Page 625 - swanns-way

the surface of a hallowed soil, I stood with my eyes fixed on
the horizon, expecting at every moment to see appear the
form of Gilberte following that of her governess, behind the
statue that seemed to be holding out the child, which it had
in its arms, and which glistened in the stream of light, to re-
ceive benediction from the sun. The old lady who read the
Débats was sitting on her chair, in her invariable place, and
had just accosted a park-keeper, with a friendly wave of her
hands towards him as she exclaimed ‘What a lovely day!’
And when the chair-woman came up to collect her penny,
with an infinity of smirks and affectations she folded the
ticket away inside her glove, as though it had been a posy of
flowers, for which she had sought, in gratitude to the donor,
the most becoming place upon her person. When she had
found it, she performed a circular movement with her neck,
straightened her boa, and fastened upon the collector, as she
shewed her the end of yellow paper that stuck out over her
bare wrist, the bewitching smile with which a woman says
to a young man, pointing to her bosom: ‘You see, I’m wear-
ing your roses!’
I dragged Françoise, on the way towards Gilberte, as far
as the Arc de Triomphe; we did not meet her, and I was re-
turning towards the lawn convinced, now, that she was not
coming, when, in front of the wooden horses, the little girl
with the sharp voice flung herself upon me: ‘Quick, quick,
Gilberte’s been here a quarter of an hour. She’s just going.
We’ve been waiting for you, to make up a prisoner’s base.’
While I had been going up the Avenue des Champs-
Elysées, Gilberte had arrived by the Rue Boissy-d’Anglas,

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