“He had the gun, hadn’t he?” interrupted aunt Dide, whose wandering mind seemed to be following Silvere far away along the high road.

“The gun?  Ah! yes; Macquart’s carbine,” continued Antoine, after casting a glance at the mantel-shelf, where the fire-arm was usually hung.  “I fancy I saw it in his hands.  A fine instrument to scour the country with, when one has a girl on one’s arm.  What a fool!”

Then he thought he might as well indulge in a few coarse jokes.  Aunt Dide had begun to bustle about the room again.  She did not say a word.  Towards the evening Antoine went out, after putting on a blouse, and pulling over his eyes a big cap which his mother had bought for him.  He returned into the town in the same manner as he had quitted it, by relating some nonsensical story to the national guards who were on duty at the Rome Gate.  Then he made his way to the old quarter, where he crept from house to house in a mysterious manner.  All the Republicans of advanced views, all the members of the brotherhood who had not followed the insurrectionary army, met in an obscure inn, where Macquart had made an appointment with them.  When about fifty men were assembled, he made a speech, in which he spoke of personal vengeance that must be wreaked, of a victory that must be gained, and of a disgraceful yoke that must be thrown off.  And he ended by undertaking to deliver the town-hall over to them in ten minutes.  He had just left it, it was quite unguarded, he said, and the red flag would wave over it that very night if they so desired.  The workmen deliberated.  At that moment the reaction seemed to be in its death throes.  The insurgents were virtually at the gates of the town.  It would therefore be more honourable to make an effort to regain power without awaiting their return, so as to be able to receive them as brothers, with the gates wide open, and the streets and squares adorned with flags.  Moreover, none of those present distrusted Macquart.  His hatred of the Rougons, the personal vengeance of which he spoke, could be taken as guaranteeing his loyalty.  It was arranged that each of them who was a sportsman and had a gun at home should fetch it, and that the band should assemble at midnight in the neighbourhood of the town-hall.  A question of detail very nearly put an end to their plans—­they had no bullets; however, they decided to load their weapons with small shot:  and even that seemed unnecessary, as they were told that they would meet with no resistance.

Once more Plassans beheld a band of armed men filing along close to the houses, in the quiet moonlight.  When the band was assembled in front of the town-hall, Macquart, while keeping a sharp look-out, boldly advanced to the building.  He knocked, and when the door-keeper, who had learnt his lesson, asked what was wanted, he uttered such terrible threats, that the man, feigning fright, made haste to open the door.  Both leaves of it swung back slowly, and the porch then lay open and empty before them, while Macquart shouted in a loud voice:  “Come on, my friends!”