the man himself) has managed to persuade him that he is one of those who have had her for nothing. Such is society, in which every one of us has two aspects, in which the most obvious, the most notorious faults will never be known by a certain other person save embedded in, under the protection of a shell, a smooth cocoon, a delicious curiosity of nature. There were in Paris two thoroughly respectable men to whom Saint-Loup no longer bowed, and could not refer without a tremor in his voice, calling them exploiters of women: this was because they had both been ruined by Rachel. “I blame myself for one thing only,” Mme. de Marsantes murmured in my ear, “and that was my telling him that he wasn’t nice to me. He, such an adorable, unique son, there’s no one else like him in the world, the only time I see him, to have told him he wasn’t nice to me, I would far rather he’d beaten me, because I am sure that whatever pleasure he may be having this evening, and he hasn’t many, will be spoiled for him by that unfair word. But, Sir, I mustn’t keep you, since you’re in a hurry.” Anxiously, Mme. de Marsantes bade me good-bye. These sentiments bore upon Robert; she was sincere. But she ceased to be, to become a great lady once more. “I have been so _interested_, so _glad_ to have this little talk with you. Thank you! Thank you!” And with a humble air she fastened on me a look of gratitude, of exhilaration, as though my conversation were one of the keenest pleasures that she had experienced in her life. These charming glances went very well with the black flowers on her white skirt; they were those of a great lady who knew her business. “But I am in no hurry,” I replied; “besides, I must wait for M. de Charlus; I am going with him.” Mme. de Villeparisis overheard these last words. They appeared to vex her. Had the matter in question not been one which could not possibly give rise to such a sentiment, it might have struck me that what seemed to be at that moment alarmed in Mme. de Villeparisis was her modesty. But this hypothesis never even entered my mind. I was delighted with Mme. de Guermantes, with Saint-Loup, with Mme. de Marsantes, with M. de Charlus, with Mme. de Villeparisis; I did not stop to reflect, and I spoke light-heartedly and at random. “You’re going from here with my nephew Palamède?” she asked me. Thinking that it might produce a highly favourable impression on Mme. de Villeparisis if she learned that I was on intimate terms with a nephew whom she esteemed so greatly, “He has asked me to go home with him,” I answered blithely. “I am so glad. Besides, we are greater friends than you think, and I’ve quite made up my mind that we’re going to be better friends still.”