- In fiction, Nabokov admits, he is able to plunder his memory for setting, characters, and objects, leaving his memories anchored in new stories. He does this, but is also frustrated with himself for doing so. (For all us plebs: how you feel when you eat another cookie even though you've decided you won't.)
- He is afraid he's done this in particular to the dour Swiss nanny Mademoiselle, who arrived to the Nabokov family in December of 1905, when Vladimir was six.
- "The man in me revolts against the fictionist, and here is my desperate attempt to save what is left of poor Mademoiselle." (5.1.1)
- Mademoiselle comes to the family just after they have returned from vacations in Croatia and England, and a long visit in Weisbaden, Germany.
- Nabokov is not sure what month this is, quite, but tries a little detective work: he remembers going to a Russian church in Germany, during Lent, while the adults talked about their hope that we should all love one another. This, he understands, was an allusion to the Revolution happening in Russia, from which they had removed themselves, for safety.
- Taking the train home, Vladimir is eager to see his motherland: "I was not quite six, but that year abroad, a year of difficult decisions and liberal hopes, had exposed a small Russian boy to grown-up conversations." (5.1.3)
- This year-long departure from Russia is the first taste of being in exile, of being an émigré, Nabokov writes.
- When they return, it's autumn, and the schoolmaster takes the boys for walks in the woods.
- Miss Robinson (the one with the pink nose from the last chapter) shows them how to make collages with the fallen leaves.
- Though normally they're in St. Petersburg, at the town house, by now, Vladimir notices the first frost and wonders about still being at Vyra. It's Vladimir's first and last winter in the country.
- While in town there are "strikes, riots, and police-inspired massacres," Vladimir's father keeps them safe in the country. (5.1.5)
- Mademoiselle arrives in deep winter, with only a few words of Russian.
- Nabokov imagines her, lonely on the cold, snowy platform, escorted by a helper with whom she can't talk, taking a bumpy sled to Vyra.
- What am I doing here, Nabokov asks himself, imagining myself beside Mademoiselle? "The snow is real, though, and as I bend to it and scoop up a handful, sixty years crumble to glittering frost-dust between my fingers." (5.1.7)