"If a sick person prefers to die at the hands of one of the Princes of
Science... It is far more smart to be able to say, 'Yes, I have Potain.'"
"Oh, indeed! More smart, is it?" said Mme. Verdurin. "So there are
fashions, nowadays, in illness, are there? I didn't know that.... Oh, you
do make me laugh!" she screamed, suddenly, burying her face in her hands.
"And here was I, poor thing, talking quite seriously, and never seeing
that you were pulling my leg."
As for M. Verdurin, finding it rather a strain to start laughing again
over so small a matter, he was content with puffing out a cloud of smoke
from his pipe, while he reflected sadly that he could never again hope to
keep pace with his wife in her Atalanta-flights across the field of mirth.
"D'you know; we like your friend so very much," said Mme. Verdurin, later,
when Odette was bidding her good night. "He is so unaffected, quite
charming. If they're all like that, the friends you want to bring here, by
all means bring them."
M. Verdurin remarked that Swann had failed, all the same, to appreciate
the pianist's aunt.
"I dare say he felt a little strange, poor man," suggested Mme.
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