Through the gap between a pair of curtains a head peeped with ceremonious deference, making a playful pretence of being afraid of disturbing the party; it was Swann. “Odette, the Prince d’Agrigente is with me in the study. He wants to know if he may pay his respects to you. What am I to tell him?” “Why, that I shall be delighted,” Odette would reply, secretly flattered, but without losing anything of the composure which came to her all the more easily since she had always, even in her “fast” days, been accustomed to entertain men of fashion. Swann disappeared to deliver the message, and would presently return with the Prince, unless in the meantime Mme. Verdurin had arrived. When he married Odette Swann had insisted on her ceasing to frequent the little clan. (He had several good reasons for this stipulation, though, had he had none, he would have made it just the same in obedience to a law of ingratitude which admits no exception, and proves that every “go-between” is either lacking in foresight or else singularly disinterested.) He had conceded only that Odette and Mme.