“Now listen,” said Rougon; “we’ll go to my house; and in the meantime Monsieur Granoux will assemble here the members of the municipal council who had not been arrested and acquaint them with the terrible events of the night.”  Then he added, majestically:  “I am quite prepared to accept the responsibility of my actions.  If what I have already done appears a satisfactory pledge of my desire for order, I am willing to place myself at the head of a municipal commission, until such time as the regular authorities can be reinstated.  But, in order, that nobody may accuse me of ambitious designs, I shall not re-enter the Town Hall unless called upon to do so by my fellow-citizens.”

At this Granoux and Roudier protested that Plassans would not be ungrateful.  Their friend had indeed saved the town.  And they recalled all that he had done for the cause of order:  the yellow drawing-room always open to the friends of authority, his services as spokesman in the three quarters of the town, the store of arms which had been his idea, and especially that memorable night—­that night of prudence and heroism—­in which he had rendered himself forever illustrious.  Granoux added that he felt sure of the admiration and gratitude of the municipal councillors.

“Don’t stir from your house,” he concluded; “I will come and fetch you to lead you back in triumph.”

Then Roudier said that he quite understood the tact and modesty of their friend, and approved it.  Nobody would think of accusing him of ambition, but all would appreciate the delicacy which prompted him to take no office save with the consent of his fellow-citizens.  That was very dignified, very noble, altogether grand.

Under this shower of eulogies, Rougon humbly bowed his head.  “No, no; you go too far,” he murmured, with voluptuous thrillings of exquisite pleasure.  Each sentence that fell from the retired hosier and the old almond-merchant, who stood on his right and left respectively, fell sweetly on his ears; and, leaning back in the mayor’s arm-chair, steeped in the odour of officiality which pervaded the room, he bowed to the right and to the left, like a royal pretender whom a coup d’etat is about to convert into an emperor.

When they were tired of belauding each other, they all three went downstairs.  Granoux started off to call the municipal council together, while Roudier told Rougon to go on in front, saying that he would join him at his house, after giving the necessary orders for guarding the Town Hall.  The dawn was now fast rising, and Pierre proceeded to the Rue de la Banne, tapping his heels in a martial manner on the still deserted pavement.  He carried his hat in his hand in spite of the bitter cold; for puffs of pride sent all his blood to his head.

On reaching his house he found Cassoute at the bottom of the stairs.  The navvy had not stirred, for he had seen nobody enter.  He sat there, on the first step, resting his big head in his hands, and gazing fixedly in front of him, with the vacant stare and mute stubbornness of a faithful dog.