisans. There was to be an

addition--a small snuggery; there was to be frescoing, and hardwood
flooring was to be put into such rooms as had not yet been

subjected to this improvement.
Furthermore, in one of the daily papers appeared a brief

notice to the effect that Mr. and Mrs. Pontellier were
contemplating a summer sojournabroad, and that their handsome

residence on Esplanade Street was undergoing sumptuous alterations,
and would not be ready for occupancy until their return. Mr.

Pontellier had saved appearances!
Edna admired the skill of his maneuver, and avoided any

occasion to balk his intentions. When the situation as set forth
by Mr. Pontellier was accepted and taken for granted, she was

apparently satisfied that it should be so.
The pigeon house pleased her. It at once assumed the intimate

character of a home, while she herself invested it with a charm
which it reflected like a warm glow. There was with her a feeling

of having descended in the social scale, with a corresponding sense
of having risen in the spiritual. Every step which she took toward

relieving herself from obligations added to her strength and
expansion as an individual. She began to look with her own eyes; to see

and to apprehend the deeper undercurrents of life. No longer was
she content to "feed upon opinion" when her own soul had invited her.

After a little while, a few days, in fact, Edna went up and
spent a week with her children in Iberville. They were delicious

February days, with all the summer's promise hovering in the air.
How glad she was to see the children! She wept for very

pleasure when she felt their little arms clasping her; their hard,
ruddy cheeks pressed against her own glowing cheeks. She looked

into their faces with hungry eyes that could not be satisfied with