Ratignolle was alone, and he detested above all
things to be left alone.

When Etienne had fallen asleep Edna bore him into the back room, and
Robert went and lifted the mosquito bar that she might lay the child
comfortably in his bed. The quadroon had vanished. When they emerged
from the cottage Robert bade Edna good-night.

"Do you know we have been together the whole livelong day, Robert--since
early this morning?" she said at parting.

"All but the hundred years when you were sleeping. Goodnight."

He pressed her hand and went away in the direction of the beach. He did
not join any of the others, but walked alone toward the Gulf.

Edna stayed outside, awaiting her husband's return. She had no desire
to sleep or to retire; nor did she feel like going over to sit with the
Ratignolles, or to join Madame Lebrun and a group whose animated voices
reached her as they sat in conversation before the house. She let her
mind wander back over her stay at Grand Isle; and she tried to discover
wherein this summer had been different from any and every other summer
of her life. She could only realize that she herself--her present
self--was in some way different from the other self. That she was seeing
with different eyes and making the acquaintance of new conditions
in herself that colored and changed her environment, she did not yet
suspect.

She wondered why Robert had gone away and left her. It did not occur to
her to think he might have grown tired of being with her the livelong
day. She was not tired, and she felt that he was not. She regretted that
he had gone. It was so much more natural to have him stay when he was
not absolutely required to leave her.

As Edna waited for her husband she sang low a little song that Robert
had sung as they crossed the bay. It began with "Ah! Si tu savais," and
every verse ended with "si tu savais."

Robert's voice was not pretentious. It was musical and true. The voice,
the notes, the whole refrain haunted her memory.

XV

When Edna entered the dining-room one evening a little late, as was her
habit, an unusually animated conversation seemed to be going on. Several
persons were talking at once, and Victor's voice was predominating,
even over that of his mother. Edna had returned late from her bath, had
dressed in some haste, and her face was flushed. Her head, set off by
her dainty white gown, suggested a rich, rare blossom. She took her seat
at table between old Monsieur