She slept but a few hours.They were troubled and feverish hours, disturbed with dreams that were intangible, that eluded her, leaving only an impression upon her half-awakened senses of something unattainable.She was up and dressed in the cool of the early morning.The air was invigorating and steadied somewhat her faculties.However, she was not seeking refreshment or help from any source, either external or from within.She was blindly following whatever impulse moved her, as if she had placed herself in alien hands for direction, and freed her soul of responsibility.
Most of the people at that early hour were still in bed and asleep.A few, who intended to go over to the Cheniere for mass, were moving about.The lovers, who had laid their plans the night before, were already strolling toward the wharf.The lady in black, with her Sunday prayer- book, velvet and gold-clasped, and her Sunday silver beads, was following them at no great distance.Old Monsieur Farival was up, and was more than half inclined to do anything that suggested itself.He put on his big straw hat, and taking his umbrella from the stand in the hall, followed the lady in black, never overtaking her.
The little negro girl who worked Madame Lebrun's sewing-machine was sweeping the galleries with long, absent-minded strokes of the broom.Edna sent her up into the house to awaken Robert.
"Tell him I am going to the Cheniere.The boat is ready; tell him to hurry."He had soon joined her.She had never sent for him before.She hadnever asked for him.She had never seemed to want him before.She did not appear conscious that she had done anything unusual in commanding his presence.He was apparently equally unconscious of anything extraordinary in the situation.But his face was suffused with a quiet glow when he met her.
They went together back to the kitchen to drink coffee.There was no time to wait for any nicety of service.They stood outside the window and the cook passed them their coffee and a roll, which they drank and ate from the window-sill.Edna said it tasted good.
She had not thought of coffee nor of anything.He told her he had often noticed that she lacked forethought.
"Wasn't it enough to think of going to the Cheniere and waking you up?" she laughed."Do I have to think of everything?--as Leonce says when he's in a bad humor.I don't blame him; he'd never be in a bad humor if it weren't for me."They took a short cut across the sands.At a distance they could see the curious procession moving toward the wharf--the lovers, shoulder to shoulder, creeping; the lady in black, gaining steadily upon them; old Monsieur Farival, losing ground inch by inch, and a young barefooted Spanish girl, with a red kerchief on her head and a basket on her arm, bringing up the rear.
Robert knew the girl, and he talked to her a little in the boat.No one present understood what they said.Her name was Mariequita.She had a round, sly, piquant face and pretty black eyes.Her hands were small, and she kept them folded over the handle of her basket.Her feet were broad and coarse.She did not strive to hide them.Edna looked at her feet, and noticed the sand and slime between her brown toes.
