Page 409 - swanns-way

‘What the devil’s that? Not the sonata-snake, I hope!’
shouted M. de Forcheville, hoping to create an effect. But Dr.
Cottard, who had never heard this pun, missed the point of
it, and imagined that M. de Forcheville had made a mistake.
He dashed in boldly to correct it: ‘No, no. The word isn’t
serpent-à-sonates, it’s serpent-à-sonnettes!’ he explained in
a tone at once zealous, impatient, and triumphant.
Forcheville explained the joke to him. The Doctor
blushed.
‘You’ll admit it’s not bad, eh, Doctor?’
‘Oh! I’ve known it for ages.’
Then they were silenced; heralded by the waving trem-
olo of the violin-part, which formed a bristling bodyguard
of sound two octaves above it—and as in a mountainous
country, against the seeming immobility of a vertically fall-
ing torrent, one may distinguish, two hundred feet below,
the tiny form of a woman walking in the valley—the little
phrase had just appeared, distant but graceful, protected by
the long, gradual unfurling of its transparent, incessant and
sonorous curtain. And Swann, in his heart of hearts, turned
to it, spoke to it as to a confidant in the secret of his love, as
to a friend of Odette who would assure him that he need pay
no attention to this Forcheville.
‘Ah! you’ve come too late!’ Mme. Verdurin greeted one
of the ‘faithful,’ whose invitation had been only ‘to look in
after dinner,’ ‘we’ve been having a simply incomparable Bri-
chot! You never heard such eloquence! But he’s gone. Isn’t
that so, M. Swann? I believe it’s the first time you’ve met
him,’ she went on, to emphasize the fact that it was to her

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