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 woman was wrathful and silent. Ivan Petróvitch alone was thoroughly at his ease; he ate for two, drank profusely, enjoyed his own merriment, conversing more freely and laughing with more zest from hour to hour.

At last they rose; the guests took their leave, and Grigory Ivánovitch gave free vent to his laughter and to his questionings.

"What put it into thy head to make fools of them?" he inquired of Lisa. "But shall I tell thee what? White paint really suits thee. I do not wish to pry into the secrets of a lady's toilette, but were I in thy place I would always use paint—of course not immoderately, but just a little."

Lisa was delighted at the success of her scheme. She embraced her father, promised to consider his advice, and ran off to pacify the irritated Miss Jackson, whom she with difficulty prevailed upon to open the door, and to listen to her justification. Lisa was ashamed to appear with such a dark complexion before a stranger; she dared not ask—she felt sure that dear, kind Miss Jackson would forgive her, &c., &c. Miss Jackson, being satisfied that Lisa had not meant to ridicule her, was appeased, kissed her, and in token of reconciliation presented her with a small pot of English paint, which Lisa accepted with a show of sincere gratitude.

My reader will guess that Lisa was not slow in seeking the meeting-place in the wood on the following morning.

"Thou wentest to our master's last night, sir," said she to Aleksèy immediately. "What dost thou think of our young mistress?"