Then, to this other Odette, he would ask himself what could have induced
him to write that outrageous letter, of which, probably, until then, she
had never supposed him capable, a letter which must have lowered him from
the high, from the supreme place which, by his generosity, by his loyalty,
he had won for himself in her esteem. He would become less dear to her,
since it was for those qualities, which she found neither in Forcheville
nor in any other, that she loved him. It was for them that Odette so often
shewed him a reciprocal kindness, which counted for less than nothing in
his moments of jealousy, because it was not a sign of reciprocal desire,
was indeed a proof rather of affection than of love, but the importance of
which he began once more to feel in proportion as the spontaneous
relaxation of his suspicions, often accelerated by the distraction brought
to him by reading about art or by the conversation of a friend, rendered
his passion less exacting of reciprocities.
Now that, after this swing of the pendulum, Odette had naturally returned
to the place from which Swann's jealousy had for the moment driven her, in
the angle in which he found her charming, he pictured her to himself as
full of tenderness, with a look of consent in her eyes, and so beautiful
that he could not refrain from moving his lips towards her, as though she
had actually been in the room for him to kiss; and he preserved a sense of
gratitude to her for that bewitching, kindly glance, as strong as though
she had really looked thus at him, and it had not been merely his
imagination that had portrayed it in order to satisfy his desire.
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