"Well, perhaps it's for the best," said Aunt Sophy; "speaking openly, I never cared for him. I always felt that no good would come out of that connection."
"No, don't let us be partial," remarked Aunt Mary, "he has qualities.... Only, as a man that has been a good deal spoilt, he is perhaps a little selfish.... Yes, and wants to make a good career too.... That was evident from the very beginning. I must acknowledge that, when I heard that my late brother-in-law was asked to exert himself about getting that appointment, I said to my husband, "You may say what you like, but, il y a du louche."
"Well, let him go, and Heaven bless him!" concluded Aunt Julia. "There are as good fish in the sea as ever came out. Mimotchka can make a much better match. It's a good thing that he has left Petersburg. At any rate it will all be done with and forgotten. It's no use despairing. Believe me, everything is for the best."
And perhaps really it is all for the best. Thank Heaven, Mimotchka is once more engaged, once more receiving congratulations.... This time not only the day, but also the "hour" of the marriage is fixed, and that hour is so near that Aunt Julia's carriage and black horses are waiting at the door to take Mimotchka to the fashionable church where the guests are assembling.
And Mimotchka herself is sitting before her toilet-table in her pink, young girl's room, and looks in the glass, watching the movements of the coiffeur Gustave arranging her pretty hair.
On the bed, with its folded-back pink curtains, lies the white dress, the tulle veil, and the wreath of orange blossoms.
II
When Mimotchka was four years old she had not any idea either of "The little shooter," or "The canary bird,"[5] but she could sing "Il était une bergêr" ... and "Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre." At seven she could already lisp and chatter very prettily in French. Mdlle. Victoire, her nurse, had, up to that time, taught her the French alphabet and a few little songs. Then she was given Perrault's and Berken's fairy tales, which acquainted her with the histories of Bluebeard, Puss-in-Boots, and Peau D'Ane.
[5] Russian nursery rhymes.
And what a cherub Mimotchka was, with her sweet little face, her flaxen hair, her plump, bare arms and shoulders, dressed like a doll in a white frock with a broad sash! It was impossible not to admire her, and not to tell her that she was a most charming child. And Mimotchka liked to be told so, cast down her eyes, made a pretty curtsy, and was already coquettish.