A Wedding Trip by Emilia Pardo Bazán

The aspect of Vichy, in truth, in those last days of October, was well calculated to inspire sadness. Dead leaves lay everywhere. The park, formerly so full of animation, was deserted; only a few visitors, who had come late in the season to drink the waters -- and who were really ill -- were to be seen promenading the asphalt pavement lately thronged with richly-dressed people and enlivened by the buzz of cheerful conversation. No one hastened now to sweep up and carry away the yellow leaves that covered the ground like a carpet, for Vichy, so clean and attractive in the season, becomes neglected-looking and filthy as soon as its fashionable summer guests have turned their backs upon it.

The whole town looked as if a general removal were taking place; the adornments of the balconies of the _châlets_, deserted now by their tenants, had been removed, so that they might not be injured by the rains; in the streets were heaps of brick and mortar to be used in building, which no one had ventured to undertake in the summer, not wishing to mar the beauty of the place during the season. The shops for the sale of articles of luxury had, one after another, closed their shutters, and their owners, taking with them their wares, had departed for Nice, Cannes, or some other wintering place of the kind. A few shops still remained open, and their show-cases served to divert Lucía and Pilar when they went out for their leisurely walks. The chief of these was a shop for the sale of curiosities, antiques, and objects of art, situated almost in front of the famous "Nymph," and consequently at the back of the Casino.