evidently looking upon this as an honour, and he taking it as his
due, as he always did when among strangers. Had he been asked why
he considered himself above the majority of people, he could not
have given an answer; the life he had been living of late was not
particularly meritorious. The fact of his speaking English,
French, and German with a good accent, and of his wearing the
best linen, clothes, ties, and studs, bought from the most
expensive dealers in these goods, he quite knew would not serve
as a reason for claiming superiority. At the same time he did
claim superiority, and accepted the respect paid him as his due,
and was hurt if he did not get it. In the jurymen's room his
feelings were hurt by disrespectful treatment. Among the jury
there happened to be a man whom he knew, a former teacher of his
sister's children, Peter Gerasimovitch. Nekhludoff never knew his
surname, and even bragged a bit about this. This man was now a
master at a public school. Nekhludoff could not stand his
familiarity, his self-satisfied laughter, his vulgarity, in
short.

"Ah ha! You're also trapped." These were the words, accompanied
with boisterous laughter, with which Peter Gerasimovitch greeted
Nekhludoff. "Have you not managed to get out of it?"

"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