ries
hung at doors and windows. There were paintings, selected with judgment
and discrimination, upon the walls. The cut glass, the silver, the heavy
damask which daily appeared upon the table were the envy of many women
whose husbands were less generous than Mr. Pontellier.

Mr. Pontellier was very fond of walking about his house examining its
various appointments and details, to see that nothing was amiss. He
greatly valued his possessions, chiefly because they were his, and
derived genuine pleasure from contemplating a painting, a statuette, a
rare lace curtain--no matter what--after he had bought it and placed it
among his household gods.

On Tuesday afternoons--Tuesday being Mrs. Pontellier's reception
day--there was a constant stream of callers--women who came in carriages
or in the street cars, or walked when the air was soft and distance
permitted. A light-colored mulatto boy, in dress coat and bearing a
diminutive silver tray for the reception of cards, admitted them. A
maid, in white fluted cap, offered the callers liqueur, coffee, or
chocolate, as they might desire. Mrs. Pontellier, attired in a handsome
reception gown, remained in the drawing-room the entire afternoon
receiving her visitors. Men sometimes called in the evening with their
wives.

This had been the programme which Mrs. Pontellier had religiously
followed since her marriage, six years before. Certain evenings during
the week she and her husband attended the opera or sometimes the play.

Mr. Pontellier left his home in the mornings between nine and ten
o'clock, and rarely returned before half-past six or seven in the
evening--dinner being served at half-past seven.

He and his wife seated themselves at table one Tuesday evening, a few
weeks after their return from Grand Isle. They were alone together.
The boys were being put to bed; the patter of their bare, escaping
feet could be heard occasionally, as well as the pursuing voice of the
quadroon, lifted in mild protest and entreaty. Mrs. Pontellier did not
wear her usual Tuesday reception gown; she was in ordinary house dress.
Mr. Pontellier, who was observant about such things, noticed it, as he
served the soup and handed it to the boy in waiting.

"Tired out, Edna? Whom did you have? Many callers?" he asked. He
tasted his soup and began to season it with pepper, salt, vinegar,
mustard--everything within reach.

"There were a good many," replied Edna, who was eating her soup with
evide