The Awakening and Selected Short Stories - Page 35/161

Edna began to feel like one who awakens gradually out of a dream, a

delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel again the realities

pressing into her soul. The physical need for sleep began to overtake

her; the exuberance which had sustained and exalted her spirit left her

helpless and yielding to the conditions which crowded her in.

The stillest hour of the night had come, the hour before dawn, when the

world seems to hold its breath. The moon hung low, and had turned from

silver to copper in the sleeping sky. The old owl no longer hooted, and

the water-oaks had ceased to moan as they bent their heads.

Edna arose, cramped from lying so long and still in the hammock. She

tottered up the steps, clutching feebly at the post before passing into

the house.

"Are you coming in, Leonce?" she asked, turning her face toward her

husband.

"Yes, dear," he answered, with a glance following a misty puff of smoke.

"Just as soon as I have finished my cigar."