Early in the course of the dinner, when M. de Forcheville, seated on the right of Mme. Verdurin, who, in the “newcomer’s” honour, had taken great pains with her toilet, observed to her: “Quite original, that white dress,” the Doctor, who had never taken his eyes off him, so curious was he to learn the nature and attributes of what he called a “de,” and was on the lookout for an opportunity of attracting his attention, so as to come into closer contact with him, caught in its flight the adjective “ blanche ” and, his eyes still glued to his plate, snapped out, “ Blanche? Blanche of Castile?” then, without moving his head, shot a furtive glance to right and left of him, doubtful, but happy on the whole. While Swann, by the painful and futile effort which he made to smile, testified that he thought the pun absurd, Forcheville had shown at once that he could appreciate its subtlety, and that he was a man of the world, by keeping within its proper limits a mirth the spontaneity of which had charmed