“I will bring it with my own hand,” I said, with a profound bow.
And, as I spoke, there was a sharp knock at the door. Vassalissa started with a little shriek of nervous excitement, but Daria laughed.
“’Tis old Piotr,” she said.
As she spoke, the door opened and a tall, grey-haired Russian, wearing the dress of a boyar’s retainer, stood on the threshold.
“We have been here too long, little mistress,” he said in Russ, respectful, but impatient; “’tis neither safe nor wise.”
“Bear with us, Piotr,” said his mistress graciously; “’tis but a half hour under a whole moon; may not the children play?”
He shook his head, glancing with evident affection at the tall, girlish figure.
“Time waits for no man, Daria Kirilovna,” he said gravely, “and the morning is wiser than the evening.”[A]
“I come, I come!” she retorted, and with a gesture of farewell to me, she left the room, followed by Lissa, who cast a mischievous smile at me, and a doubtful glance at the trinket in my hands as she went out.