The Awakening and Selected Short Stories - Page 17/161

Mrs. Pontellier was not a woman given to confidences, a characteristic

hitherto contrary to her nature. Even as a child she had lived her

own small life all within herself. At a very early period she had

apprehended instinctively the dual life--that outward existence which

conforms, the inward life which questions.

That summer at Grand Isle she began to loosen a little the mantle of

reserve that had always enveloped her. There may have been--there

must have been--influences, both subtle and apparent, working in their

several ways to induce her to do this; but the most obvious was the

influence of Adele Ratignolle. The excessive physical charm of the

Creole had first attracted her, for Edna had a sensuous susceptibility

to beauty. Then the candor of the woman's whole existence, which every

one might read, and which formed so striking a contrast to her own

habitual reserve--this might have furnished a link. Who can tell what

metals the gods use in forging the subtle bond which we call sympathy,

which we might as well call love.

The two women went away one morning to the beach together, arm in arm,

under the huge white sunshade. Edna had prevailed upon Madame Ratignolle

to leave the children behind, though she could not induce her to

relinquish a diminutive roll of needlework, which Adele begged to be

allowed to slip into the depths of her pocket. In some unaccountable way

they had escaped from Robert.

The walk to the beach was no inconsiderable one, consisting as it did

of a long, sandy path, upon which a sporadic and tangled growth that

bordered it on either side made frequent and unexpected inroads. There

were acres of yellow chamomile reaching out on either hand. Further away

still, vegetable gardens abounded, with frequent small plantations of

orange or lemon trees intervening. The dark green clusters glistened

from afar in the sun.

The women were both of goodly height, Madame Ratignolle possessing

the more feminine and matronly figure. The charm of Edna Pontellier's

physique stole insensibly upon you. The lines of her body were long,

clean and symmetrical; it was a body which occasionally fell into

splendid poses; there was no suggestion of the trim, stereotyped

fashion-plate about it. A casual and indiscriminating observer, in

passing, might not cast a second glance upon the figure. But with more

feeling and discernment he would have recognized the noble beauty of its

modeling, and the graceful severity of poise and movement, which made

Edna Pontellier different from the crowd.

She wore a cool muslin that morning--white, with a waving vertical line

of brown running through it; also a white linen collar and the big straw

hat which she had taken from the peg outside the door. The hat rested

any way on her yellow-brown hair, that waved a little, was heavy, and

clung close to her head.