[MIMOTCHKA AT THE SPRINGS]
Mimotchka is getting thin, Mimotchka looks pale, Mimotchka is dull....
Mamma is anxious and fusses; Spiridon Ivanovitch grunts and frowns; baby is tiresome and roars....
Such, in its general features, is Mimotchka's life—and yet it had seemed to begin so well!
Directly after the wedding the young couple went abroad. The doctor had long advised Spiridon Ivanovitch to take a course of waters, and even before meeting his bride he had intended to pass the summer abroad. His unexpected marriage had not changed previous plans, and, having obtained three months' leave, Spiridon Ivanovitch started with his young wife for Vichy.
They travelled with every possible comfort, and Spiridon Ivanovitch was so careful and attentive during the journey, that Mimotchka was obliged to own that it was much nicer and pleasanter travelling with him than with mamma. However, in spite of it all, on their arrival in Paris she was so tired out, and above all so enervated, so enervated, that she cried the whole day long, and even thought she would like to kill herself, because it seemed to her that she cared for nothing in life. Paris was so dark, so gloomy, horrible, and disgusting.... The sun never shone, and the rain poured and poured.... And she cried and cried.... The tears certainly rather troubled Spiridon Ivanovitch, but after all what could he do?... The rain—what rain it was to be sure! But it was God's will.... And he only drummed on the table with his fingers and swore at the servants.
But when the young people arrived at Vichy, where the comfortable rooms, that had been ordered beforehand and had a balcony overlooking the crowded boulevard, were awaiting them, when they had dined both savourily and satisfactorily in these bright, cheerful rooms, and when, above all, they had unpacked their trunks and bags, then again everything looked nice and bright. Mimotchka saw that, in spite of everything, life was still endurable and might even be very pleasant. She wiped away her tears and occupied herself in hanging up her new dresses.
Then they sent for a doctor. And there came a dark-eyed young Frenchman, good-looking and chatty. And how he spoke French—gracious heavens, how he spoke! What a doctor! Everyone, everyone all round, beginning with the grey-haired landlady, and ending with Joseph, the concierge's fourteen-year-old son, every one was so amiable, elegant, attentive, and lively.... It seemed to Mimotchka as if she had come to her native land. The chemist, to whom the young people went, directly after their arrival, for some rhubarb and magnesia, was as like as two peas to the jeune premier of the Théâtre Michel, so that Mimotchka quite blushed when Spiridon Ivanovitch, having got his magnesia, began to inquire of the young man about some further remedies.... And the postman was very like the well-known coiffeur from the Bolshaia Konushenaia....