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By Root 1886 0

perspicacity thanks to reports which she commissioned and lies which she herself concocted, all of which served to corroborate what he himself was inclined to believe, and what would in time be made plain to him thanks to the booby-traps which she was preparing and into which her unsuspecting victims would fall—taking advantage of this ascendancy, to make him choose herself in preference to the Baron. As for the society ladies who had been present and had not even asked to be introduced to her, as soon as she grasped their hesitations or indifference, she had said: “Ah! I see what they are, the sort of old frumps that don’t fit in with us. It’s the last time they’ll set foot in this house.” For she would have died rather than admit that anyone had been less civil to her than she had hoped.

“Ah! my dear General,” M. de Charlus suddenly exclaimed, abandoning Mme Verdurin on catching sight of General Deltour, Secretary to the Presidency of the Republic, who might be of great value in securing Charlie his medal, and who, after asking Cottard for a piece of advice, was slipping away. “Good evening, my dear, delightful friend. Trying to get away without saying good-bye to me, eh?” said the Baron with a genial, self-satisfied smile, for he knew quite well that people were always glad to stay a little longer to talk to him. And as, in his present state of exhilaration, he would answer his own questions in a shrill tone: “Well, did you enjoy it? Wasn’t it really beautiful? The andante, what? It’s the most touching thing that was ever written. I defy anyone to listen to the end without tears in his eyes. Charming of you to have come. By the way, I had the most excellent telegram this morning from Froberville, who tells me that as far as the Chancellery of the Legion goes the difficulties have been smoothed over, as they say.” M. de Charlus’s voice continued to rise, as piercing, as different from his normal voice, as that of a barrister grandiloquently addressing the court: a phenomenon of vocal amplification through over-excitement and nervous euphoria analogous to that which, at her own dinner-parties, raised to so high a pitch the voice and gaze alike of Mme de Guermantes.

“I intended to send you a note tomorrow by messenger to tell you of my enthusiasm, until I could find an opportunity to speak to you, but you were so popular! Froberville’s support is not to be despised, but for my own part, I have the Minister’s promise,” said the General.

“Ah! excellent. Anyhow you’ve seen for yourself that it’s no more than what such talent deserves. Hoyos was delighted. I didn’t manage to see the Ambassadress. Was she pleased? Who would not have been, except those that have ears and hear not, which doesn’t matter so long as they have tongues and can speak.”

Taking advantage of the Baron’s having moved away to speak to the General, Mme Verdurin beckoned to Brichot. The latter, who did not know what she was about to say, sought to amuse her, and without suspecting the anguish that he was causing me, said to the Mistress: “The Baron is delighted that Mlle Vinteuil and her friend didn’t come. They shock him terribly. He declares that their morals are appalling. You can’t imagine how prudish and severe the Baron is on moral questions.” Contrary to Brichot’s expectation, Mme Verdurin was not amused: “He’s unspeakable,” was her answer. “Suggest to him that he should come and smoke a cigarette with you, so that my husband can get hold of his Dulcinea without his noticing and warn him of the abyss at his feet.”

Brichot seemed to hesitate.

“I don’t mind telling you,” Mme Verdurin went on, to remove his final scruples, “that I don’t feel at all safe with a man like that in the house. I know he’s been involved in some nasty business and the police have their eye on him.” And, as she had a certain talent for improvisation when inspired by malice, Mme Verdurin did not stop at this: “Apparently he’s been in prison. Yes, yes, I’ve been told by people who knew all about it. In any case I know from a person who lives in his street that you can’t imagine