ouse of
his old friend and family physician, Doctor Mandelet. The Doctor was a
semi-retired physician, resting, as the saying is, upon his laurels.
He bore a reputation for wisdom rather than skill--leaving the active
practice of medicine to his assistants and younger contemporaries--and
was much sought for in matters of consultation. A few families, united
to him by bonds of friendship, he still attended when they required the
services of a physician. The Pontelliers were among these.

Mr. Pontellier found the Doctor reading at the open window of his study.
His house stood rather far back from the street, in the center of
a delightful garden, so that it was quiet and peaceful at the
old gentleman's study window. He was a great reader. He stared up
disapprovingly over his eye-glasses as Mr. Pontellier entered, wondering
who had the temerity to disturb him at that hour of the morning.

"Ah, Pontellier! Not sick, I hope. Come and have a seat. What news do
you bring this morning?" He was quite portly, with a profusion of
gray hair, and small blue eyes which age had robbed of much of their
brightness but none of their penetration.

"Oh! I'm never sick, Doctor. You know that I come of tough fiber--of
that old Creole race of Pontelliers that dry up and finally blow away.
I came to consult--no, not precisely to consult--to talk to you about
Edna. I don't know what ails her."

"Madame Pontellier not well," marveled the Doctor. "Why, I saw her--I
think it was a week ago--walking along Canal Street, the picture of
health, it seemed to me."

"Yes, yes; she seems quite well," said Mr. Pontellier, leaning forward
and whirling his stick between his two hands; "but she doesn't act well.
She's odd, she's not like herself. I can't make her out, and I thought
perhaps you'd help me."

"How does she act?" inquired the Doctor.

"Well, it isn't easy to explain," said Mr. Pontellier, throwing himself
back in his chair. "She lets the housekeeping go to the dickens."

"Well, well; women are not all alike, my dear Pontellier. We've got to
consider--"

"I know that; I told you I couldn't explain. Her whole attitude--toward
me and everybody and everything--has changed. You know I have a quick
temper, but I don't want to quarrel or be rude to a woman, especially my
wife; yet I'm driven to it, and feel like ten thousand devils after I've
made a fool of myself. She's making it devilishly uncomfortable for
me," he went on nervously. "She's