If he were dining out, he would order his carriage
for half-past seven; while he changed his clothes, he would be wondering,
all the time, about Odette, and in this way was never alone, for the
constant thought of Odette gave to the moments in which he was separated
from her the same peculiar charm as to those in which she was at his side.
He would get into his carriage and drive off, but he knew that this
thought had jumped in after him and had settled down upon his knee, like a
pet animal which he might take everywhere, and would keep with him at the
dinner-table, unobserved by his fellow-guests. He would stroke and fondle
it, warm himself with it, and, as a feeling of languor swept over him,
would give way to a slight shuddering movement which contracted his throat
and nostrils--a new experience, this,--as he fastened the bunch of
columbines in his buttonhole. He had for some time been feeling neither
well nor happy, especially since Odette had brought Forcheville to the
Verdurins', and he would have liked to go away for a while to rest in the
country. But he could never summon up courage to leave Paris, even for a
day, while Odette was there.
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