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.