“Do not be uneasy,” said the druggist,
when he returned to his friends. “Monsieur
Binet has assured me that all precautions have been
taken. No sparks have fallen; the pumps are full.
Let us go to rest.”
“Ma foi! I want it,” said Madame
Homais, yawning at large. “But never mind;
we’ve had a beautiful day for our fete.”
Rodolphe repeated in a low voice, and with a tender
look, “Oh, yes! very beautiful!”
And having bowed to one another, they separated.
Two days later, in the “Final de Rouen,”
there was a long article on the show. Homais
had composed it with verve the very next morning.
“Why these festoons, these flowers, these garlands?
Whither hurries this crowd like the waves of a furious
sea under the torrents of a tropical sun pouring its
heat upon our heads?”
Then he spoke of the condition of the peasants.
Certainly the Government was doing much, but not enough.
“Courage!” he cried to it; “a thousand
reforms are indispensable; let us accomplish them!”
Then touching on the entry of the councillor, he did
not forget “the martial air of our militia;”
nor “our most merry village maidens;” nor
the “bald-headed old men like patriarchs who
were there, and of whom some, the remnants of our
phalanxes, still felt their hearts beat at the manly
sound of the drums.” He cited himself among
the first of the members of the jury, and he even
called attention in a note to the fact that Monsieur
Homais, chemist, had sent a memoir on cider to the
agricultural society.
When he came to the distribution of the prizes, he
painted the joy of the prize-winners in dithyrambic
strophes. “The father embraced the son,
the brother the brother, the husband his consort.
More than one showed his humble medal with pride;
and no doubt when he got home to his good housewife,
he hung it up weeping on the modest walls of his cot.
“About six o’clock a banquet prepared
in the meadow of Monsieur Leigeard brought together
the principal personages of the fete. The greatest
cordiality reigned here. Divers toasts were proposed:
Monsieur Lieuvain, the King; Monsieur Tuvache, the
Prefect; Monsieur Derozerays, Agriculture; Monsieur
Homais, Industry and the Fine Arts, those twin sisters;
Monsieur Leplichey, Progress. In the evening some
brilliant fireworks on a sudden illumined the air.
One would have called it a veritable kaleidoscope,
a real operatic scene; and for a moment our little
locality might have thought itself transported into
the midst of a dream of the ‘Thousand and One
Nights.’ Let us state that no untoward
event disturbed this family meeting.” And
he added “Only the absence of the clergy was
remarked. No doubt the priests understand progress
in another fashion. Just as you please, messieurs
the followers of Loyola!”
Six weeks passed. Rodolphe did not come again.
At last one evening he appeared.
