me to you,” Swann explained to me, “because it is the Prince who is speaking, you understand?), ‘for I have another mass that I have been asked to say for him tomorrow as well.⁠—What, I said to him, is there another Catholic as well as myself who is convinced of his innocence?⁠—It appears so.⁠—But this other supporter’s conviction must be of more recent growth than mine.⁠—Maybe, but this other was making me say masses when you still believed Dreyfus guilty.⁠—Ah, I can see that it is not anyone in our world.⁠—On the contrary!⁠—Indeed! There are Dreyfusists among us, are there? You intrigue me; I should like to unbosom myself to this rare bird, if I know him.⁠—You do know him.⁠—His name?⁠—The Princesse de Guermantes. While I was afraid of shocking the Nationalist opinions, the French faith of my dear wife, she had been afraid of alarming my religious opinions, my patriotic sentiments. But privately she had been thinking as I did, though for longer than I had. And what her maid had been hiding as she went into her room, what she went out to buy for her every morning, was the Aurore