{"id":62,"date":"2021-05-18T10:36:06","date_gmt":"2021-05-18T14:36:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/awakening\/?post_type=chapter&p=62"},"modified":"2022-02-01T11:16:46","modified_gmt":"2022-02-01T16:16:46","slug":"8","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/chapter\/8\/","title":{"raw":"Chapter VIII","rendered":"Chapter VIII"},"content":{"raw":"\u201cDo me a favor, Robert,\u201d spoke the pretty woman at his side, almost as soon as she and Robert had started their slow, homeward way. She looked up in his face, leaning on his arm beneath the encircling shadow of the umbrella which he had lifted.\r\n\r\n\u201cGranted; as many as you like,\u201d he returned, glancing down into her eyes that were full of thoughtfulness and some speculation.\r\n\r\n\u201cI only ask for one; let Mrs. Pontellier alone.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cTiens!<\/i>\u201d he exclaimed, with a sudden, boyish laugh. \u201cVoil\u00e0 que Madame Ratignolle est jalouse!<\/i>\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cNonsense! I\u2019m in earnest; I mean what I say. Let Mrs. Pontellier alone.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhy?\u201d he asked; himself growing serious at his companion\u2019s solicitation.\r\n\r\n\u201cShe is not one of us; she is not like us. She might make the unfortunate blunder of taking you seriously.\u201d\r\n\r\nHis face flushed with annoyance, and taking off his soft hat he began to beat it impatiently against his leg as he walked. \u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t she take me seriously?\u201d he demanded sharply. \u201cAm I a comedian, a clown, a jack-in-the-box? Why shouldn\u2019t she? You Creoles! I have no patience with you! Am I always to be regarded as a feature of an amusing programme? I hope Mrs. Pontellier does take me seriously. I hope she has discernment enough to find in me something besides the blagueur<\/i>. If I thought there was any doubt\u2014\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, enough, Robert!\u201d she broke into his heated outburst. \u201cYou are not thinking of what you are saying. You speak with about as little reflection as we might expect from one of those children down there playing in the sand. If your attentions to any married women here were ever offered with any intention of being convincing, you would not be the gentleman we all know you to be, and you would be unfit to associate with the wives and daughters of the people who trust you.\u201d\r\n\r\nMadame Ratignolle had spoken what she believed to be the law and the gospel. The young man shrugged his shoulders impatiently.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh! well! That isn\u2019t it,\u201d slamming his hat down vehemently upon his head. \u201cYou ought to feel that such things are not flattering to say to a fellow.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cShould our whole intercourse consist of an exchange of compliments? Ma foi!<\/i>\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t pleasant to have a woman tell you\u2014\u201d he went on, unheedingly, but breaking off suddenly: \u201cNow if I were like Arobin\u2014you remember Alc\u00e9e Arobin and that story of the consul\u2019s wife at Biloxi?\u201d And he related the story of Alc\u00e9e Arobin and the consul\u2019s wife; and another about the tenor of the French Opera, who received letters which should never have been written; and still other stories, grave and gay, till Mrs. Pontellier and her possible propensity for taking young men seriously was apparently forgotten.\r\n\r\nMadame Ratignolle, when they had regained her cottage, went in to take the hour\u2019s rest which she considered helpful. Before leaving her, Robert begged her pardon for the impatience\u2014he called it rudeness\u2014with which he had received her well-meant caution.\r\n\r\n\u201cYou made one mistake, Ad\u00e8le,\u201d he said, with a light smile; \u201cthere is no earthly possibility of Mrs. Pontellier ever taking me seriously. You should have warned me against taking myself seriously. Your advice might then have carried some weight and given me subject for some reflection. Au revoir<\/i>. But you look tired,\u201d he added, solicitously. \u201cWould you like a cup of bouillon? Shall I stir you a toddy? Let me mix you a toddy with a drop of Angostura.\u201d\r\n\r\nShe acceded to the suggestion of bouillon, which was grateful and acceptable. He went himself to the kitchen, which was a building apart from the cottages and lying to the rear of the house. And he himself brought her the golden-brown bouillon, in a dainty S\u00e8vres cup, with a flaky cracker or two on the saucer.\r\n\r\nShe thrust a bare, white arm from the curtain which shielded her open door, and received the cup from his hands. She told him he was a bon gar\u00e7on<\/i>, and she meant it. Robert thanked her and turned away toward \u201cthe house.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe lovers were just entering the grounds of the pension<\/i>. They were leaning toward each other as the water-oaks bent from the sea. There was not a particle of earth beneath their feet. Their heads might have been turned upside-down, so absolutely did they tread upon blue ether. The lady in black, creeping behind them, looked a trifle paler and more jaded than usual. There was no sign of Mrs. Pontellier and the children. Robert scanned the distance for any such apparition. They would doubtless remain away till the dinner hour. The young man ascended to his mother\u2019s room. It was situated at the top of the house, made up of odd angles and a queer, sloping ceiling. Two broad dormer windows looked out toward the Gulf, and as far across it as a man\u2019s eye might reach. The furnishings of the room were light, cool, and practical.\r\n\r\nMadame Lebrun was busily engaged at the sewing-machine. A little black girl sat on the floor, and with her hands worked the treadle of the machine. The Creole woman does not take any chances which may be avoided of imperiling her health.\r\n\r\nRobert went over and seated himself on the broad sill of one of the dormer windows. He took a book from his pocket and began energetically to read it, judging by the precision and frequency with which he turned the leaves. The sewing-machine made a resounding clatter in the room; it was of a ponderous, by-gone make. In the lulls, Robert and his mother exchanged bits of desultory conversation.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhere is Mrs. Pontellier?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDown at the beach with the children.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI promised to lend her the Goncourt. Don\u2019t forget to take it down when you go; it\u2019s there on the bookshelf over the small table.\u201d Clatter, clatter, clatter, bang! for the next five or eight minutes.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhere is Victor going with the rockaway?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThe rockaway? Victor?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYes; down there in front. He seems to be getting ready to drive away somewhere.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cCall him.\u201d Clatter, clatter!\r\n\r\nRobert uttered a shrill, piercing whistle which might have been heard back at the wharf.\r\n\r\n\u201cHe won\u2019t look up.\u201d\r\n\r\nMadame Lebrun flew to the window. She called \u201cVictor!\u201d She waved a handkerchief and called again. The young fellow below got into the vehicle and started the horse off at a gallop.\r\n\r\nMadame Lebrun went back to the machine, crimson with annoyance. Victor was the younger son and brother\u2014a t\u00eate mont\u00e9e<\/i>, with a temper which invited violence and a will which no ax could break.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhenever you say the word I\u2019m ready to thrash any amount of reason into him that he\u2019s able to hold.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIf your father had only lived!\u201d Clatter, clatter, clatter, clatter, bang! It was a fixed belief with Madame Lebrun that the conduct of the universe and all things pertaining thereto would have been manifestly of a more intelligent and higher order had not Monsieur Lebrun been removed to other spheres during the early years of their married life.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat do you hear from Montel?\u201d Montel was a middle-aged gentleman whose vain ambition and desire for the past twenty years had been to fill the void which Monsieur Lebrun\u2019s taking off had left in the Lebrun household. Clatter, clatter, bang, clatter!\r\n\r\n\u201cI have a letter somewhere,\u201d looking in the machine drawer and finding the letter in the bottom of the workbasket. \u201cHe says to tell you he will be in Vera Cruz the beginning of next month,\u201d\u2014clatter, clatter!\u2014\u201cand if you still have the intention of joining him\u201d\u2014bang! clatter, clatter, bang!\r\n\r\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me so before, mother? You know I wanted\u2014\u201d Clatter, clatter, clatter!\r\n\r\n\u201cDo you see Mrs. Pontellier starting back with the children? She will be in late to luncheon again. She never starts to get ready for luncheon till the last minute.\u201d Clatter, clatter! \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhere did you say the Goncourt was?\u201d","rendered":"

