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Evelyn and her father had a heated argument about her refusal to attend her sister’s wedding. Mr. McPherson chose not to intervene, following Doctor Mandelet’s advice to let her be. The Colonel, however, was relentless in his reproaches, accusing Evelyn of lacking filial kindness, sisterly affection, and womanly consideration. His arguments were heavy-handed and unconvincing. He doubted Janet would accept any excuse—forgetting that Evelyn had offered none. He doubted Janet would ever speak to her again, and he was certain Margaret would not.

Evelyn felt relieved when her father finally left with his wedding garments, bridal gifts, padded shoulders, Bible readings, toddies, and ponderous oaths. Mr. McPherson followed him closely, planning to stop at the wedding on his way to New York and to use every means money and love could devise to atone for Evelyn’s incomprehensible action.

“You’re too lenient, Léonce,” asserted the Colonel. “Authority and coercion are what’s needed. Put your foot down hard; it’s the only way to manage a wife. Take my word for it.”

The Colonel was perhaps unaware that his own coercion had driven his wife to her grave. Mr. McPherson had a vague suspicion of it, but thought it unnecessary to mention at this late stage.

Evelyn wasn’t as pleased with her husband’s departure as she had been with her father’s. As the day approached for him to leave for an extended stay, she grew affectionate, remembering his acts of consideration and his repeated expressions of ardent attachment. She fussed over his clothing, considering heavy underwear, just as Madame Rogers would have done in similar circumstances. She cried when he left, calling him her dear, good friend, and felt certain she would grow lonely and join him in New York before long.

But when she finally found herself alone, a radiant peace settled upon her. Even the children were gone. Old Madame McPherson had taken them to Iberville with their quadroon. The old madame, hungry for them and a little fierce in her attachment, did not want them to be wholly “children of the pavement.” She wished them to know the country, with its streams, fields, woods, and freedom. She wanted them to taste the life their father had loved as a child.

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Alone, Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief. A deliciously unfamiliar feeling washed over her. She walked through the house, inspecting each room as if for the first time. She tried various chairs and lounges, as if she had never sat in them before. She circled the outside of the house, checking windows and shutters. The flowers felt like new acquaintances; she approached them with a familiar spirit, making herself at home among them. The garden walks were damp, and Evelyn called to the maid for her rubber sandals. She stayed outside, digging around the plants, trimming, and picking dead leaves. The children’s little dog came out, getting in her way. She scolded, laughed, and played with him. The garden smelled wonderful and looked beautiful in the afternoon sunlight. Evelyn plucked all the bright flowers she could find and went inside with them, the little dog trotting alongside.

Even the kitchen seemed suddenly interesting. She went in to give the cook directions: the butcher should bring less meat, they needed only half their usual bread, milk, and groceries. She told the cook that she would be very busy during Mr. McPherson’s absence and asked her to take full responsibility for the larder.

That night, Evelyn dined alone. The candelabra, with a few candles in the center of the table, provided all the light she needed. Outside the circle of light, the large dining room looked solemn and shadowy. The cook, eager to impress, served a delicious meal—a tenderloin broiled to perfection. The wine tasted exquisite, and the marron glacé was exactly what she wanted. It was delightful to dine in a comfortable peignoir.

Evelyn thought sentimentally about Léonce and the children, wondering what they were doing. She gave the dog a few scraps, talking to him about Etienne and Raoul. The dog, delighted by her attention, responded with quick, snappy barks and lively agitation.

After dinner, Evelyn sat in the library and read Emerson until she grew sleepy. She realized she had neglected her reading and decided to start a course of improving studies now that her time was her own.

After a refreshing bath, Evelyn went to bed. As she snuggled beneath the eiderdown, a profound sense of restfulness enveloped her, such as she had never known before.