But I
thought only of Mme. Swann, and pretended to have not yet seen her, for I
knew that, when she reached the pigeon-shooting ground, she would tell her
coachman to 'break away' and to stop the carriage, so that she might come
back on foot. And on days when I felt that I had the courage to pass close
by her I would drag Francoise off in that direction; until the moment came
when I saw Mme. Swann, letting trail behind her the long train of her
lilac skirt, dressed, as the populace imagine queens to be dressed, in
rich attire such as no other woman might wear, lowering her eyes now and
then to study the handle of her parasol, paying scant attention to the
passers-by, as though the important thing for her, her one object in being
there, was to take exercise, without thinking that she was seen, and that
every head was turned towards her. Sometimes, however, when she had looked
back to call her dog to her, she would cast, almost imperceptibly, a
sweeping glance round about.
Those even who did not know her were warned by something exceptional,
something beyond the normal in her--or perhaps by a telepathic suggestion
such as would move an ignorant audience to a frenzy of applause when Berma
was 'sublime'--that she must be some one well-known.
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