When Edna was at last alone, she breathed a big, genuine sigh of relief.
A feeling that was unfamiliar but very delicious came over her. She
walked all through the house, from one room to another, as if inspecting
it for the first time. She tried the various chairs and lounges, as if
she had never sat and reclined upon them before. And she perambulated
around the outside of the house, investigating, looking to see if
windows and shutters were secure and in order. The flowers were like
new acquaintances; she approached them in a familiar spirit, and made
herself at home among them. The garden walks were damp, and Edna called
to the maid to bring out her rubber sandals. And there she stayed, and
stooped, digging around the plants, trimming, picking dead, dry leaves.
The children's little dog came out, interfering, getting in her way. She
scolded him, laughed at him, played with him. The garden smelled so good
and looked so pretty in the afternoon sunlight. Edna plucked all the
bright flowers she could find, and went into the house with them, she
and the little dog.
Even the kitchen assumed a sudden interesting character which she had
never before perceived. She went in to give directions to the cook, to
say that the butcher would have to bring much less meat, that they would
require only half their usual quantity of bread, of milk and groceries.
She told the cook that she herself would be greatly occupied during
Mr. Pontellier's absence, and she begged her to take all thought and
responsibility of the larder upon her own shoulders.
That night Edna dined alone. The candelabra, with a few candles in the
center of the table, gave all the light she needed. Outside the circle
of light in which she sat, the large dining-room looked solemn and
shadowy. The cook, placed upon her mettle, served a delicious repast--a
luscious tenderloin broiled a point. The wine tasted good; the marron
glace seemed to be just what she wanted. It was so pleasant, too, to
dine in a comfortable peignoir.
She thought a little sentimentally about Leonce and the children, and
wondered what they were doing. As she gave a dainty scrap or two to the
doggie, she talked intimately to him about Etienne and Raoul. He was
beside himself with astonishment and delight over these companionable
advances, and showed his appreciation by his little quick, snappy barks
and a lively agitation.
Then Edna sat in the library after dinner and read Emerson until she
grew sleepy. She realized that she had neglected her reading, and
determined to start anew upon a course of improving studies, now that
her time was completely her own to do with as she liked.