"Did you think I was afraid?" she asked him, without a shade of

annoyance.

"No; I knew you weren't afraid."

"Then why did you come? Why didn't you stay out there with the others?"

"I never thought of it."

"Thought of what?"

"Of anything. What difference does it make?"

"I'm very tired," she uttered, complainingly.

"I know you are."

"You don't know anything about it. Why should you know? I never was so

exhausted in my life. But it isn't unpleasant. A thousand emotions have

swept through me to-night. I don't comprehend half of them. Don't mind

what I'm saying; I am just thinking aloud. I wonder if I shall ever

be stirred again as Mademoiselle Reisz's playing moved me to-night. I

wonder if any night on earth will ever again be like this one. It is

like a night in a dream. The people about me are like some uncanny,

half-human beings. There must be spirits abroad to-night."

"There are," whispered Robert, "Didn't you know this was the

twenty-eighth of August?"

"The twenty-eighth of August?"

"Yes. On the twenty-eighth of August, at the hour of midnight, and if

the moon is shining--the moon must be shining--a spirit that has haunted

these shores for ages rises up from the Gulf. With its own penetrating

vision the spirit seeks someone mortal worthy to hold him

company, worthy of being exalted for a few hours into realms of the

semi-celestials. His search has always hitherto been fruitless, and he

has sunk back, disheartened, into the sea. But to-night he found Mrs.

Pontellier. Perhaps he will never wholly release her from the spell.

Perhaps she will never again suffer a poor, unworthy earthling to walk

in the shadow of her divine presence."

"Don't banter me," she said, wounded at what appeared to be his

flippancy. He did not mind the entreaty, but the tone with its delicate

note of pathos was like a reproach. He could not explain; he could not

tell her that he had penetrated her mood and understood. He said

nothing except to offer her his arm, for, by her own admission, she

was exhausted. She had been walking alone with her arms hanging limp,

letting her white skirts trail along the dewy path. She took his arm,

but she did not lean upon it. She let her hand lie listlessly, as though

her thoughts were elsewhere--somewhere in advance of her body, and she

was striving to overtake them.

Robert assisted her into the hammock which swung from the post before

her door out to the trunk of a tree.

"Will you stay out here and wait for Mr. Pontellier?" he asked.




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