THE AWAKENING
I
A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the door, kept
repeating over and over:
"Allez vous-en! Allez vous-en! Sapristi! That\'s all right!"
He could speak a little Spanish, and also a language which nobody
understood, unless it was the mocking-bird that hung on the other side of
the door, whistling his fluty notes out upon the breeze with maddening
persistence.
Mr. Pontellier, unable to read his newspaper with any degree of
comfort, arose with an expression and an exclamation of disgust.
He walked down the gallery and across the narrow "bridges" which
connected the Lebrun cottages one with the other. He had been seated
before the door of the main house. The parrot and the mockingbird were
the property of Madame Lebrun, and they had the right to make all the
noise they wished. Mr. Pontellier had the privilege of quitting their
society when they ceased to be entertaining.
He stopped before the door of his own cottage, which was the fourth
one from the main building and next to the last. Seating himself in a
wicker rocker which was there, he once more applied himself to the task
of reading the newspaper. The day was Sunday; the paper was a day old.
The Sunday papers had not yet reached Grand Isle. He was already
acquainted with the market reports, and he glanced restlessly over the
editorials and bits of news which he had not had time to read before
quitting New Orleans the day before.
Mr. Pontellier wore eye-glasses. He 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.