m a vague and visionary
passion for a tragedian whose unresponsive picture she used to kiss.
She acquired the habit of liking her husband in time, and even of
liking her children. Though we are not justified in presuming that
she ever threw articles from her dressing table at them, as the
charming "Emma" had a winsome habit of doing, we are told that "she
would sometimes gather them passionately to her heart, she would
sometimes forget them." At a creole watering place, which is
admirably and deftly sketched by Miss Chopin, "Edna" met "Robert
Lebrun," son of the landlady, who dreamed of a fortune awaiting him
in Mexico while he occupied a petty clerical position in New
Orleans. "Robert" made it his business to be agreeable to his
mother's boarders, and "Edna," not being a creole, much against his
wish and will, took him seriously. "Robert" went to Mexico but found
that fortunes were no easier to make there than in New Orleans. He
returns and does not even call to pay his respects to her. She
encounters him at the home of a friend and takes him home with her.
She wheedles him into staying for dinner, and we are told she sent
the maid off "in search of some delicacy she had not thought of for
herself, and she recommended great care in the dripping of the
coffee and having the omelet done to a turn."

Only a few pages back we were informed that the husband, "M.
Pontellier," had cold soup and burnt fish for his dinner. Such is
life. The lover of course disappointed her, was a coward and ran
away from his responsibilities before they began. He was afraid to
begin a chapter with so serious and limited a woman. She remembered
the sea where she had first met "Robert." Perhaps from the same
motive which threw "Anna Keraninna" under the engine wheels, she
threw herself into the sea, swam until she was tired and then let
go.

"She looked into the distance, and for a moment the old
terror flamed up, then sank again. She heard her father's
voice, and her sister Margaret's. She heard the barking of
an old dog that was chained to the sycamore tree. The spurs
of the cavalry officer clanged as he walked across the
porch. There was a hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks
filled the air."

"Edna Pontellier" and "Emma Bovary" are studies in the same feminine
type; one a finished and complete portrayal, the other a hasty
sketch, but the theme is essentially the same. Both women belong to
a class, not lar