But this did not happen
every day; there were days when she had been prevented from coming by her
lessons, by her catechism, by a luncheon-party, by the whole of that life,
separated from my own, which twice only, condensed into the name of
Gilberte, I had felt pass so painfully close to me, in the hawthorn lane
near Combray and on the grass of the Champs-Elysees. On such days she
would have told us beforehand that we should not see her; if it were
because of her lessons, she would say: "It is too tiresome, I sha'n't be
able to come to-morrow; you will all be enjoying yourselves here without
me," with an air of regret which to some extent consoled me; if, on the
other hand, she had been invited to a party, and I, not knowing this,
asked her whether she was coming to play with us, she would reply: "Indeed
I hope not! Indeed I hope Mamma will let me go to my friend's." But on
these days I did at least know that I should not see her, whereas on
others, without any warning, her mother would take her for a drive, or
some such thing, and next day she would say: "Oh, yes! I went out with
Mamma," as though it had been the most natural thing in the world, and not
the greatest possible misfortune for some one else.
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