"Come now, Swann, tell us what you mean by
intelligence."
"There," cried Odette, "that's one of the big things I beg him to tell me
about, and he never will."
"Oh, but..." protested Swann.
"Oh, but nonsense!" said Odette.
"A water-butt?" asked the Doctor.
"To you," pursued Forcheville, "does intelligence mean what they call
clever talk; you know, the sort of people who worm their way into
society?"
"Finish your sweet, so that they can take your plate away!" said Mme.
Verdurin sourly to Saniette, who was lost in thought and had stopped
eating. And then, perhaps a little ashamed of her rudeness, "It doesn't
matter; take your time about it; there's no hurry; I only reminded you
because of the others, you know; it keeps the servants back."
"There is," began Brichot, with a resonant smack upon every syllable, "a
rather curious definition of intelligence by that pleasing old anarchist
Fenelon..."
"Just listen to this!" Mme. Verdurin rallied Forcheville and the Doctor.
"He's going to give us Fenelon's definition of intelligence. That's
interesting. It's not often you get a chance of hearing that!"
But Brichot was keeping Fenelon's definition until Swann should have given
his own.
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