"Nothing," returned Mrs.Pontellier, with a start, adding at once: "How stupid! But it seems to me it is the reply we make instinctively to such a question.Let me see," she went on, throwing back her head and narrowing her fine eyes till they shone like two vivid points of light."Let me see.I was really not conscious of thinking of anything; but perhaps I can retrace my thoughts.""Oh! never mind!" laughed Madame Ratignolle."I am not quite so exacting.I will let you off this time.It is really too hot to think, especially to think about thinking.""But for the fun of it," persisted Edna."First of all, the sight of the water stretching so far away, those motionless sails against the blue sky, made a delicious picture that I just wanted to sit and look at.The hot wind beating in my face made me think--without any connection that I can trace of a summer day in Kentucky, of a meadow that seemed as big as the ocean to the very little girl walking through the grass, which was higher than her waist.She threw out her arms as if swimming when she walked, beating the tall grass as one strikes out in the water.Oh, I see the connection now!""Where were you going that day in Kentucky, walking through the grass?""I don't remember now.I was just walking diagonally across a big field.My sun-bonnet obstructed the view.I could see only the stretch of green before me, and I felt as if I must walk on forever, without coming to the end of it.I don't remember whether I was frightened or pleased.I must have been entertained.
"Likely as not it was Sunday," she laughed; "and I was running away from prayers, from the Presbyterian service, read in a spirit of gloom by my father that chills me yet to think of.""And have you been running away from prayers ever since, ma chere?" asked Madame Ratignolle, amused.
"No! oh, no!" Edna hastened to say."I was a little unthinking child in those days, just following a misleading impulse without question.Onthe contrary, during one period of my life religion took a firm hold upon me; after I was twelve and until-until--why, I suppose until now, though I never thought much about it--just driven along by habit.But do you know," she broke off, turning her quick eyes upon Madame Ratignolle and leaning forward a little so as to bring her face quite close to that of her companion, "sometimes I feel this summer as if I were walking through the green meadow again; idly, aimlessly, unthinking and unguided."Madame Ratignolle laid her hand over that of Mrs.Pontellier, which was near her.Seeing that the hand was not withdrawn, she clasped it firmly and warmly.She even stroked it a little, fondly, with the other hand, murmuring in an undertone, "Pauvre cherie."The action was at first a little confusing to Edna, but she soon lent herself readily to the Creole's gentle caress.She was not accustomed to an outward and spoken expression of affection, either in herself or in others.She and her younger sister, Janet, had quarreled a good deal through force of unfortunate habit.Her older sister, Margaret, was matronly and dignified, probably from having assumed matronly and housewifely responsibilities too early in life, their mother having died when they were quite young, Margaret was not effusive; she was practical.Edna had had an occasional girl friend, but whether accidentally or not, they seemed to have been all of one type--the self-contained.She never realized that the reserve of her own character had much, perhaps everything, to do with this.Her most intimate friend at school had been one of rather exceptional intellectual gifts, who wrote fine-sounding essays, which Edna admired and strove to imitate; and with her she talked and glowed over the English classics, and sometimes held religious and political controversies.
Edna often wondered at one propensity which sometimes had inwardly disturbed her without causing any outward show or manifestation on her part.At a very early age--perhaps it was when she traversed the ocean of waving grass--she remembered that she had been passionately enamored of a dignified and sad-eyed cavalry officer who visited her father in Kentucky.She could not leave his presence when he was there, nor remove her eyes from his face, which was something like Napoleon's, witha lock of black hair failing across the forehead.But the cavalry officer melted imperceptibly out of her existence.
