e was a man of forty, of medium height
and rather slender build; he stooped a little. His hair was brown and
straight, parted on one side. His beard was neatly and closely trimmed.

Once in a while he withdrew his glance from the newspaper and looked
about him. There was more noise than ever over at the house. The main
building was called "the house," to distinguish it from the cottages.
The chattering and whistling birds were still at it. Two young girls,
the Farival twins, were playing a duet from "Zampa" upon the piano.
Madame Lebrun was bustling in and out, giving orders in a high key to a
yard-boy whenever she got inside the house, and directions in an equally
high voice to a dining-room servant whenever she got outside. She was
a fresh, pretty woman, clad always in white with elbow sleeves. Her
starched skirts crinkled as she came and went. Farther down, before
one of the cottages, a lady in black was walking demurely up and down,
telling her beads. A good many persons of the pension had gone over to
the Cheniere Caminada in Beaudelet's lugger to hear mass. Some young
people were out under the wateroaks playing croquet. Mr. Pontellier's
two children were there sturdy little fellows of four and five. A
quadroon nurse followed them about with a faraway, meditative air.

Mr. Pontellier finally lit a cigar and began to smoke, letting the paper
drag idly from his hand. He fixed his gaze upon a white sunshade that
was advancing at snail's pace from the beach. He could see it plainly
between the gaunt trunks of the water-oaks and across the stretch of
yellow camomile. The gulf looked far away, melting hazily into the blue
of the horizon. The sunshade continued to approach slowly. Beneath its
pink-lined shelter were his wife, Mrs. Pontellier, and young Robert
Lebrun. When they reached the cottage, the two seated themselves with
some appearance of fatigue upon the upper step of the porch, facing each
other, each leaning against a supporting post.

"What folly! to bathe at such an hour in such heat!" exclaimed Mr.
Pontellier. He himself had taken a plunge at daylight. That was why the
morning seemed long to him.

"You are burnt beyond recognition," he added, looking at his wife as one
looks at a valuable piece of personal property which has suffered some
damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely hands, and surveyed them
critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves above the wrists. Looking at
them reminded her of her rin