\u201cDo me a favor, Robert,\u201d spoke the pretty woman at his side, almost as soon as she and Robert had started their slow, homeward way. She looked up in his face, leaning on his arm beneath the encircling shadow of the umbrella which he had lifted.<\/p>\n

\u201cGranted; as many as you like,\u201d he returned, glancing down into her eyes that were full of thoughtfulness and some speculation.<\/p>\n

\u201cI only ask for one; let Mrs. Pontellier alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTiens!<\/i>\u201d he exclaimed, with a sudden, boyish laugh. \u201cVoil\u00e0 que Madame Ratignolle est jalouse!<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNonsense! I\u2019m in earnest; I mean what I say. Let Mrs. Pontellier alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d he asked; himself growing serious at his companion\u2019s solicitation.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe is not one of us; she is not like us. She might make the unfortunate blunder of taking you seriously.\u201d<\/p>\n

His face flushed with annoyance, and taking off his soft hat he began to beat it impatiently against his leg as he walked. \u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t she take me seriously?\u201d he demanded sharply. \u201cAm I a comedian, a clown, a jack-in-the-box? Why shouldn\u2019t she? You Creoles! I have no patience with you! Am I always to be regarded as a feature of an amusing programme? I hope Mrs. Pontellier does take me seriously. I hope she has discernment enough to find in me something besides the blagueur<\/i>. If I thought there was any doubt\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, enough, Robert!\u201d she broke into his heated outburst. \u201cYou are not thinking of what you are saying. You speak with about as little reflection as we might expect from one of those children down there playing in the sand. If your attentions to any married women here were ever offered with any intention of being convincing, you would not be the gentleman we all know you to be, and you would be unfit to associate with the wives and daughters of the people who trust you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Madame Ratignolle had spoken what she believed to be the law and the gospel. The young man shrugged his shoulders impatiently.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh! well! That isn\u2019t it,\u201d slamming his hat down vehemently upon his head. \u201cYou ought to feel that such things are not flattering to say to a fellow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShould our whole intercourse consist of an exchange of compliments? Ma foi!<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t pleasant to have a woman tell you\u2014\u201d he went on, unheedingly, but breaking off suddenly: \u201cNow if I were like Arobin\u2014you remember Alc\u00e9e Arobin and that story of the consul\u2019s wife at Biloxi?\u201d And he related the story of Alc\u00e9e Arobin and the consul\u2019s wife; and another about the tenor of the French Opera, who received letters which should never have been written; and still other stories, grave and gay, till Mrs. Pontellier and her possible propensity for taking young men seriously was apparently forgotten.<\/p>\n

