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vitations, and, I assure you, his luncheon-parties are not
the least bit amusing; they’re very simple affairs, too, you
know; never more than eight at table,’ he went on, trying
desperately to cut out everything that seemed to shew off
his relations with the President in a light too dazzling for
the Doctor’s eyes.
Whereupon Cottard, at once conforming in his mind to
the literal interpretation of what Swann was saying, decided
that invitations from M. Grévy were very little sought after,
were sent out, in fact, into the highways and hedge-rows.
And from that moment he never seemed at all surprised to
hear that Swann, or anyone else, was ‘always at the Elysée’;
he even felt a little sorry for a man who had to go to lun-
cheon-parties which, he himself admitted, were a bore.
‘Ah, good, good; that’s quite all right then,’ he said, in the
tone of a customs official who has been suspicious up to now,
but, after hearing your explanations, stamps your passport
and lets you proceed on your journey without troubling to
examine your luggage.
‘I can well believe you don’t find them amusing, those
parties; indeed, it’s very good of you to go to them!’ said
Mme. Verdurin, who regarded the President of the Repub-
lic only as a ‘bore’ to be especially dreaded, since he had at
his disposal means of seduction, and even of compulsion,
which, if employed to captivate her ‘faithful,’ might easily
make them ‘fail.’ ‘It seems, he’s as deaf as a post; and eats
with his fingers.’
‘Upon my word! Then it can’t be much fun for you, go-
ing there.’ A note of pity sounded in the Doctor’s voice; and

334 Swann’s Way