The Awakening, and Selected Short Stories
the face or the lips. She wanted to draw close to him and whisper
against his cheek—she did not care what—as she might have done if she
had not been a respectable woman.
The stronger the impulse grew to bring herself near him, the further,
in fact, did she draw away from him. As soon as she could do so without
an appearance of too great rudeness, she rose and left him there alone.
Before she reached the house, Gouvernail had lighted a fresh cigar and
ended his apostrophe to the night.
Mrs. Baroda was greatly tempted that night to tell her husband—who was
also her friend—of this folly that had seized her. But she did not
yield to the temptation. Beside being a respectable woman she was a
very sensible one; and she knew there are some battles in life which a
human being must fight alone.
When Gaston arose in the morning, his wife had already departed. She
had taken an early morning train to the city. She did not return till
Gouvernail was gone from under her roof.
There was some talk of having him back during the summer that followed.
That is, Gaston greatly desired it; but this desire yielded to his
wife’s strenuous opposition.
However, before the year ended, she proposed, wholly from herself, to
have Gouvernail visit them again. Her husband was surprised and
delighted with the suggestion coming from her.
“I am glad, chère amie, to know that you have finally overcome your
dislike for him; truly he did not deserve it.”
“Oh,” she told him, laughingly, after pressing a long, tender kiss upon
his lips, “I have overcome everything! you will see. This time I shall
be very nice to him.”
THE KISS
It was still quite light out of doors, but inside with the curtains
drawn and the smouldering fire sending out a dim, uncertain glow, the
room was full of deep shadows.
Brantain sat in one of these shadows; it had overtaken him and he did
not mind. The obscurity lent him courage to keep his eyes fastened as
ardently as he liked upon the girl who sat in the firelight.
She was very handsome, with a certain fine, rich coloring that belongs
to the healthy brune type. She was quite composed, as she idly stroked
the satiny coat of the cat that lay curled in her lap, and she
occasionally sent a slow glance into the shadow where her companion
sat. They were talking low, of indifferent things which plainly were
not the things that occupied their thoughts. She knew that he loved
her—a frank, blustering fellow without guile enough to conceal his
feelings, and no desire to do so. For two weeks past he had sought her
society eagerly and persistently. She was confidently waiting for him
to declare himself and she meant to accept him. The rather
insignificant and unattractive Brantain was enormously rich; and she
liked and required the entourage which wealth could give her.
During one of the pauses between their talk of the last tea and the
next reception the door opened and a young man entered whom Brantain
knew quite well. The girl turned her face toward him. A stride or two
brought him to her side, and bending over her chair—before she could
suspect his intention, for she did not realize that he had not seen her
visitor—he pressed an ardent, lingering kiss upon her lips.
Brantain slowly arose; so did the girl arise, but quickly, and the
newcomer stood between them, a little amusement and some defiance
struggling with the confusion in his face.
“I believe,” stammered Brantain, “I see that I have stayed too long.
I—I had no idea—that is, I must wish you good-by.” He was clutching his
hat with both hands, and probably did not perceive that she was
extending her hand to him, her presence of mind had not completely
deserted her; but she could not have trusted herself to speak.
“Hang me if I saw him sitting there, Nattie! I know it’s deuced awkward
for you. But I hope you’ll forgive me this once—this very first break.
Why, what’s the matter?”
“Don’t touch me; don’t come near me,” she returned angrily. “What do
you mean by entering the house without ringing?”
“I came in with your brother, as I often do,” he answered coldly, in
self-justification. “We came in the side way. He went upstairs and I
came in here hoping to find you. The explanation is simple enough and
ought to satisfy you that the misadventure was unavoidable. But do say
that you forgive me, Nathalie,” he entreated, softening.
“Forgive you! You don’t know what you are talking about. Let me pass.
It depends upon—a good deal whether I ever forgive you.”
At that next reception which she and Brantain had been talking about
she approached the young man with a delicious frankness of manner when
she saw him there.
“Will you let me speak to you a moment or two, Mr. Brantain?” she asked
with an engaging but perturbed smile. He seemed extremely unhappy; but
when she took his arm and walked away with him, seeking a retired
corner, a ray of hope mingled with the almost comical misery of his
expression. She was apparently very outspoken.
“Perhaps I should not have sought this interview, Mr. Brantain;
but—but, oh, I have been very uncomfortable, almost miserable since
that little encounter the other afternoon. When I thought how you might
have misinterpreted it, and believed things”—hope was plainly gaining
the ascendancy over misery in Brantain’s round, guileless face—“Of
course, I know it is nothing to you, but for my own sake I do want you
to understand that Mr. Harvy is an intimate friend of long standing.
Why, we have always been like cousins—like brother and sister, I may
say. He is my brother’s most intimate associate and often fancies that
he is entitled to the same privileges as the family. Oh, I know it is
absurd, uncalled for, to tell you this; undignified even,” she was
almost weeping, “but it makes so much difference to me what you think
of—of me.” Her voice had grown very low and agitated. The misery had
all disappeared from Brantain’s face.
