“She did not mean to play anything; the woman is simply lying, for some reason or other,” thought Nekhludoff, rising and pressing Sophia Vasilievna’s transparent and bony, ringed hand.
Katerina Alexeevna met him in the drawing-room, and at once began, in French, as usual:
“I see the duties of a juryman act depressingly upon you.”
“Yes; pardon me, I am in low spirits to-day, and have no right to weary others by my presence,” said Nekhludoff.
“Why are you in low spirits?”
“Allow me not to speak about that,” he said, looking round for his hat.
“Don’t you remember how you used to say that we must always tell the truth? And what cruel truths you used to tell us all! Why do you not wish to speak out now? Don’t you remember, Missy?” she said, turning to Missy, who had just come in.
“We were playing a game then,” said Nekhludoff, seriously; “one may tell the truth in a game, but in reality we are so bad—I mean I am so bad—that I, at least, cannot tell the truth.”
“Oh, do not correct yourself, but rather tell us why we are so bad,” said Katerina Alexeevna, playing with her words and pretending not to notice how serious Nekhludoff was.
“Nothing is worse than to confess to being in low spirits,” said Missy. “I never do it, and therefore am always in good spirits.”