home after dark. Besides, it’s so damp. It can’t be at all good for your husband’s eczema. You haven’t rats in the house, I hope!” “Oh, dear no. What a horrid idea!” “That’s a good thing; I was told you had. I’m glad to know it’s not true, because I have a perfect horror of the creatures, and I should never have come to see you again. Good-bye, my dear child, we shall meet again soon; you know what a pleasure it is to me to see you. You don’t know how to put your chrysanthemums in water,” she went on, as she prepared to leave the room, Mme. Swann having risen to escort her. “They are Japanese flowers; you must arrange them the same way as the Japanese.” “I do not agree with Mme. Verdurin, although she is the Law and the Prophets to me in all things! There’s no one like you, Odette, for finding such lovely chrysanthemums, or chrysanthema rather, for it seems that’s what we ought to call them now,” declared Mme. Cottard as soon as the “Mistress” had shut the door behind her. “Dear Mme. Verdurin is not always very kind about other people’s flowers,” said Odette sweetly. “Whom do you go to, Odette,” asked Mme. Cottard, to forestall any further criticism of the “Mistress”. “Lemaître? I must confess, the other day in Lemaître’s window I saw a huge, great pink bush which made me do something quite mad.” But modesty forbade her to give any more precise details as to the price of the bush, and she said merely that the Professor, “and you know, he’s not at all a quick-tempered man,” had “waved his sword in the air” and told her that she “didn’t know what money meant.” “No, no, I’ve no regular florist except Debac.” “Nor have I,” said Mme. Cottard, “but I confess that I am unfaithful to him now and then with Lachaume.” “Oh, you forsake him for Lachaume, do you; I must tell Debac that,” retorted Odette, always anxious to shew her wit, and to lead the conversation in her own house, where she felt more at her ease than in the little clan. “Besides, Lachaume is really becoming too dear; his prices are quite excessive, don’t you know; I find his prices impossible!” she added, laughing.

Meanwhile Mme. Bontemps, who had been heard a hundred times to declare that nothing would induce her to go to the Verdurins’, delighted at being asked to the famous Wednesdays, was planning in her own mind how she could manage to attend as many of them as possible. She was not aware that Mme. Verdurin liked people not to miss a single one; also she was one of those people whose company is but little sought, who, when a hostess invites them to a series of parties, do not accept and go to them without more ado, like those who know that if is always a pleasure to see them, whenever they have a moment to spare and feel inclined to go out; people of her type deny themselves it may be the first evening and the third, imagining that their absence will be noticed, and save themselves up for the second and fourth, unless it should happen that, having heard from a trustworthy source that the third is to be a particularly brilliant party, they reverse the original order, assuring their hostess that “most unfortunately, we had another engagement last week.” So Mme. Bontemps was calculating how many Wednesdays there could still be left before Easter, and by what means she might manage to secure one extra, and yet not appear to be thrusting herself upon her hostess. She relied upon Mme. Cottard, whom she would have with her in the carriage going home, to give her a few hints. “Oh, Mme. Bontemps, I see you getting up to go; it is very bad of you to give the signal for flight like that! You owe me some compensation for not turning up last Thursday. . . . Come, sit down again, just for a minute. You can’t possibly be going anywhere else before dinner. Really, you won’t let yourself be tempted?” went on Mme. Swann, and, as she held out a plate of cakes, “You know, they’re not at all bad, these little horrors. They don’t look nice, but just taste one, I know you’ll like it.” “On the contrary, they look quite delicious,” broke in Mme. Cottard. “In your house, Odette, one is never short of victuals. I have no need to ask to see the trade-mark; I know you get everything from Rebattet. I must say that I am more eclectic. For sweet biscuits and everything of that sort I repair, as often as not, to Bourbonneux. But I agree that they simply don’t know what an ice means. Rebattet for everything iced, and syrups and sorbets; they’re past-masters. As my husband would say, they’re the ne plus ultra,” “Oh, but we just make these in the house. You won’t, really?” “I shan’t be able to eat a scrap of dinner,” pleaded Mme. Bontemps, “but I will just sit down again for a moment; you know, I adore talking to a clever woman like you.” “You will think me highly indiscreet, Odette, but I should so like to know what you thought of the hat Mme. Trombert had on. I know, of course, that big hats are the fashion just now. All the same, wasn’t it just the least little bit exaggerated? And compared to the hat she came to see me in the other day, the one she had on just now was microscopic!” “Oh no, I am not at all clever,” said Odette, thinking that this sounded well. “I am a perfect simpleton, I believe everything people say, and worry myself to death over the least thing.” And she insinuated that she had, just at first, suffered terribly from the thought of having married a man like Swann, who had a separate life of his own and was unfaithful to her. Meanwhile the Prince d’Agrigente, having caught the words “I am not at all clever”, thought it incumbent on him to protest; unfortunately he had not the knack of repartee. “Tut, tut, tut, tut!” cried Mme. Bontemps, “Not clever; you!” “That’s just what I was saying to myself—’What do I hear?’,” the Prince clutched at this straw, “My ears must have played me false!” “No, I assure you,” went on Odette, “I am really just an ordinary woman, very easily shocked, full of prejudices, living in my own little groove and dreadfully ignorant.” And then, in case he had any news of the Baron de Charlus, “Have you seen our dear Baronet?” she asked him. “You, ignorant!” cried Mme. Bontemps. “Then I wonder what you’d say of the official world, all those wives of Excellencies who can talk of nothing but their frocks. . . . Listen to this, my friend; not more than a week ago I happened to mention Lohengrin to the Education Minister’s wife. She stared at me, and said ‘Lohengrin? Oh, yes, the new review at the Folies-Bergères. I hear it’s a perfect scream!’ What do you say to that, eh? You can’t help yourself; when people say things like that it makes your blood boil. I could have struck her. Because I have a bit of a temper of my own. What do you say, sir;” she turned to me, “was I not right?” “Listen,” said Mme. Cottard, “people can’t help answering a little off the mark when they’re asked a thing like that point blank, without any warning. I know something about it, because Mme. Verdurin also has a habit of putting a pistol to your head.” “Speaking of Mme. Verdurin,” Mme. Bontemps asked Mme. Cottard, “do you know who will be there on Wednesday? Oh, I’ve just remembered that we’ve accepted an invitation for next Wednesday. You wouldn’t care to dine with us on Wednesday week? We could go on together to Mme. Verdurin’s. I should never dare to go there by myself; I don’t know why it is, that great lady always terrifies me.” “I’ll tell you what it is,” replied Mme. Cottard, “what frightens you about Mme. Verdurin is her organ. But you see everyone can’t have such a charming organ as Mme. Swann. Once you’ve found your tongue, as the ‘Mistress’ says, the ice will soon be broken. For she’s a very easy person, really, to get on with. But I can quite understand what you feel; it’s never pleasant to find oneself for the first time in a strange country.” “Won’t you dine with us, too?” said Mme. Bontemps to Mme. Swann. “After dinner we could all go to the Verdurins together, ‘do a Verdurin’; and even if it means that the ‘Mistress’ will stare me out of countenance and never ask me to the house again, once we are there we’ll just sit by ourselves and have a quiet talk, I’m sure that’s what I should like best.” But this assertion can hardly have been quite truthful, for Mme. Bontemps went on to ask: “Who do you think will be there on Wednesday week? What will they be doing? There won’t be too big a crowd, I hope!” “I certainly shan’t be there,” said Odette. “We shall just look in for a minute on the last Wednesday of all. If you don’t mind waiting till then——” But Mme. Bontemps did not appear to be tempted by the proposal.

Granted that the intellectual distinction of a house