The Awakening and Selected Short Stories - Page 117/161

Again he accompanied her back to her home; and it was after dusk when

they reached the little "pigeon-house." She did not ask him to remain,

which he was grateful for, as it permitted him to stay without the

discomfort of blundering through an excuse which he had no intention

of considering. He helped her to light the lamp; then she went into her

room to take off her hat and to bathe her face and hands.

When she came back Robert was not examining the pictures and magazines

as before; he sat off in the shadow, leaning his head back on the chair

as if in a reverie. Edna lingered a moment beside the table, arranging

the books there. Then she went across the room to where he sat. She bent

over the arm of his chair and called his name.

"Robert," she said, "are you asleep?"

"No," he answered, looking up at her.

She leaned over and kissed him--a soft, cool, delicate kiss, whose

voluptuous sting penetrated his whole being-then she moved away from

him. He followed, and took her in his arms, just holding her close to

him. She put her hand up to his face and pressed his cheek against her

own. The action was full of love and tenderness. He sought her lips

again. Then he drew her down upon the sofa beside him and held her hand

in both of his.

"Now you know," he said, "now you know what I have been fighting against

since last summer at Grand Isle; what drove me away and drove me back

again."

"Why have you been fighting against it?" she asked. Her face glowed with

soft lights.

"Why? Because you were not free; you were Leonce Pontellier's wife. I

couldn't help loving you if you were ten times his wife; but so long as

I went away from you and kept away I could help telling you so." She put

her free hand up to his shoulder, and then against his cheek, rubbing it

softly. He kissed her again. His face was warm and flushed.

"There in Mexico I was thinking of you all the time, and longing for

you."

"But not writing to me," she interrupted.

"Something put into my head that you cared for me; and I lost my senses.

I forgot everything but a wild dream of your some way becoming my wife."

"Your wife!"

"Religion, loyalty, everything would give way if only you cared."

"Then you must have forgotten that I was Leonce Pontellier's wife."

"Oh! I was demented, dreaming of wild, impossible things, recalling men

who had set their wives free, we have heard of such things."