Edna felt depressed rather than soothed after leaving them. The little
glimpse of domestic harmony which had been offered her, gave her no
regret, no longing. It was not a condition of life which fitted her, and
she could see in it but an appalling and hopeless ennui. She was moved
by a kind of commiseration for Madame Ratignolle,--a pity for that
colorless existence which never uplifted its possessor beyond the region
of blind contentment, in which no moment of anguish ever visited her
soul, in which she would never have the taste of life's delirium. Edna
vaguely wondered what she meant by "life's delirium." It had crossed her
thought like some unsought, extraneous impression.