Page 637 - swanns-way

it. I analysed it, I spelt it; its orthography came to me as a
surprise. And with its familiarity it had simultaneously lost
its innocence. The pleasure that I derived from the sound
of it I felt to be so guilty, that it seemed to me as though the
others must read my thoughts, and would change the con-
versation if I endeavoured to guide it in that direction. I fell
back upon subjects which still brought me into touch with
Gilberte, I eternally repeated the same words, and it was no
use my knowing that they were but words—words uttered
in her absence, which she could not hear, words without
virtue in themselves, repeating what were, indeed, facts, but
powerless to modify them—for still it seemed to me that by
dint of handling, of stirring in this way everything that had
reference to Gilberte, I might perhaps make emerge from it
something that would bring me happiness. I told my parents
again that Gilberte was very fond of her governess, as if the
statement, when repeated for the hundredth time, would at
last have the effect of making Gilberte suddenly burst into
the room, come to live with us for ever. I had already sung
the praises of the old lady who read the Débats (I had hint-
ed to my parents that she must at least be an Ambassador’s
widow, if not actually a Highness) and I continued to des-
cant on her beauty, her splendour, her nobility, until the day
on which I mentioned that, by what I had heard Gilberte
call her, she appeared to be a Mme. Blatin.
‘Oh, now I know whom you mean,’ cried my mother,
while I felt myself grow red all over with shame. ‘On guard!
on guard!—as your grandfather says. And so it’s she that
you think so wonderful? Why, she’s perfectly horrible, and

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