THE AWAKENINGIA green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the door, keptrepeating 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 nobodyunderstood, unless it was the mocking-bird that hung on the otherside of the door, whistling his fluty notes out upon the breeze withmaddening 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" whichconnected the Lebrun cottages one with the other. He had been seatedbefore the door of the main house. The parrot and the mockingbird werethe property of Madame Lebrun, and they had the right to make all thenoise they wished. Mr. Pontellier had the privilege of quitting theirsociety when they ceased to be entertaining.He stopped before the door of his own cottage, which was the fourth onefrom the main building and next to the last. Seating himself in a wickerrocker which was there, he once more applied himself to the task ofreading the newspaper. The day was Sunday; the paper was a day old. TheSunday papers had not yet reached Grand Isle. He was already acquaintedwith the market reports, and he glanced restlessly over the editorialsand bits of news which he had not had time to read before quitting NewOrleans the day before.Mr. Pontellier wore eye-glasses. He was a man of forty, of medium heightand rather slender build; he stooped a little. His hair was brown andstraight, parted on one side. His beard was neatly and closely trimmed.Once in a while he withdrew his glance from the newspaper and lookedabout him. There was more noise than ever over at the house. The mainbuilding 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 ayard-boy whenever she got inside the house, and directions in an equallyhigh voice to a dining-room servant whenever she got outside. She wasa fresh, pretty woman, clad always in white with elbow sleeves. Herstarched skirts crinkled as she came and went. Farther down, beforeone 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 tothe Cheniere Caminada in Beaudelet's lugger to hear mass. Some youngpeople were out under the wateroaks playing croquet. Mr. Pontellier'stwo children were there--sturdy little fellows of four and five. Aquadroon nurse followed them about with a faraway, meditative air.Mr. Pontellier finally lit a cigar and began to smoke, letting the paperdrag idly from his hand. He fixed his gaze upon a white sunshade thatwas advancing at snail's pace from the beach. He could see it plainlybetween the gaunt trunks of the water-oaks and across the stretch ofyellow camomile. The gulf looked far away, melting hazily into the blueof the horizon. The sunshade continued to approach slowly. Beneath itspink-lined shelter were his wife, Mrs. Pontellier, and young RobertLebrun. When they reached the cottage, the two seated themselves withsome appearance of fatigue upon the upper step of the porch, facing eachother, each leaning against a supporting p