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"Haven't you in the shop anything . . . such as . . ." muttered Obtyosov, moving his fingers, "something, so to say, allegorical . . . revivifying . . . seltzer-water, for instance. Have you any seltzer-water?" "Yes," answered the chemist's wife. "Bravo! You're a fairy, not a woman! Give us three bottles!"
I liked her very much. . . . Tell me, doctor, can she possibly love that jawbone of an ass? Can she?" "No, most likely she does not love him," sighed the doctor, speaking as though he were sorry for the chemist. "The little woman is asleep behind the window, Obtyosov, what? Tossing with the heat, her little mouth half open . . . and one little foot hanging out of bed.
Five minutes later the doctor parted from Obtyosov and walked on, while Obtyosov came back. He walked past the shop once and a second time. . . . He would stop near the door and then take a few steps again. At last the bell tinkled discreetly. "What? Who is there?" the chemist's wife heard her husband's voice suddenly. "There's a ring at the bell, and you don't hear it," he said severely.
The chemist's wife sealed up the parcel and handed it to the doctor. Obtyosov gave her the money. Half a minute of silence followed. . . . The men exchanged glances, took a step towards the door, then looked at one another again. "Will you give me two pennyworth of soda?" said the doctor. Again the chemist's wife slowly and languidly raised her hand to the shelf.
Obtyosov took out of his pocket a fat pocket-book, and after fumbling for some time among the notes, paid. "Your husband's sleeping sweetly . . . he must be dreaming," he muttered, pressing her hand at parting. "I don't like to hear silly remarks. . . ." "What silly remarks? On the contrary, it's not silly at all . . . even Shakespeare said: 'Happy is he who in his youth is young."
The chemist's wife turned up the lamp and hurried to the door to open it, and now she felt neither vexed nor bored nor inclined to cry, though her heart was thumping. The big doctor and the slender Obtyosov walked in. Now she could get a view of them. The doctor was corpulent and swarthy; he wore a beard and was slow in his movements.
She had just been in the cellar, and so was flushed and rather excited. "Sh-sh! . . . quietly!" said Obtyosov when, after uncorking the bottles, she dropped the corkscrew. "Don't make such a noise; you'll wake your husband." "Well, what if I do wake him?" "He is sleeping so sweetly . . . he must be dreaming of you. . . . To your health!"
Two minutes later the chemist's wife saw Obtyosov go out of the shop, and, after he had gone some steps, she saw him throw the packet of peppermints on the dusty road. The doctor came from behind a corner to meet him. . . . They met and, gesticulating, vanished in the morning mist.
"The wine, one must admit, is wretched stuff! Vinum nastissimum! Though in the presence of . . . er . . . it tastes like nectar. You are enchanting, madam! In imagination I kiss your hand." "I would give a great deal to do so not in imagination," said Obtyosov. "On my honour, I'd give my life." "That's enough," said Madame Tchernomordik, flushing and assuming a serious expression.
Have you any vinum gallicum rubrum?" "Yes." "Well, then, give us some! Bring it here, damn it!" "How much do you want?" "Quantum satis. . . . Give us an ounce each in the water, and afterwards we'll see. . . . Obtyosov, what do you say? First with water and afterwards per se. . . ." The doctor and Obtyosov sat down to the counter, took off their caps, and began drinking the wine.
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