Princess Sophia Vasilievna, Missy's mother, had finished her very

elaborate and nourishing dinner. (She had it always alone, that

no one should see her performing this unpoetical function.) By

her couch stood a small table with her coffee, and she was

smoking a pachitos. Princess Sophia Vasilievna was a long, thin

woman, with dark hair, large black eyes and long teeth, and still

pretended to be young.

Her intimacy with the doctor was being talked about. Nekhludoff

had known that for some time; but when he saw the doctor sitting

by her couch, his oily, glistening beard parted in the middle, he

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not only remembered the rumours about them, but felt greatly

disgusted. By the table, on a low, soft, easy chair, next to

Sophia Vasilievna, sat Kolosoff, stirring his coffee. A glass of

liqueur stood on the table. Missy came in with Nekhludoff, but

did not remain in the room.

"When mamma gets tired of you and drives you away, then come to

me," she said, turning to Kolosoff and Nekhludoff, speaking as if

nothing had occurred; then she went away, smiling merrily and

stepping noiselessly on the thick carpet.

"How do you do, dear friend? Sit down and talk," said Princess

Sophia Vasilievna, with her affected but very naturally-acted

smile, showing her fine, long teeth--a splendid imitation of what

her own had once been. "I hear that you have come from the Law

Courts very much depressed. I think it must be very trying to a

person with a heart," she added in French.

"Yes, that is so," said Nekhludoff. "One often feels one's own

de--one feels one has no right to judge."

"Comme, c'est vrai," she cried, as if struck by the truth of this

remark. She was in the habit of artfully flattering all those

with whom she conversed. "Well, and what of your picture? It does

interest me so. If I were not such a sad invalid I should have

been to see it long ago," she said.

"I have quite given it up," Nekhludoff replied drily. The

falseness of her flattery seemed as evident to him to-day as her

age, which she was trying to conceal, and he could not put

himself into the right state to behave politely.

"Oh, that _is_ a pity! Why, he has a real talent for art; I have

it from Repin's own lips," she added, turning to Kolosoff.

"Why is it she is not ashamed of lying so?" Nekhludoff thought,

and frowned.

When she had convinced herself that Nekhludoff was in a bad

temper and that one could not get him into an agreeable and

clever conversation, Sophia Vasilievna turned to Kolosoff, asking

his opinion of a new play. She asked it in a tone as if

Kolosoff's opinion would decide all doubts, and each word of this

opinion be worthy of being immortalised. Kolosoff found fault

both with the play and its author, and that led him to express

his views on art. Princess Sophia Vasilievna, while trying at the

same time to defend the play, seemed impressed by the truth of

his arguments, either giving in at once, or at least modifying

her opinion. Nekhludoff looked and listened, but neither saw nor

heard what was going on before him.




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