Knowing that Mrs. Mallard suffered from a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences. Her husband’s friend Richards was there, too. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when news of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard’s name leading the list of “killed.” He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and hurried to send the sad message.
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same. She wept at once, with wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm of sadness had spent itself she went away to her room alone.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that held her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver (颤抖的) with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. The notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves(屋檐).
There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? It was too hard to name. But she felt it, coming out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the smells, the color that filled the air.
Now her chest rose and fell violently. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was trying very hard to beat it back with her will. When she gave up trying a little whispered word escaped her lips. She said it over and over under the breath: “free, free, free!”
She did not stop to ask if it was extreme joy that held her. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, gentle hands folded in death; the face that had never looked at her except with love, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment many years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.
There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers.
And yet she had loved him—sometimes. What did it matter! What could love count for in the face of her realization.