“Nay,” interposed Mlle. Daria. “I will have none of it, Lissa; the jest has gone too far.”
“Daria, Daria!” cried the other, forgetful of me, “thou art afraid! thou, Daria Kirilovna!”
“I am not!” cried mademoiselle with defiance, tossing her head; “but I despise the trick.”
“Oh, sweetheart, thou——” Lissa broke off under a lightning glance from the dark eyes, for Mlle. Daria had remembered me.
But the merry damsel was not to be silenced; plucking at her companion’s cloak, she drew her off into the corner and whispered, and laughed, and entreated, apparently between jest and earnest, while I pretended to examine the miniature, all the while cudgelling my brains for a solution of this escapade, so rare was it for girls to be out on an adventure in Moscow, and girls too, of rank, for no one could doubt that who looked at them and heard them speak. Meanwhile Daria had been melting under the persuasion of the fair manœuvrer, and she came back slowly across the room, permitting rather than encouraging Lissa, who now took the lead.
“Prithee, monsieur,” she said,—she too, spoke French, though with a strong accent,—“take out that portrait for us and substitute this.” As she held out her hand her companion made a sudden motion as if to snatch the bit of ivory from it, but restrained herself and let Lissa hand me a miniature.
Then I understood mademoiselle’s hesitation, for the face limned on the ivory, more or less faithfully, was her own. Suppressing my surprise, I put it down on a table and began the delicate task of lifting the other miniature from its setting, and a task it was for my awkward fingers. With no knowledge of such baubles, and as little dexterity as a bear, I fully expected to break the picture in pieces, but, as luck would have it, either the ivory was already loose in its setting, or I again hit upon some secret spring, and out fell Sophia, just escaping annihilation by falling on Maître le Bastien’s taffety cloak that lay on the table. But now was the rub, for I had no notion of how I should set mademoiselle’s face in the room where Sophia’s had been, and both girls hung on my movements with breathless interest. I took up the bit of ivory with a gingerly touch and cautiously dropped it into the gaping setting, and lo! success beyond my wildest hopes. It seemed to sink into place, as if by magic, and Mlle. Lissa clapped her hands with delight.
“Good goldsmith!” she cried, beaming upon me. “What a fair exchange!”
“Hush, Vassalissa!” commanded Mlle. Daria; “for shame!”
But Lissa would not be suppressed.