What depressing lie was she now concocting for Swann's benefit, to give
her that pained expression, that plaintive voice, which seemed to falter
beneath the effort that she was forcing herself to make, and to plead for
pardon? He had an idea that it was not merely the truth about what had
occurred that afternoon that she was endeavouring to hide from him, but
something more immediate, something, possibly, which had not yet happened,
but might happen now at any time, and, when it did, would throw a light
upon that earlier event. At that moment, he heard the front-door bell
ring. Odette never stopped speaking, but her words dwindled into an
inarticulate moan. Her regret at not having seen Swann that afternoon, at
not having opened the door to him, had melted into a universal despair.
He could hear the gate being closed, and the sound of a carriage, as
though some one were going away--probably the person whom Swann must on no
account meet--after being told that Odette was not at home. And then,
when he reflected that, merely by coming at an hour when he was not in the
habit of coming, he had managed to disturb so many arrangements of which
she did not wish him to know, he had a feeling of discouragement that
amounted, almost, to distress.
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