“He isn’t a friend of Mr. Pontellier’s; he’s a friend of mine. I always knew him⁠—that is, it is only of late that I know him pretty well. But I’d rather talk about you, and know what you have been seeing and doing and feeling out there in Mexico.” Robert threw aside the picture.

“I’ve been seeing the waves and the white beach of Grand Isle; the quiet, grassy street of the Chénière ; the old fort at Grande Terre. I’ve been working like a machine, and feeling like a lost soul. There was nothing interesting.”

She leaned her head upon her hand to shade her eyes from the light.

“And what have you been seeing and doing and feeling all these days?” he asked.