“But,” exclaimed Bloch, “the divine Athena, daughter of Zeus, has put in the mind of one the opposite of what is in the mind of the other. And they are fighting against one another like two lions. Colonel Picquart had a splendid position in the Army, but his Moira has led him to the side that was not rightly his. The sword of the Nationalists will carve his tender flesh, and he will be cast out as food for the beasts of prey and the birds that wax fat upon the bodies of men.” M. de Norpois made no reply. “What are those two palavering about over there?” M. de Guermantes asked Mme. de Villeparisis, indicating M. de Norpois and Bloch. “The Dreyfus case.” “The devil they are. By the way, do you know who is a red-hot supporter of Dreyfus? I give you a thousand guesses. My nephew Robert! I can tell you that, at the Jockey, when they heard of his goings on, there was a fine gathering of the clans, a regular hue and cry. And as he’s coming up for election next week....” “Of course,” broke in the Duchess, “if they’re all like Gilbert, who keeps on saying that all the Jews ought to be sent back to Jerusalem.” “Indeed; then the Prince de Guermantes is quite of my way of thinking,” put in M. d’Argencourt. The Duke made a show of his wife, but did not love her. Extremely self-centred, he hated to be interrupted, besides he was in the habit, at home, of treating her brutally. Convulsed with the twofold rage of a bad husband when his wife speaks to him, and a good talker when he is not listened to, he stopped short and transfixed the Duchess with a glare which made everyone feel uncomfortable. “What makes you think we want to hear about Gilbert and Jerusalem? It’s nothing to do with that. But,” he went on in a gentler tone, “you will agree that if one of our family were to be pilled at the Jockey, especially Robert, whose father was chairman for ten years, it would be a pretty serious matter. What can you expect, my dear, it’s got ’em on the raw, those fellows; they’re all over it. I don’t blame them, either; personally, you know that I have no racial prejudice, all that sort of thing seems to me out of date, and I do claim to move with the times; but damn it all, when one goes by the name of ‘Marquis de Saint-Loup’ one isn’t a Dreyfusard; what more can I say?”