um. Edna
vaguely wondered what she meant by "life's delirium." It had crossed her
thought like some unsought, extraneous impression.

XIX

Edna could not help but think that it was very foolish, very childish,
to have stamped upon her wedding ring and smashed the crystal vase upon
the tiles. She was visited by no more outbursts, moving her to such
futile expedients. She began to do as she liked and to feel as she
liked. She completely abandoned her Tuesdays at home, and did not return
the visits of those who had called upon her. She made no ineffectual
efforts to conduct her household en bonne menagere, going and coming as
it suited her fancy, and, so far as she was able, lending herself to any
passing caprice.

Mr. Pontellier had been a rather courteous husband so long as he met
a certain tacit submissiveness in his wife. But her new and unexpected
line of conduct completely bewildered him. It shocked him. Then her
absolute disregard for her duties as a wife angered him. When Mr.
Pontellier became rude, Edna grew insolent. She had resolved never to
take another step backward.

"It seems to me the utmost folly for a woman at the head of a household,
and the mother of children, to spend in an atelier days which would be
better employed contriving for the comfort of her family."

"I feel like painting," answered Edna. "Perhaps I shan't always feel
like it."

"Then in God's name paint! but don't let the family go to the devil.
There's Madame Ratignolle; because she keeps up her music, she doesn't
let everything else go to chaos. And she's more of a musician than you
are a painter."

"She isn't a musician, and I'm not a painter. It isn't on account of
painting that I let things go."

"On account of what, then?"

"Oh! I don't know. Let me alone; you bother me."

It sometimes entered Mr. Pontellier's mind to wonder if his wife were
not growing a little unbalanced mentally. He could see plainly that she
was not herself. That is, he could not see that she was becoming herself
and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a
garment with which to appear before the world.

Her husband let her alone as she requested, and went away to his office.
Edna went up to her atelier--a bright room in the top of the house.
She was working with great energy and interest, without accomplishing
anything, however, which satisfied her even in the smallest degree. For
a time she had the whole household enr