She had possession of the rocker, and she was busily engaged in sewing
upon a diminutive pair of night-drawers.

She had brought the pattern of the drawers for Mrs. Pontellier to cut
out--a marvel of construction, fashioned to enclose a baby's body so
effectually that only two small eyes might look out from the garment,
like an Eskimo's. They were designed for winter wear, when treacherous
drafts came down chimneys and insidious currents of deadly cold found
their way through key-holes.

Mrs. Pontellier's mind was quite at rest concerning the present material
needs of her children, and she could not see the use of anticipating and
making winter night garments the subject of her summer meditations.
But she did not want to appear unamiable and uninterested, so she
had brought forth newspapers, which she spread upon the floor of the
gallery, and under Madame Ratignolle's directions she had cut a pattern
of the impervious garment.

Robert was there, seated as he had been the Sunday before, and Mrs.
Pontellier also occupied her former position on the upper step, leaning
listlessly against the post. Beside her was a box of bonbons, which she
held out at intervals to Madame Ratignolle.

That lady seemed at a loss to make a selection, but finally settled upon
a stick of nougat, wondering if it were not too rich; whether it could
possibly hurt her. Madame Ratignolle had been married seven years. About
every two years she had a baby. At that time she had three babies, and
was beginning to think of a fourth one. She was always talking about her
"condition." Her "condition" was in no way apparent, and no one would
have known a thing about it but for her persistence in making it the