to go and wash his hands with a certain powder soap which he saw in a glass jar.  Like all lazy fellows who live upon their wives or children, he had foppish tastes.  Although he wore patched trousers, he liked to inundate himself with aromatic oil.  He spent hours with his barber, who talked politics, and brushed his hair for him between their discussions.  So, at last, the temptation became too strong, and Macquart installed himself before the washstand.  He washed his hands and face, dressed his hair, perfumed himself, in fact went through a complete toilet.  He made use in turn of all the bottles, all the various soaps and powders; but his greatest pleasure was to dry his hands with the mayor’s towels, which were so soft and thick.  He buried his wet face in them, and inhaled, with delight, all the odour of wealth.  Then, having pomaded himself, and smelling sweetly from head to foot, he once more stretched himself on the sofa, feeling quite youthful again, and disposed to the most conciliatory thoughts.  He felt yet greater contempt for the Republic since he had dipped his nose into Monsieur Garconnet’s phials.  The idea occurred to him that there was, perhaps, still time for him to make peace with his brother.  He wondered what he might well ask in return for playing the traitor.  His rancour against the Rougons still gnawed at his heart; but he was in one of those moods when, lying on one’s back in silence, one is apt to admit stern facts, and scold oneself for neglecting to feather a comfortable nest in which one may wallow in slothful ease, even at the cost of relinquishing one’s most cherished animosities.  Towards evening Antoine determined to send for his brother on the following day.  But when, in the morning, he saw Felicite enter the room he understood that his aid was wanted, so he remained on his guard.

The negotiations were long and full of pitfalls, being conducted on either side with infinite skill.  At first they both indulged in vague complaints, then Felicite, who was surprised to find Macquart almost polite, after the violent manner in which he had behaved at her house on the Sunday evening, assumed a tone of gentle reproach.  She deplored the hatred which severed their families.  But, in truth, he had so calumniated his brother, and manifested such bitter animosity towards him, that he had made poor Rougon quite lose his head.

“But, dash it, my brother has never behaved like a brother to me,” Macquart replied, with restrained violence.  “Has he ever given me any assistance?  He would have let me die in my hovel!  When he behaved differently towards me—­you remember, at the time he gave me two hundred francs—­I am sure no one can reproach me with having said a single unpleasant word about him.  I said everywhere that he was a very good-hearted fellow.”

This clearly signified:  “If you had continued to supply me with money, I should have been very pleasant towards you, and would have helped you, instead of fighting against you.  It’s your own fault.  You ought to have bought me.”