“My dear Akoulina, I would kiss you, but I dare not.... To-morrow, then, at the same time, isn’t that so?”
“Yes, yes!”
“And you will not deceive me?”
“I will not deceive you.”
“Swear it.”
“Well, then, I swear by Holy Friday that I will come.”
The young people separated. Liza emerged from the wood, crossed the field, stole into the garden and hastened to the place where Nastia awaited her. There she changed her costume, replying absently to the questions of her impatient confidante, and then she repaired to the parlour. The cloth was laid, the breakfast was ready, and Miss Jackson, already powdered and laced up, so that she looked like a wine-glass, was cutting thin slices of bread and butter.
Her father praised her for her early walk.
“There is nothing so healthy,” said he, “as getting up at daybreak.”
Then he cited several instances of human longevity, which he had derived from the English journals, and observed that all persons who had lived to be upwards of a hundred, abstained from brandy and rose at daybreak, winter and summer.