Madame Ratignolle, when they had regained her cottage, went in to take the hour\u2019s rest which she considered helpful. Before leaving her, Robert begged her pardon for the impatience\u2014he called it rudeness\u2014with which he had received her well-meant caution.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou made one mistake, Ad\u00e8le,\u201d he said, with a light smile; \u201cthere is no earthly possibility of Mrs. Pontellier ever taking me seriously. You should have warned me against taking myself seriously. Your advice might then have carried some weight and given me subject for some reflection. Au revoir<\/i>. But you look tired,\u201d he added, solicitously. \u201cWould you like a cup of bouillon? Shall I stir you a toddy? Let me mix you a toddy with a drop of Angostura.\u201d<\/p>\n

She acceded to the suggestion of bouillon, which was grateful and acceptable. He went himself to the kitchen, which was a building apart from the cottages and lying to the rear of the house. And he himself brought her the golden-brown bouillon, in a dainty S\u00e8vres cup, with a flaky cracker or two on the saucer.<\/p>\n

She thrust a bare, white arm from the curtain which shielded her open door, and received the cup from his hands. She told him he was a bon gar\u00e7on<\/i>, and she meant it. Robert thanked her and turned away toward \u201cthe house.\u201d<\/p>\n

The lovers were just entering the grounds of the pension<\/i>. They were leaning toward each other as the water-oaks bent from the sea. There was not a particle of earth beneath their feet. Their heads might have been turned upside-down, so absolutely did they tread upon blue ether. The lady in black, creeping behind them, looked a trifle paler and more jaded than usual. There was no sign of Mrs. Pontellier and the children. Robert scanned the distance for any such apparition. They would doubtless remain away till the dinner hour. The young man ascended to his mother\u2019s room. It was situated at the top of the house, made up of odd angles and a queer, sloping ceiling. Two broad dormer windows looked out toward the Gulf, and as far across it as a man\u2019s eye might reach. The furnishings of the room were light, cool, and practical.<\/p>\n

Madame Lebrun was busily engaged at the sewing-machine. A little black girl sat on the floor, and with her hands worked the treadle of the machine. The Creole woman does not take any chances which may be avoided of imperiling her health.<\/p>\n

Robert went over and seated himself on the broad sill of one of the dormer windows. He took a book from his pocket and began energetically to read it, judging by the precision and frequency with which he turned the leaves. The sewing-machine made a resounding clatter in the room; it was of a ponderous, by-gone make. In the lulls, Robert and his mother exchanged bits of desultory conversation.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere is Mrs. Pontellier?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDown at the beach with the children.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI promised to lend her the Goncourt. Don\u2019t forget to take it down when you go; it\u2019s there on the bookshelf over the small table.\u201d Clatter, clatter, clatter, bang! for the next five or eight minutes.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere is Victor going with the rockaway?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe rockaway? Victor?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes; down there in front. He seems to be getting ready to drive away somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCall him.\u201d Clatter, clatter!<\/p>\n

Robert uttered a shrill, piercing whistle which might have been heard back at the wharf.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe won\u2019t look up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Madame Lebrun flew to the window. She called \u201cVictor!\u201d She waved a handkerchief and called again. The young fellow below got into the vehicle and started the horse off at a gallop.<\/p>\n

Madame Lebrun went back to the machine, crimson with annoyance. Victor was the younger son and brother\u2014a t\u00eate mont\u00e9e<\/i>, with a temper which invited violence and a will which no ax could break.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhenever you say the word I\u2019m ready to thrash any amount of reason into him that he\u2019s able to hold.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf your father had only lived!\u201d Clatter, clatter, clatter, clatter, bang! It was a fixed belief with Madame Lebrun that the conduct of the universe and all things pertaining thereto would have been manifestly of a more intelligent and higher order had not Monsieur Lebrun been removed to other spheres during the early years of their married life.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you hear from Montel?\u201d Montel was a middle-aged gentleman whose vain ambition and desire for the past twenty years had been to fill the void which Monsieur Lebrun\u2019s taking off had left in the Lebrun household. Clatter, clatter, bang, clatter!<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a letter somewhere,\u201d looking in the machine drawer and finding the letter in the bottom of the workbasket. \u201cHe says to tell you he will be in Vera Cruz the beginning of next month,\u201d\u2014clatter, clatter!\u2014\u201cand if you still have the intention of joining him\u201d\u2014bang! clatter, clatter, bang!<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me so before, mother? You know I wanted\u2014\u201d Clatter, clatter, clatter!<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you see Mrs. Pontellier starting back with the children? She will be in late to luncheon again. She never starts to get ready for luncheon till the last minute.\u201d Clatter, clatter! \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n

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