As Edna walked along the street she was thinking of Robert. She was

still under the spell of her infatuation. She had tried to forget him,

realizing the inutility of remembering. But the thought of him was like

an obsession, ever pressing itself upon her. It was not that she dwelt

upon details of their acquaintance, or recalled in any special or

peculiar way his personality; it was his being, his existence, which

dominated her thought, fading sometimes as if it would melt into the

mist of the forgotten, reviving again with an intensity which filled her

with an incomprehensible longing.

Edna was on her way to Madame Ratignolle's. Their intimacy, begun at

Grand Isle, had not declined, and they had seen each other with some

frequency since their return to the city. The Ratignolles lived at no

great distance from Edna's home, on the corner of a side street, where

Monsieur Ratignolle owned and conducted a drug store which enjoyed a

steady and prosperous trade. His father had been in the business before

him, and Monsieur Ratignolle stood well in the community and bore an

enviable reputation for integrity and clearheadedness. His family lived

in commodious apartments over the store, having an entrance on the side

within the porte cochere. There was something which Edna thought very

French, very foreign, about their whole manner of living. In the large

and pleasant salon which extended across the width of the house, the

Ratignolles entertained their friends once a fortnight with a soiree

musicale, sometimes diversified by card-playing. There was a friend who

played upon the 'cello. One brought his flute and another his violin,

while there were some who sang and a number who performed upon the piano

with various degrees of taste and agility. The Ratignolles' soirees

musicales were widely known, and it was considered a privilege to be

invited to them.

Edna found her friend engaged in assorting the clothes which had

returned that morning from the laundry. She at once abandoned her

occupation upon seeing Edna, who had been ushered without ceremony into

her presence.

"'Cite can do it as well as I; it is really her business," she explained

to Edna, who apologized for interrupting her. And she summoned a young

black woman, whom she instructed, in French, to be very careful in

checking off the list which she handed her. She told her to notice

particularly if a fine linen handkerchief of Monsieur Ratignolle's,

which was missing last week, had been returned; and to be sure to set to

one side such pieces as required mending and darning.

Then placing an arm around Edna's waist, she led her to the front of the

house, to the salon, where it was cool and sweet with the odor of great

roses that stood upon the hearth in jars.




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