to bless himself with?  Thus launched, the envious folks began to reproach Rougon for all the acts of his administration, which only dated from the previous evening.  He had no right to retain the services of the former Municipal Council; he had been guilty of grave folly in ordering the gates to be closed; it was through his stupidity that five members of the Commission had contracted inflammation of the lungs on the terrace of the Valqueyras mansion.  There was no end to his faults.  The Republicans likewise raised their heads.  They talked of the possibility of a sudden attack upon the town-hall by the workmen of the Faubourg.  The reaction was at its last gasp.

Pierre, at this overthrow of all his hopes, began to wonder what support he might still rely on if occasion should require any.

“Wasn’t Aristide to come here this evening,” he asked, “to make it up with us?”

“Yes,” answered Felicite.  “He promised me a good article.  The ‘Independant’ has not appeared yet—­”

But her husband interrupted her, crying:  “See! isn’t that he who is just coming out of the Sub-Prefecture?”

The old woman glanced in that direction.  “He’s got his arm in a sling again!” she cried.

Aristide’s hand was indeed wrapped in the silk handkerchief once more.  The Empire was breaking up, but the Republic was not yet triumphant, and he had judged it prudent to resume the part of a disabled man.  He crossed the square stealthily, without raising his head.  Then doubtless hearing some dangerous and compromising remarks among the groups of bystanders, he made all haste to turn the corner of the Rue de la Banne.

“Bah! he won’t come here,” said Felicite bitterly.  “It’s all up with us.  Even our children forsake us!”

She shut the window violently, in order that she might not see or hear anything more.  When she had lit the lamp, she and her husband sat down to dinner, disheartened and without appetite, leaving most of their food on their plates.  They only had a few hours left them to take a decisive step.  It was absolutely indispensable that before daybreak Plassans should be at their feet beseeching forgiveness, or else they must entirely renounce the fortune which they had dreamed of.  The total absence of any reliable news was the sole cause of their anxious indecision.  Felicite, with her clear intellect, had quickly perceived this.  If they had been able to learn the result of the Coup d’Etat, they would either have faced it out and have still pursued their role of deliverers, or else have done what they could to efface all recollection of their unlucky campaign.  But they had no precise information; they were losing their heads; the thought that they were thus risking their fortune on a throw, in complete ignorance of what was happening, brought a cold perspiration to their brows.

“And why the devil doesn’t Eugene write to me?” Rougon suddenly cried, in an outburst of despair, forgetting that he was betraying the secret of his correspondence to his wife.