What enhanced this impression that Mme. Swann was walking in the Avenue as though along the paths of her own garden, was⁠—for people ignorant of her habit of “taking exercise”⁠—that she had come there on foot, without any carriage following, she whom, once May had begun, they were accustomed to see, behind the most brilliant “turnout,” the smartest liveries in Paris, gently and majestically seated, like a goddess, in the balmy air of an immense victoria on eight springs. On foot Mme. Swann had the appearance⁠—especially as her pace began to slacken in the heat of the sun⁠—of having yielded to curiosity, of committing an “exclusive” breach of all the rules of her code, like those Crowned Heads who, without consulting anyone, accompanied by the slightly scandalised admiration of a suite which dares not venture any criticism, step out of their boxes during a gala performance and visit the lobby of the theatre, mingling for a moment or two with the rest of the audience. So between Mme.