ould picture at that
moment no greater bliss on earth than possession of the beloved one.
His expression of love had already given him to her in part. When she
thought that he was there at hand, waiting for her, she grew numb with
the intoxication of expectancy. It was so late; he would be asleep
perhaps. She would awaken him with a kiss. She hoped he would be asleep
that she might arouse him with her caresses.

Still, she remembered Adele's voice whispering, "Think of the children;
think of them." She meant to think of them; that determination had
driven into her soul like a death wound--but not to-night. To-morrow
would be time to think of everything.

Robert was not waiting for her in the little parlor. He was nowhere at
hand. The house was empty. But he had scrawled on a piece of paper that
lay in the lamplight:

"I love you. Good-by--because I love you."

Edna grew faint when she read the words. She went and sat on the sofa.
Then she stretched herself out there, never uttering a sound. She did
not sleep. She did not go to bed. The lamp sputtered and went out. She
was still awake in the morning, when Celestine unlocked the kitchen door
and came in to light the fire.

XXXIX

Victor, with hammer and nails and scraps of scantling, was patching a
corner of one of the galleries. Mariequita sat near by, dangling her
legs, watching him work, and handing him nails from the tool-box. The
sun was beating down upon them. The girl had covered her head with her
apron folded into a square pad. They had been talking for an hour or
more. She was never tired of hearing Victor describe the dinner at Mrs.
Pontellier's. He exaggerated every detail, making it appear a veritable
Lucullean feast. The flowers were in tubs, he said. The champagne was
quaffed from huge golden goblets. Venus rising from the foam could have
presented no more entrancing a spectacle than Mrs. Pontellier, blazing
with beauty and diamonds at the head of the board, while the other women
were all of them youthful houris, possessed of incomparable charms. She
got it into her head that Victor was in love with Mrs. Pontellier, and
he gave her evasive answers, framed so as to confirm her belief. She
grew sullen and cried a little, threatening to go off and leave him to
his fine ladies. There were a dozen men crazy about her at the Cheniere;
and since it was the fashion to be in love with married people, why, she
could run away any time she liked to New Or