He was already meditating important revolutionary measures; the nomination of a Commune of which he would be the chief, the imprisonment of all bad patriots, and particularly of all such persons as had incurred his displeasure.  The thought of the baffled Rougons and their yellow drawing-room, of all that clique entreating him for mercy, thrilled him with exquisite pleasure.  In order to while away the time he resolved to issue a proclamation to the inhabitants of Plassans.  Four of his party set to work to draw up this proclamation, and when it was finished Macquart, assuming a dignified manner in the mayor’s arm-chair, had it read to him before sending it to the printing office of the “Independant,” on whose patriotism he reckoned.  One of the writers was commencing, in an emphatic voice, “Inhabitants of Plassans, the hour of independence has struck, the reign of justice has begun——­” when a noise was heard at the door of the office, which was slowly pushed open.

“Is it you, Cassoute?” Macquart asked, interrupting the perusal.

Nobody answered; but the door opened wider.

“Come in, do!” he continued, impatiently.  “Is my brigand of a brother at home?”

Then, all at once both leaves of the door were violently thrown back and slammed against the walls, and a crowd of armed men, in the midst of whom marched Rougon, with his face very red and his eyes starting out of their sockets, swarmed into the office, brandishing their guns like cudgels.

“Ah! the blackguards, they’re armed!” shouted Macquart.

He was about to seize a pair of pistols which were lying on the writing-table, when five men caught hold of him by the throat and held him in check.  The four authors of the proclamation struggled for an instant.  There was a good deal of scuffling and stamping, and a noise of persons falling.  The combatants were greatly hampered by their guns, which they would not lay aside, although they could not use them.  In the struggle, Rougon’s weapon, which an insurgent had tried to wrest from him, went off of itself with a frightful report, and filled the room with smoke.  The bullet shattered a magnificent mirror that reached from the mantelpiece to the ceiling, and was reputed to be one of the finest mirrors in the town.  This shot, fired no one knew why, deafened everybody, and put an end to the battle.

Then, while the gentlemen were panting and puffing, three other reports were heard in the courtyard.  Granoux immediately rushed to one of the windows.  And as he and the others anxiously leaned out, their faces lengthened perceptibly, for they were in nowise eager for a struggle with the men in the guard-room, whom they had forgotten amidst their triumph.  However, Roudier cried out from below that all was right.  And Granoux then shut the window again, beaming with joy.  The fact of the matter was, that Rougon’s shot had aroused the sleepers, who had promptly surrendered, seeing that resistance was impossible.  Then, however, three of Roudier’s men, in their blind haste to get the business over, had discharged their firearms in the air, as a sort of answer to the report from above, without knowing quite why they did so.  It frequently happens that guns go off of their own accord when they are in the hands of cowards.