In Search of Lost Time, Volume II_ Within a Budding Grove - Marcel Proust [101]
“One simply can’t tear oneself away from this house,” observed Mme Bontemps to Mme Swann, while Mme Cottard, in her astonishment at hearing her own thought put into words, exclaimed: “Why, that’s just what I always say to myself, in my common-sensical little way, in my heart of hearts!” winning the approval of the gentlemen from the Jockey Club, who had been profuse in their salutations, as though overwhelmed by such an honour, when Mme Swann had introduced them to this graceless little bourgeois woman, who, when confronted with Odette’s brilliant friends, remained on her guard, if not on what she herself called “the defensive,” for she always used stately language to describe the simplest things.
“I should never have suspected it,” was Mme Swann’s comment, “three Wednesdays running you’ve let me down.” “That’s quite true, Odette; it’s simply ages, it’s an eternity since I saw you last. You see I plead guilty; but I must tell you,” she went on with a vague and prudish air (for although a doctor’s wife she would never have dared to speak without periphrasis of rheumatism or of a chill on the kidneys), “that I have a lot of little troubles. As we all have, I dare say. And besides that I’ve had a crisis among my masculine staff. Without being more imbued than most with a sense of my own authority, I’ve been obliged, just to make an example you know, to give my Vatel notice;8 I believe he was looking out anyhow for a more remunerative place. But his departure nearly brought about the resignation of the entire Ministry. My own maid refused to stay in the house a moment longer; oh, we have had some Homeric scenes. However, I held fast to the helm through thick and thin; the whole affair’s been a perfect object lesson, which won’t be lost on me, I can tell you. I’m afraid I’m boring you with all these stories about servants, but you know as well as I do what a business it is when one is obliged to set about rearranging one’s household.”
“Aren’t we to see anything of your delicious daughter?” she wound up. “No, my delicious daughter is dining with a friend,” replied Mme Swann, and then, turning to me: “I believe she’s written to you, asking you to come and see her tomorrow. And your babies?” she went on to Mme Cottard.
I breathed a sigh of relief. These words of Mme Swann’s, which proved to me that I could see Gilberte whenever I chose, gave me precisely the comfort which I had come to seek, and which at that time made my visits to Mme Swann so necessary. “No, I shall write her a note this evening. Besides, Gilberte and I can no longer see one another,” I added, pretending to attribute our separation to some mysterious cause, which gave me a further illusion of love, sustained as well by the affectionate way in which I spoke of Gilberte and she of me.
“You know she’s simply devoted to you,” said Mme Swann. “Really, you won’t come tomorrow?”
Suddenly I was filled with elation; the thought had just struck me—“After all, why not, since it’s her own mother who suggests it?” But at once I relapsed into my gloom. I was afraid lest Gilberte, on seeing me, might think that my indifference of late had been feigned, and it seemed wiser to prolong our separation. During these asides Mme Bontemps had been complaining of the insufferable dullness of politicians’ wives, for she affected to find everyone too deadly or too stupid for words, and to deplore her husband’s official position.
“Do you mean to say you can shake hands with fifty doctors’ wives, like that, one after the other?” she exclaimed to Mme Cottard, who, on the contrary, was full of benevolence towards everybody, and determined to do her duty in every respect. “Ah! you’re a woman of virtue! As for me, at the Ministry, of course I have my obligations. Well, it’s more than I can stand. You know what those