Swann, her hair, now quite pale with one grey lock, girt with a narrow
band of flowers, usually violets, from which floated down long veils, a
lilac parasol in her hand, on her lips an ambiguous smile in which I read
only the benign condescension of Majesty, though it was pre-eminently the
enticing smile of the courtesan, which she graciously bestowed upon the
men who bowed to her. That smile was, in reality, saying to one: "Oh yes,
I do remember, quite well; it was wonderful!" to another: "How I should
have loved to! We were unfortunate!", to a third: "Yes, if you like! I
must just keep in the line for a minute, then as soon as I can I will
break away." When strangers passed she still allowed to linger about her
lips a lazy smile, as though she expected or remembered some friend, which
made them say: "What a lovely woman!". And for certain men only she had a
sour, strained, shy, cold smile which meant: "Yes, you old goat, I know
that you've got a tongue like a viper, that you can't keep quiet for a
moment. But do you suppose that I care what you say?" Coquelin passed,
talking, in a group of listening friends, and with a sweeping wave of his
hand bade a theatrical good day to the people in the carriages.
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