Finally the phrase withdrew
and vanished, pointing, directing, diligent among the wandering currents
of its fragrance, leaving upon Swann's features a reflection of its smile.
But now, at last, he could ask the name of his fair unknown (and was told
that it was the _andante_ movement of Vinteuil's sonata for the piano and
violin), he held it safe, could have it again to himself, at home, as
often as he would, could study its language and acquire its secret.
And so, when the pianist had finished, Swann crossed the room and thanked
him with a vivacity which delighted Mme. Verdurin.
"Isn't he charming?" she asked Swann, "doesn't he just understand it, his
sonata, the little wretch? You never dreamed, did you, that a piano could
be made to express all that? Upon my word, there's everything in it except
the piano! I'm caught out every time I hear it; I think I'm listening to
an orchestra. Though it's better, really, than an orchestra, more
complete."
The young pianist bent over her as he answered, smiling and underlining
each of his words as though he were making an epigram: "You are most
generous to me.
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