[11] Russian married men wear wedding-rings as well as women.
It was quite dark, and Vava, mamma, and the lady from Moscow were already asleep when Mimotchka put her head out of the window for the last time. The station was like all the other stations. A little two-storied wooden house, with a bell attached to it, and with lit-up windows, from which, behind the pots of geraniums and balsams, the station-master's untidy wife in a pink cotton dress looked out. The flickering light of the lamp lit up the dark platform, on which the motionless figures of the peasants stood staring stupidly at the train; the gendarme also stood motionless; the guard went past the carriage. Some one greeted the station-master. Ah, there he is! He isn't asleep yet. He again passed close to the carriage in which Mimotchka was seated, and this time he came so near and looked into her eyes so expressively that Mimotchka got frightened and pulled up the window. And the train sped along further. Mimotchka lay down to sleep, but she was disturbed and felt dissatisfied with herself, with him, and with everybody. Why did he look at her in that manner? It was impertinent.... How could he dare to? what did he take her for? She admitted /that she herself was perhaps rather to blame; but why shouldn't she amuse herself a little on the journey? Of course in Petersburg she would never have allowed herself to do anything of the kind. How he looked at her, how he looked at her, to be sure! But anyhow he had beautiful eyes! She thought she had never seen such eyes. Well, now, enough of him—better forget all about him. Nobody will ever be the wiser, and he does not know who she is. To-morrow they will go off in different directions, and perhaps never see each other again.... It's time to go to sleep.
And Mimotchka turned the cushion and covered herself over with the wrapper. But the sofa was uncomfortable, and the carriage felt stuffy and smelt of smoke and coal. In vain she sniffed at her sel de vinaigre and counted out some drops of valerian—she only fell asleep when the carriage blinds began to whiten with the coming dawn.
And now at last the long journey is over. Vava is already gazing at the mountains, which the lady from Moscow names to her: Beshtau, Razvalka, and Jeleznaia.
The guard collects the tickets. The hand-baggage is strapped up. Mimotchka yawns; she has slept badly, and is not in good spirits. She feels as if she would like to die. The train stops at the station of the Mineral Waters, Which is buried in a garden full of white acacias.
Good heavens, what a lot of passengers are getting out here! Will there be carriages enough? And how sweet the white acacia smells! What a sky! What fresh, pure air! Mamma hastily bids good-bye to the lady from Moscow, who is going on further, and loads three porters with the hand-baggage. Vava tries to make herself useful, finds Katia, and looks after the things; Mimotchka envelops herself in a thick veil and goes into the ladies' room. She feels very out of sorts, and still thinks she would like to die. She is aching all over, and tears of weakness almost choke her. She is rather ashamed of yesterday's exchange of glances. Only think, a son age, dans sa position!... And besides, who knows who and what he is? She really had not seen him thoroughly well. It was all the darkness and her imagination. Perhaps he had been boasting in the carriage, although he has really nothing to boast about. And after all she does not care! And Mimotchka, without turning her head, crosses the room where the people are sitting and drinking tea; but even without looking she sees that he is differently dressed. And how pale he looks; he is really not nearly as handsome as she had thought yesterday.... Of course it was all owing to the darkness and her imagination.
A carriage is found and brought up, the things are put in it, and the ladies and Katia take their places inside.
"All right, drive on!"
The carriage rolls on through the green steppe and over the soft country road. In the heavens the larks are carolling. Other carriages overtake our ladies. Here is the lady with the shaking head and there is the boy with the St. Vitus's dance.... And here, passing all the others, another carriage flies along, in which he is seated, he "l'homme au chien," as Mimotchka calls him. He is wearing another hat, the third since yesterday, and at his feet, stretched out full length, lies the beautiful Newfoundland dog.