ty attracted her in an agreeable way. Her fancy
selected them, and she was glad when a lull in the music gave them
an opportunity to meet her and talk with her. Often on the street the
glance of strange eyes had lingered in her memory, and sometimes had
disturbed her.

Mr. Pontellier did not attend these soirees musicales. He considered
them bourgeois, and found more diversion at the club. To Madame
Ratignolle he said the music dispensed at her soirees was too "heavy,"
too far beyond his untrained comprehension. His excuse flattered her.
But she disapproved of Mr. Pontellier's club, and she was frank enough
to tell Edna so.

"It's a pity Mr. Pontellier doesn't stay home more in the evenings.
I think you would be more--well, if you don't mind my saying it--more
united, if he did."

"Oh! dear no!" said Edna, with a blank look in her eyes. "What should I
do if he stayed home? We wouldn't have anything to say to each other."

She had not much of anything to say to her father, for that matter; but
he did not antagonize her. She discovered that he interested her, though
she realized that he might not interest her long; and for the first time
in her life she felt as if she were thoroughly acquainted with him. He
kept her busy serving him and ministering to his wants. It amused her
to do so. She would not permit a servant or one of the children to do
anything for him which she might do herself. Her husband noticed, and
thought it was the expression of a deep filial attachment which he had
never suspected.

The Colonel drank numerous "toddies" during the course of the day, which
left him, however, imperturbed. He was an expert at concocting strong
drinks. He had even invented some, to which he had given fantastic
names, and for whose manufacture he required diverse ingredients that it
devolved upon Edna to procure for him.

When Doctor Mandelet dined with the Pontelliers on Thursday he could
discern in Mrs. Pontellier no trace of that morbid condition which her
husband had reported to him. She was excited and in a manner radiant.
She and her father had been to the race course, and their thoughts when
they seated themselves at table were still occupied with the events of
the afternoon, and their talk was still of the track. The Doctor had not
kept pace with turf affairs. He had certain recollections of racing
in what he called "the good old times" when the Lecompte stables
flourished, and he drew upon this fund of memories