ng the restaurant, while he
drove her home, he would be able to ask for an explanation, to make her
promise, either that she would not go to Chatou next day, or that she
would procure an invitation for him also, and to lull to rest in her
arms the anguish that still tormented him. At last the carriages were
ordered. Mme. Verdurin said to Swann:

"Good-bye, then. We shall see you soon, I hope," trying, by the
friendliness of her manner and the constraint of her smile, to prevent
him from noticing that she Was not saying, as she would always have
until then:

"To-morrow, then, at Chatou, and at my house the day after." M. and Mme.
Verdurin made Forcheville get into their carriage; Swann's was drawn up
behind it, and he waited for theirs to start before helping Odette into
his own.

"Odette, we'll take you," said Mme. Verdurin, "we've kept a little
corner specially for you, beside M. de Forcheville."

"Yes, Mme. Verdurin," said Odette meekly.

"What! I thought I was to take you home," cried Swann, flinging
discretion to the winds, for the carriage-door hung open, time was
precious, and he could not, in his present state, go home without her.

"But Mme. Verdurin has asked me..."

"That's all right, you can quite well go home alone; we've left you like
this dozens of times," said Mme. Verdurin.

"But I had something important to tell Mme. de Crecy."

"Very well, you can write it to her instead."

"Good-bye," said Odette, holding out her hand.

He tried hard to smile, but could only succeed in looking utterly
dejected.

"What do you think of the airs that Swann is pleased to put on with
us?" Mme. Verdurin asked her husband when they had reached home. "I was
afraid he was going to eat me, simply because we offered to take Odette
back. It really is too bad, that sort of thing. Why doesn't he say,
straight out, that we keep a disorderly house? I can't conceive how
Odette can stand such manners. He positively seems to be saying, all the
time, 'You belong to me!' I shall tell Odette exactly what I think about
it all, and I hope she will have the sense to understand me." A moment
later she added, inarticulate with rage: "No, but, don't you see, the
filthy creature..." using unconsciously, and perhaps in satisfaction of
the same obscure need to justify herself--like Francoise at Combray when
the chicken refused to die--the very words which the last convulsions of
an inoffensive animal in its death agony wring from the