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He, it appeared, had been that afternoon to an exhibition of the work of another artist, also a friend of Mme. "From that point of view it was extraordinary, but it did not seem to me to be a form of art which you could call 'elevated," said Swann with a smile. "Elevated... to the height of an Institute!" interrupted Cottard, raising his arms with mock solemnity.
We're not in any hurry; you're dashing round as if the house was on fire. Wait a little; don't serve the salad just yet." Mme. Cottard, who was a shy woman and spoke but seldom, was not lacking, for all that, in self-assurance when a happy inspiration put the right word in her mouth.
Verdurin had taken under her patronage that year, and of whom she said "Really, it oughtn't to be allowed, to play Wagner as well as that!" left both Plante and Rubinstein 'sitting'; while Dr. Cottard was a more brilliant diagnostician than Potain.
It's the same in every house in Paris now, no one will speak of anything else but Machard's portrait; you aren't smart, you aren't really cultured, you aren't up-to-date unless you give an opinion on Machard's portrait." Swann having replied that he had not seen this portrait, Mme. Cottard was afraid that she might have hurt his feelings by obliging him to confess the omission.
They had been absent for nearly a year, and Swann felt perfectly at ease and almost happy. Albeit M. Verdurin had endeavoured to persuade the pianist and Dr. Cottard that their respective aunt and patients had no need of them, and that, in any event, it was most rash to allow Mme. Cottard to return to Paris, where, Mme.
"Don't speak to me about 'your masters'; you know ten times as much as he does!" Mme. Verdurin answered Dr. Cottard, in the tone of a woman who has the courage of her convictions, and is quite ready to stand up to anyone who disagrees with her. "Anyhow, you don't kill your patients!" "But, Madame, he is in the Academy." The Doctor smiled with bitter irony.
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