The national guards who had remained at the ramparts had also heard the shots, and thinking that the insurgents had entered by means of some subterranean passage, they ran up helter-skelter, in groups of five or six, disturbing the silence of the streets with the tumult of their excited rush.  Roudier was one of the first to arrive.  However, Rougon sent them all back to their posts, after reprimanding them severely for abandoning the gates of the town.  Thrown into consternation by this reproach—­for in their panic, they had, in fact, left the gates absolutely defenceless—­they again set off at a gallop, hurrying through the streets with still more frightful uproar.  Plassans might well have thought that an infuriated army was crossing it in all directions.  The fusillade, the tocsin, the marches and countermarches of the national guards, the weapons which were being dragged along like clubs, the terrified cries in the darkness, all produced a deafening tumult, such as might break forth in a town taken by assault and given over to plunder.  It was the final blow of the unfortunate inhabitants, who really believed that the insurgents had arrived.  They had, indeed, said that it would be their last night—­that Plassans would be swallowed up in the earth, or would evaporate into smoke before daybreak; and now, lying in their beds, they awaited the catastrophe in the most abject terror, fancying at times that their houses were already tottering.

Meantime Granoux still rang the tocsin.  When, in other respects, silence had again fallen upon the town, the mournfulness of that ringing became intolerable.  Rougon, who was in a high fever, felt exasperated by its distant wailing.  He hastened to the cathedral, and found the door open.  The beadle was on the threshold.

“Ah! that’s quite enough!” he shouted to the man; “anybody would think there was some one crying; it’s quite unbearable.”

“But it isn’t me, sir,” replied the beadle in a distressed manner.  “It’s Monsieur Granoux, he’s gone up into the steeple.  I must tell you that I removed the clapper of the bell, by his Reverence’s order, precisely to prevent the tocsin from being sounded.  But Monsieur Granoux wouldn’t listen to reason.  He climbed up, and I’ve no idea what he can be making that noise with.”

Thereupon Rougon hastily ascended the staircase which led to the bells, shouting:  “That will do!  That will do!  For goodness’ sake leave off!”

When he had reached the top he caught sight of Granoux, by the light of the moon which glided through an embrasure; the ex almond dealer was standing there hatless, and dealing furious blows with a heavy hammer.  He did so with a right good will.  He first threw himself back, then took a spring, and finally fell upon the sonorous bronze as if he wanted to crack it.  One might have thought he was a blacksmith striking hot iron—­but a frock-coated blacksmith, short and bald, working in a wild and awkward way.