But the marquis interrupted him.  “Listen, listen:  this time it is the bell of Saint-Maur.”  And he indicated another point of the horizon to them.  There was, in fact, a second bell wailing through the clear night.  And very soon there were ten bells, twenty bells, whose despairing tollings were detected by their ears, which had by this time grown accustomed to the quivering of the darkness.  Ominous calls rose from all sides, like the faint rattles of dying men.  Soon the whole plain seemed to be wailing.  The gentlemen no longer jeered at Roudier; particularly as the marquis, who took a malicious delight in terrifying them, was kind enough to explain the cause of all this bell-ringing.

“It is the neighbouring villages,” he said to Rougon, “banding together to attack Plassans at daybreak.”

At this Granoux opened his eyes wide.  “Didn’t you see something just this moment over there?” he asked all of a sudden.

Nobody had looked; the gentlemen had been keeping their eyes closed in order to hear the better.

“Ah! look!” he resumed after a short pause.  “There, beyond the Viorne, near that black mass.”

“Yes, I see,” replied Rougon, in despair; “it’s a fire they’re kindling.”

A moment later another fire appeared almost immediately in front of the first one, then a third, and a fourth.  In this wise red splotches appeared at nearly equal distances throughout the whole length of the valley, resembling the lamps of some gigantic avenue.  The moonlight, which dimmed their radiance, made them look like pools of blood.  This melancholy illumination gave a finishing touch to the consternation of the Municipal Commission.

“Of course!” the marquis muttered, with his bitterest sneer, “those brigands are signalling to each other.”  And he counted the fires complacently, to get some idea, he said, as to how many men “the brave national guard of Plassans” would have to deal with.  Rougon endeavoured to raise doubts by saying the villages were taking up arms in order to join the army of the insurgents, and not for the purpose of attacking the town.  But the gentlemen, by their silent consternation, made it clear that they had formed their own opinion, and were not to be consoled.

“I can hear the ‘Marseillaise’ now,” remarked Granoux in a hushed voice.

It was indeed true.  A detachment must have been following the course of the Viorne, passing, at that moment, just under the town.  The cry, “To arms, citizens!  Form your battalions!” reached the on-lookers in sudden bursts with vibrating distinctness.  Ah! what an awful night it was!  The gentlemen spent it leaning over the parapet of the terrace, numbed by the terrible cold, and yet quite unable to tear themselves away from the sight of that plain which resounded with the tocsin and the “Marseillaise,” and was all ablaze with signal-fires.  They feasted their eyes upon that sea of light, flecked with blood-red