Swann remained silent, and, by this fresh act of recreancy,
spoiled the brilliant tournament of dialectic which Mme. Verdurin was
rejoicing at being able to offer to Forcheville.
"You see, it's just the same as with me!" Odette was peevish. "I'm not at
all sorry to see that I'm not the only one he doesn't find quite up to his
level."
"These de La Tremouailles whom Mme. Verdurin has exhibited to us as so
little to be desired," inquired Brichot, articulating vigorously, "are
they, by any chance, descended from the couple whom that worthy old snob,
Sevigne, said she was delighted to know, because it was so good for her
peasants? True, the Marquise had another reason, which in her case
probably came first, for she was a thorough journalist at heart, and
always on the look-out for 'copy.' And, in the journal which she used to
send regularly to her daughter, it was Mme. de La Tremouaille, kept
well-informed through all her grand connections, who supplied the foreign
politics."
"Oh dear, no. I'm quite sure they aren't the same family," said Mme.
Verdurin desperately.
Saniette who, ever since he had surrendered his untouched plate to the
butler, had been plunged once more in silent meditation, emerged finally
to tell them, with a nervous laugh, a story of how he had once dined with
the Duc de La Tremoille, the point of which was that the Duke did not know
that George Sand was the pseudonym of a woman.
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