“I never meant to get out of it,” replied Nekhludoff, gloomily, and in a tone of severity.

“Well, I call this being public spirited.  But just wait until you get hungry or sleepy; you’ll sing to another tune then.”

“This son of a priest will be saying ‘thou’ [in Russian, as in many other languages, “thou” is used generally among people very familiar with each other, or by superiors to inferiors] to me next,” thought Nekhludoff, and walked away, with such a look of sadness on his face, as might have been natural if he had just heard of the death of all his relations.  He came up to a group that had formed itself round a clean-shaven, tall, dignified man, who was recounting something with great animation.  This man was talking about the trial going on in the Civil Court as of a case well known to himself, mentioning the judges and a celebrated advocate by name.  He was saying that it seemed wonderful how the celebrated advocate had managed to give such a clever turn to the affair that an old lady, though she had the right on her side, would have to pay a large sum to her opponent.  “The advocate is a genius,” he said.

The listeners heard it all with respectful attention, and several of them tried to put in a word, but the man interrupted them, as if he alone knew all about it.

Though Nekhludoff had arrived late, he had to wait a long time.  One of the members of the Court had not yet come, and everybody was kept waiting.

CHAPTER VI.

The judges.

The president, who had to take the chair, had arrived early.  The president was a tall, stout man, with long grey whiskers.  Though married, he led a very loose life, and his wife did the same, so they did not stand in each other’s way.  This morning he had received a note from a Swiss girl, who had formerly been a governess in his house, and who was now on her way from South Russia to St. Petersburg.  She wrote that she would wait for him between five and six p.m. in the Hotel Italia.  This made him wish to begin and get through the sitting as soon as possible, so as to have time to call before six p.m. on the little red-haired Clara Vasilievna, with whom he had begun a romance in the country last summer.  He went into a private room, latched the door, took a pair of dumb-bells out of a cupboard, moved his arms 20 times upwards, downwards, forwards, and sideways, then holding the dumb-bells above his head, lightly bent his knees three times.

“Nothing keeps one going like a cold bath and exercise,” he said, feeling the biceps of his right arm with his left hand, on the third finger of which he wore a gold ring.  He had still to do the moulinee movement (for he always went through those two exercises before a long sitting), when there was a pull at the door.  The president quickly put away the dumb-bells and opened the door, saying, “I beg your pardon.”