In the meantime, Felicite had made a sign to her husband.  Pierre, surrounded by everybody and anxiously questioned about his pallor, could only escape for a minute.  He was just able to whisper in his wife’s ear that he had found Pascal and that Macquart would leave that night.  Then lowering his voice still more he told her of his mother’s insanity, and placed his finger on his lips, as if to say:  “Not a word; that would spoil the whole evening.”  Felicite bit her lips.  They exchanged a look in which they read their common thoughts:  so now the old woman would not trouble them any more:  the poacher’s hovel would be razed to the ground, as the walls of the Fouques’ enclosure had been demolished; and they would for ever enjoy the respect and esteem of Plassans.

But the guests were looking at the table.  Felicite showed the gentlemen their seats.  It was perfect bliss.  As each one took his spoon, Sicardot made a gesture to solicit a moment’s delay.  Then he rose and gravely said:  “Gentlemen, on behalf of the company present, I wish to express to our host how pleased we are at the rewards which his courage and patriotism have procured for him.  I now see that he must have acted upon a heaven-sent inspiration in remaining here, while those beggars were dragging myself and others along the high roads.  Therefore, I heartily applaud the decision of the government. . . .  Let me finish, you can then congratulate our friend. . . .  Know, then, that our friend, besides being made a chevalier of the Legion of Honour, is also to be appointed to a receiver of taxes.”

There was a cry of surprise.  They had expected a small post.  Some of them tried to force a smile; but, aided by the sight of the table, the compliments again poured forth profusely.

Sicardot once more begged for silence.  “Wait one moment,” he resumed; “I have not finished.  Just one word.  It is probable that our friend will remain among us, owing to the death of Monsieur Peirotte.”

Whilst the guests burst out into exclamations, Felicite felt a keen pain in her heart.  Sicardot had already told her that the receiver had been shot; but at the mention of that sudden and shocking death, just as they were starting on that triumphal dinner, it seemed as if a chilling gust swept past her face.  She remembered her wish; it was she who had killed that man.  However, amidst the tinkling music of the silver, the company began to do honour to the banquet.  In the provinces, people eat very much and very noisily.  By the time the releve was served, the gentlemen were all talking together; they showered kicks upon the vanquished, flattered one another, and made disparaging remarks about the absence of the marquis.  It was impossible, they said, to maintain intercourse with the nobility.  Roudier even gave out that the marquis had begged to be excused because his fear of the insurgents had given him jaundice.  At the second course they all scrambled like hounds at