kind of repose invade her
with the very atmosphere of the shabby, unpretentious little room.

Edna sat at the window, which looked out over the house-tops and across
the river. The window frame was filled with pots of flowers, and she sat
and picked the dry leaves from a rose geranium. The day was warm, and
the breeze which blew from the river was very pleasant. She removed her
hat and laid it on the piano. She went on picking the leaves and
digging around the plants with her hat pin. Once she thought she heard
Mademoiselle Reisz approaching. But it was a young black girl, who
came in, bringing a small bundle of laundry, which she deposited in the
adjoining room, and went away.

Edna seated herself at the piano, and softly picked out with one hand
the bars of a piece of music which lay open before her. A half-hour went
by. There was the occasional sound of people going and coming in the
lower hall. She was growing interested in her occupation of picking out
the aria, when there was a second rap at the door. She vaguely wondered
what these people did when they found Mademoiselle's door locked.

"Come in," she called, turning her face toward the door. And this time
it was Robert Lebrun who presented himself. She attempted to rise; she
could not have done so without betraying the agitation which mastered
her at sight of him, so she fell back upon the stool, only exclaiming,
"Why, Robert!"

He came and clasped her hand, seemingly without knowing what he was
saying or doing.

"Mrs. Pontellier! How do you happen--oh! how well you look! Is
Mademoiselle Reisz not here? I never expected to see you."

"When did you come back?" asked Edna in an unsteady voice, wiping her
face with her handkerchief. She seemed ill at ease on the piano stool,
and he begged her to take the chair by the window.

She did so, mechanically, while he seated himself on the stool.

"I returned day before yesterday," he answered, while he leaned his arm
on the keys, bringing forth a crash of discordant sound.

"Day before yesterday!" she repeated, aloud; and went on thinking to
herself, "day before yesterday," in a sort of an uncomprehending way.
She had pictured him seeking her at the very first hour, and he had
lived under the same sky since day before yesterday; while only by
accident had he stumbled upon her. Mademoiselle must have lied when she
said, "Poor fool, he loves you."

"Day before yesterday," she repeated, breaking off a spray of
M