Having been dragged reluctantly from one of these watering-places to another, I have been more and more struck by the inconvenient and niggardly life led by the wealthy and well-fed, the dulness and feebleness of their imagination, the lack of boldness in their tastes and desires.  And how much happier are those tourists, old and young, who, not having the money to stay in hotels, live where they can, admire the view of the sea from the tops of the mountains, lying on the green grass, walk instead of riding, see the forests and villages at close quarters, observe the customs of the country, listen to its songs, fall in love with its women. . . .

While I was sitting in the park, it began to get dark, and in the twilight my Ariadne appeared, elegant and dressed like a princess; after her walked Lubkov, wearing a new loose-fitting suit, bought probably in Vienna.

“Why are you cross with me?” he was saying.  “What have I done to you?”

Seeing me, she uttered a cry of joy, and probably, if we had not been in the park, would have thrown herself on my neck.  She pressed my hands warmly and laughed; and I laughed too and almost cried with emotion.  Questions followed, of the village, of my father, whether I had seen her brother, and so on.  She insisted on my looking her straight in the face, and asked if I remembered the gudgeon, our little quarrels, the picnics. . . .

“How nice it all was really!” she sighed.  “But we’re not having a slow time here either.  We have a great many acquaintances, my dear, my best of friends!  To-morrow I will introduce you to a Russian family here, but please buy yourself another hat.”  She scrutinised me and frowned.  “Abbazzia is not the country,” she said; “here one must be comme il faut.”

Then we went to the restaurant.  Ariadne was laughing and mischievous all the time; she kept calling me “dear,” “good,” “clever,” and seemed as though she could not believe her eyes that I was with her.  We sat on till eleven o’clock, and parted very well satisfied both with the supper and with each other.

Next day Ariadne presented me to the Russian family as:  “The son of a distinguished professor whose estate is next to ours.”

She talked to this family about nothing but estates and crops, and kept appealing to me.  She wanted to appear to be a very wealthy landowner, and did, in fact, succeed in doing so.  Her manner was superb like that of a real aristocrat, which indeed she was by birth.

“But what a person my aunt is!” she said suddenly, looking at me with a smile.  “We had a slight tiff, and she has bolted off to Meran.  What do you say to that?”

Afterwards when we were walking in the park I asked her: 

“What aunt were you talking of just now?  What aunt is that?”

“That was a saving lie,” laughed Ariadne.  “They must not know I’m without a chaperon.”

After a moment’s silence she came closer to me and said: