seeing that Swann seemed
less interested than she had hoped in so burning a topic. "I must admit,
though, that it's sometimes quite amusing, the way they joke about it:
I've got a friend, now, who is most original, though she's really a
beautiful woman, most popular in society, goes everywhere, and she tells
me that she got her cook to make one of these Japanese salads, putting
in everything that young M. Dumas says you're to put in, in the play.
Then she asked just a few friends to come and taste it. I was not among
the favoured few, I'm sorry to say. But she told us all about it on her
next 'day'; it seems it was quite horrible, she made us all laugh
till we cried. I don't know; perhaps it was the way she told it," Mme.
Cottard added doubtfully, seeing that Swann still looked grave.

And, imagining that it was, perhaps, because he had not been amused by
_Francillon_: "Well, I daresay I shall be disappointed with it, after
all. I don't suppose it's as good as the piece Mme. de Crecy worships,
_Serge Panine_. There's a play, if you like; so deep, makes you
think! But just fancy giving a receipt for a salad on the stage of the
Theatre-Francais! Now, _Serge Panine_--! But then, it's like everything
that comes from the pen of M. Georges Ohnet, it's so well written. I
wonder if you know the _Maitre des Forges_, which I like even better
than _Serge Panine_."

"Pardon me," said Swann with polite irony, "but I can assure you that
my want of admiration is almost equally divided between those
masterpieces."

"Really, now; that's very interesting. And what don't you like about
them? Won't you ever change your mind? Perhaps you think he's a little
too sad. Well, well, what I always say is, one should never argue about
plays or novels. Everyone has his own way of looking at things, and what
may be horrible to you is, perhaps, just what I like best."

She was interrupted by Forcheville's addressing Swann. What had happened
was that, while Mme. Cottard was discussing _Francillon_, Forcheville
had been expressing to Mme. Verdurin his admiration for what he called
the "little speech" of the painter. "Your friend has such a flow of
language, such a memory!" he had said to her when the painter had
come to a standstill, "I've seldom seen anything like it. He'd make a
first-rate preacher. By Jove, I wish I was like that. What with him and
M. Brechot you've drawn two lucky numbers to-night; though I'm not so
sure that, simply as a speak