Page 614 - swanns-way

sit and read the Débats, which she called ‘My old Débats!’
as, with an aristocratic familiarity, she would say, speaking
of the police-sergeant or the woman who let the chairs, ‘My
old friend the police-sergeant,’ or ‘The chair-keeper and I,
who are old friends.’
Françoise found it too cold to stand about, so we walked
to the Pont de la Concorde to see the Seine frozen over, on to
which everyone, even children, walked fearlessly, as though
upon an enormous whale, stranded, defenceless, and about
to be cut up. We returned to the Champs-Elysées; I was
growing sick with misery between the motionless wooden
horses and the white lawn, caught in a net of black paths
from which the snow had been cleared, while the statue that
surmounted it held in its hand a long pendent icicle which
seemed to explain its gesture. The old lady herself, having
folded up her Débats, asked a passing nursemaid the time,
thanking her with ‘How very good of you!’ then begged the
road-sweeper to tell her grandchildren to come, as she felt
cold, adding ‘A thousand thanks. I am sorry to give you so
much trouble!’ Suddenly the sky was rent in two: between
the punch-and-judy and the horses, against the opening ho-
rizon, I had just seen, like a miraculous sign, Mademoiselle’s
blue feather. And now Gilberte was running at full speed to-
wards me, sparkling and rosy beneath a cap trimmed with
fur, enlivened by the cold, by being late, by her anxiety for a
game; shortly before she reached me, she slipped on a piece
of ice and, either to regain her balance, or because it ap-
peared to her graceful, or else pretending that she was on
skates, it was with outstretched arms that she smilingly

614 Swann’s Way