Rougon, who now felt very conscious of his power, repaired to the Rue Canquoin to beg the gendarmes to remain in their barracks and interfere with nothing.  He certainly had the doors of the gendarmerie opened—­the keys having been carried off by the insurgents—­but he wanted to triumph alone, and had no intention of letting the gendarmes rob him of any part of his glory.  If he should really have need of them he could always send for them.  So he explained to them that their presence might tend to irritate the working-men and thus aggravate the situation.  The sergeant in command thereupon complimented him on his prudence.  When Rougon was informed that there was a wounded man in the barracks, he asked to see him, by way of rendering himself popular.  He found Rengade in bed, with his eye bandaged, and his big moustaches just peeping out from under the linen.  With some high-sounding words about duty, Rougon endeavoured to comfort the unfortunate fellow who, having lost an eye, was swearing with exasperation at the thought that his injury would compel him to quit the service.  At last Rougon promised to send the doctor to him.

“I’m much obliged to you, sir,” Rengade replied; “but, you know, what would do me more good than any quantity of doctor’s stuff would be to wring the neck of the villain who put my eye out.  Oh!  I shall know him again; he’s a little thin, palish fellow, quite young.”

Thereupon Pierre bethought himself of the blood he had seen on Silvere’s hand.  He stepped back a little, as though he was afraid that Rengade would fly at his throat, and cry:  “It was your nephew who blinded me; and you will have to pay for it.”  And whilst he was mentally cursing his disreputable family, he solemnly declared that if the guilty person were found he should be punished with all the rigour of the law.

“No, no, it isn’t worth all that trouble,” the one-eyed man replied; “I’ll just wring his neck for him when I catch him.”

Rougon hastened back to the town-hall.  The afternoon was employed in taking various measures.  The proclamation posted up about one o’clock produced an excellent impression.  It ended by an appeal to the good sense of the citizens, and gave a firm assurance that order would not again be disturbed.  Until dusk, in fact, the streets presented a picture of general relief and perfect confidence.  On the pavements, the groups who were reading the proclamation exclaimed: 

“It’s all finished now; we shall soon see the troops who have been sent in pursuit of the insurgents.”

This belief that some soldiers were approaching was so general that the idles of the Cours Sauvaire repaired to the Nice road, in order to meet and hear the regimental band.  But they returned at nightfall disappointed, having seen nothing; and then a feeling of vague alarm began to disturb the townspeople.