seven
o’clock
`` By what right are we enemies , princess ? '' he asked with a slightly troubled feeling , which quickly passed away as she answered : `` I am a Russian and you are a Pole , but we shall have no time for fighting ; I leave for London to-morrow morning at seven o'clock . '' He was on the point of casting himself at her feet and tenderly kissing her two hands , in testimony of his gratitude . `` To-morrow at seven o'clock , '' he mentally ejaculated . `` I have slandered her ; she has some good in her . '' `` When I say that I am a Russian , '' resumed the princess , `` it is merely a formal speech . Love of country is a prejudice , an idea that has had its day , that had sense in the times of Epaminondas or of Theseus , but that has it no longer .