The Awakening

dna looked in at the drug store. Monsieur Ratignolle was putting up a
mixture himself, very carefully, dropping a red liquid into a tiny
glass. He was grateful to Edna for having come; her presence would be a
comfort to his wife. Madame Ratignolle’s sister, who had always been
with her at such trying times, had not been able to come up from the
plantation, and Adèle had been inconsolable until Mrs. Pontellier so
kindly promised to come to her. The nurse had been with them at night
for the past week, as she lived a great distance away. And Dr. Mandelet
had been coming and going all the afternoon. They were then looking for
him any moment.

Edna hastened upstairs by a private stairway that led from the rear of
the store to the apartments above. The children were all sleeping in a
back room. Madame Ratignolle was in the salon, whither she had strayed
in her suffering impatience. She sat on the sofa, clad in an ample
white peignoir, holding a handkerchief tight in her hand with a
nervous clutch. Her face was drawn and pinched, her sweet blue eyes
haggard and unnatural. All her beautiful hair had been drawn back and
plaited. It lay in a long braid on the sofa pillow, coiled like a
golden serpent. The nurse, a comfortable looking Griffe woman in white
apron and cap, was urging her to return to her bedroom.

“There is no use, there is no use,” she said at once to Edna. “We must
get rid of Mandelet; he is getting too old and careless. He said he
would be here at half-past seven; now it must be eight. See what time
it is, Joséphine.”

The woman was possessed of a cheerful nature, and refused to take any
situation too seriously, especially a situation with which she was so
familiar. She urged Madame to have courage and patience. But Madame
only set her teeth hard into her under lip, and Edna saw the sweat
gather in beads on her white forehead. After a moment or two she
uttered a profound sigh and wiped her face with the handkerchief rolled
in a ball. She appeared exhausted. The nurse gave her a fresh
handkerchief, sprinkled with cologne water.

“This is too much!” she cried. “Mandelet ought to be killed! Where is
Alphonse? Is it possible I am to be abandoned like this—neglected by
every one?”

“Neglected, indeed!” exclaimed the nurse. Wasn’t she there? And here
was Mrs. Pontellier leaving, no doubt, a pleasant evening at home to
devote to her? And wasn’t Monsieur Ratignolle coming that very instant
through the hall? And Joséphine was quite sure she had heard Doctor
Mandelet’s coupé. Yes, there it was, down at the door.

Adèle consented to go back to her room. She sat on the edge of a little
low couch next to her bed.

Doctor Mandelet paid no attention to Madame Ratignolle’s upbraidings.
He was accustomed to them at such times, and was too well convinced of
her loyalty to doubt it.

He was glad to see Edna, and wanted her to go with him into the salon
and entertain him. But Madame Ratignolle would not consent that Edna
should leave her for an instant. Between agonizing moments, she chatted
a little, and said it took her mind off her sufferings.

Edna began to feel uneasy. She was seized with a vague dread. Her own
like experiences seemed far away, unreal, and only half remembered. She
recalled faintly an ecstasy of pain, the heavy odor of chloroform, a
stupor which had deadened sensation, and an awakening to find a little
new life to which she had given being, added to the great unnumbered
multitude of souls that come and go.

She began to wish she had not come; her presence was not necessary. She
might have invented a pretext for staying away; she might even invent a
pretext now for going. But Edna did not go. With an inward agony, with
a flaming, outspoken revolt against the ways of Nature, she witnessed
the scene of torture.

She was still stunned and speechless with emotion when later she leaned
over her friend to kiss her and softly say good-by. Adèle, pressing her
cheek, whispered in an exhausted voice: “Think of the children, Edna.
Oh think of the children! Remember them!”