“Then you do really care what I think, Miss Nathalie? May I call you
Miss Nathalie?” They turned into a long, dim corridor that was lined on
either side with tall, graceful plants. They walked slowly to the very
end of it. When they turned to retrace their steps Brantain’s face was
radiant and hers was triumphant.
Harvy was among the guests at the wedding; and he sought her out in a
rare moment when she stood alone.
“Your husband,” he said, smiling, “has sent me over to kiss you.”
A quick blush suffused her face and round polished throat. “I suppose
it’s natural for a man to feel and act generously on an occasion of
this kind. He tells me he doesn’t want his marriage to interrupt wholly
that pleasant intimacy which has existed between you and me. I don’t
know what you’ve been telling him,” with an insolent smile, “but he has
sent me here to kiss you.”
She felt like a chess player who, by the clever handling of his pieces,
sees the game taking the course intended. Her eyes were bright and
tender with a smile as they glanced up into his; and her lips looked
hungry for the kiss which they invited.
“But, you know,” he went on quietly, “I didn’t tell him so, it would
have seemed ungrateful, but I can tell you. I’ve stopped kissing women;
it’s dangerous.”
Well, she had Brantain and his million left. A person can’t have
everything in this world; and it was a little unreasonable of her to
expect it.
A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS
Little Mrs. Sommers one day found herself the unexpected possessor of
fifteen dollars. It seemed to her a very large amount of money, and the
way in which it stuffed and bulged her worn old _porte-monnaie_ gave
her a feeling of importance such as she had not enjoyed for years.
The question of investment was one that occupied her greatly. For a day
or two she walked about apparently in a dreamy state, but really
absorbed in speculation and calculation. She did not wish to act
hastily, to do anything she might afterward regret. But it was during
the still hours of the night when she lay awake revolving plans in her
mind that she seemed to see her way clearly toward a proper and
judicious use of the money.
A dollar or two should be added to the price usually paid for Janie’s
shoes, which would insure their lasting an appreciable time longer than
they usually did. She would buy so and so many yards of percale for new
shirt waists for the boys and Janie and Mag. She had intended to make
the old ones do by skilful patching. Mag should have another gown. She
had seen some beautiful patterns, veritable bargains in the shop
windows. And still there would be left enough for new stockings—two
pairs apiece—and what darning that would save for a while! She would
get caps for the boys and sailor-hats for the girls. The vision of her
little brood looking fresh and dainty and new for once in their lives
excited her and made her restless and wakeful with anticipation.
The neighbors sometimes talked of certain “better days” that little
Mrs. Sommers had known before she had ever thought of being Mrs.
Sommers. She herself indulged in no such morbid retrospection. She had
no time—no second of time to devote to the past. The needs of the
present absorbed her every faculty. A vision of the future like some
dim, gaunt monster sometimes appalled her, but luckily to-morrow never
comes.
Mrs. Sommers was one who knew the value of bargains; who could stand
for hours making her way inch by inch toward the desired object that
was selling below cost. She could elbow her way if need be; she had
learned to clutch a piece of goods and hold it and stick to it with
persistence and determination till her turn came to be served, no
matter when it came.
But that day she was a little faint and tired. She had swallowed a
light luncheon—no! when she came to think of it, between getting the
children fed and the place righted, and preparing herself for the
shopping bout, she had actually forgotten to eat any luncheon at all!
She sat herself upon a revolving stool before a counter that was
comparatively deserted, trying to gather strength and courage to charge
through an eager multitude that was besieging breastworks of shirting
and figured lawn. An all-gone limp feeling had come over her and she
rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter. She wore no gloves. By
degrees she grew aware that her hand had encountered something very
soothing, very pleasant to touch. She looked down to see that her hand
lay upon a pile of silk stockings. A placard near by announced that
they had been reduced in price from two dollars and fifty cents to one
dollar and ninety-eight cents; and a young girl who stood behind the
counter asked her if she wished to examine their line of silk hosiery.
She smiled, just as if she had been asked to inspect a tiara of
diamonds with the ultimate view of purchasing it. But she went on
feeling the soft, sheeny luxurious things—with both hands now, holding
them up to see them glisten, and to feel them glide serpent-like
through her fingers.
Two hectic blotches came suddenly into her pale cheeks. She looked up
at the girl.
“Do you think there are any eights-and-a-half among these?”
There were any number of eights-and-a-half. In fact, there were more of
that size than any other. Here was a light-blue pair; there were some
lavender, some all black and various shades of tan and gray. Mrs.
Sommers selected a black pair and looked at them very long and closely.
She pretended to be examining their texture, which the clerk assured
her was excellent.
“A dollar and ninety-eight cents,” she mused aloud. “Well, I’ll take
this pair.” She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and waited for her
change and for her parcel. What a very small parcel it was! It seemed
lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping-bag.