“It isn’t pleasant to have a woman tell you⁠—” he went on, unheedingly, but breaking off suddenly: “Now if I were like Arobin⁠—you remember Alcée Arobin and that story of the consul’s wife at Biloxi?” And he related the story of Alcée Arobin and the consul’s wife; and another about the tenor of the French Opera, who received letters which should never have been written; and still other stories, grave and gay, till Mrs. Pontellier and her possible propensity for taking young men seriously was apparently forgotten.

Madame Ratignolle, when they had regained her cottage, went in to take the hour’s rest which she considered helpful. Before leaving her, Robert begged her pardon for the impatience⁠—he called it rudeness⁠—with which he had received her well-meant caution.