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Returning to the drawing room, the three sat down: the old men recalled former times and stories from their service, while Alexei reflected on the role he would play in the presence of Liza. He decided that in any case cold distraction would be the most suitable of all and prepared himself accordingly. The door opened, he turned his head with such indifference, with such proud nonchalance, that the heart of the most inveterate coquette was bound to shudder. Unfortunately, instead of Liza, old Miss Jackson came in, whitened, tight-laced, with downcast eyes and a little curtsy, and Alexei’s splendid military maneuver went for naught. Before he had time to regroup his forces, the door opened again, and this time Liza came in. They all rose. The father was just beginning to introduce the guests, but suddenly stopped and quickly bit his lip…Liza, his swarthy Liza, was whitened to the ears, her brows blackened even more than Miss Jackson’s; false curls, much lighter than her own hair, were fluffed up like a Louis XIV wig; sleeves à l’imbécile8 stuck out like Madame de Pompadour’s farthingale; her waist was laced up like the letter X, and all her mother’s diamonds that had not yet been pawned shone on her fingers, neck, and ears. Alexei could not have recognized his Akulina in this ridiculous and glittering young miss. His father went to kiss her hand, and he vexedly followed him; when he touched her white fingers, it seemed to him that they were trembling. At the same time he noticed a little foot, deliberately exposed and shod with all possible coquetry. That reconciled him somewhat to the rest of her attire. As for the white and black greasepaint, it must be confessed that in the simplicity of his heart he did not notice them at first glance, nor did he suspect them later on. Grigory Ivanovich remembered his promise and tried not to show any surprise; but his daughter’s mischief seemed so amusing to him that he could barely control himself. The prim Englishwoman was in no mood for laughter. She guessed that the black and white greasepaint had been purloined from her chest of drawers, and a crimson flush of vexation showed through the artificial whiteness of her face. She cast fiery glances at the young prankster, who, putting off all explanations for another time, pretended not to notice them.

They sat down at the table. Alexei went on playing the role of the distracted and pensive one. Liza minced, spoke in singsong through her teeth, and only in French. Her father kept peering at her, not understanding what she was up to, but finding it all quite amusing. The Englishwoman was furious and said nothing. Only Ivan Petrovich felt at home: he ate for two, drank his fill, laughed at his own jokes, and talked and guffawed more and more amiably every moment.

They finally got up from the table; the guests left, and Grigory Ivanovich gave free rein to his laughter and his questions.

“What gave you a mind to fool them?” he asked Liza. “And do you know something? White greasepaint really becomes you; I won’t enter into the mysteries of feminine toilette, but in your place I’d use white greasepaint; not too much, of course, just a little.”

Liza was delighted with the success of her hoax. She embraced her father, promised to think over his advice, and ran to propitiate the annoyed Miss Jackson, who could hardly be persuaded to open her door and listen to her excuses. Liza had been ashamed to show such a swarthy face to strangers; she had not dared to ask…she was sure that good, kind Miss Jackson would forgive her…and so on and so forth. Miss Jackson, now persuaded that Liza had not thought to make fun of her, calmed down, kissed Liza, and in token of their reconciliation gave her a little jar of white English greasepaint, which Liza accepted with expressions of sincere gratitude.

The reader can guess that the next morning Liza was not slow to make her appearance in the grove of their meetings.

“Did you go to our masters’ yesterday, sir?” she asked Alexei at once. “How did you find the young lady?”

Alexei replied that he had not noticed her.

“A pity,” Liza retorted.

“Why is that?” asked Alexei.

“Because I wanted to ask you whether it’s true what they say…”

“What do they say?”

“Whether it’s true, as they say, that I supposedly resemble the young lady?”

“What nonsense! Next to you, she’s a real fright.”

“Ah, sir, it’s sinful for you to say so; our young lady’s so white, so elegant! As if I could compare with her!”

Alexei swore to her that she was better than all possible white-skinned young ladies and, to reassure her completely, began to portray her mistress in such funny strokes that Liza laughed heartily.

“Still and all,” she said with a sigh, “though my young lady may be ridiculous, I’m just an illiterate fool next to her.”

“Eh,” said Alexei, “there’s nothing to grieve over! If you like, I’ll teach you to read and write at once.”

“Really,” said Liza, “why not give it a try?”

“Very well, my dear, we’ll begin right now.”