'Cut along! cut along as hard as you can go!'

Mouret, now quite frantic, made a desperate rush towards his door, but

his foot slipped and he tumbled upon the foot-pavement, where he lay

for a few moments, utterly overcome. The lads, afraid lest he should

kick out at them, formed a circle around and vented screams of triumph,

while the smallest of them, gravely stepping forward, threw the rotten

orange at Mouret. It flattened itself against his left eye. He rose up

with difficulty, and went in to his house without attempting to wipe

himself. Rose was forced to come out with a broom and drive the young

ragamuffins away.

From that Sunday forward all Plassans was convinced that Mouret was a

lunatic who ought to be placed under restraint. The most surprising

statements were made in support of this belief. It was said, for

instance, that he shut himself up for days together in a perfectly

empty room which had not been touched with a broom for a whole year;

and those who circulated this story vouched for its truth, as they

had it, they said, from Mouret's own cook. The accounts differed as to

what he did in that empty room. The cook said that he pretended to be

dead, a statement which thrilled the whole neighbourhood with horror.

The market-people firmly believed that he kept a coffin concealed in

the room, laid himself at full length in it, with his eyes open and his

hands upon his breast, and remained like that from morning till night.

'The attack had been threatening him for a long time past,' Olympe

remarked in every shop she entered. 'It was brooding in him; he had

for a long time been very melancholy and low-spirited, hiding in

out-of-the-way corners, just like an animal, you know, that feels ill.

The very first day I set foot in the house I said to my husband, "The

landlord seems to be in a bad way." His eyes were quite yellow and he

had such a queer look about him. Afterwards he went on in the strangest

way; he had all sorts of extraordinary whims and crotchets. He used

to count every lump of sugar, and lock everything up, even the bread.

He was so dreadfully miserly that his poor wife hadn't even a pair of

boots to put on. Ah! poor thing, she has a dreadful time of it, and I

pity her from the bottom of my heart. Imagine the life she leads with

a madman who can't even behave decently at table! He throws his napkin

away in the middle of dinner, and stalks off, looking stupefied, after

having made a horrible mess in his plate. And such a temper he has,

too! He used to make the most terrible scenes just because the mustard

pot wasn't in its right place. But now he doesn't speak at all, though

he glares like a wild beast, and springs at people's throats without

uttering a word. Ah! I could tell you some strange stories, if I liked.'

When she had thus excited her listeners' curiosity, and they began to

press her with questions, she added:

'No, no; it is no business of mine. Madame Mouret is a perfect saint,

and bears her suffering like a true Christian. She has her own ideas on

the matter, and one must respect them. But, would you believe it, he

tried to cut her throat with a razor!'

The story she told was always the same, but it never failed to produce

a great effect. Fists were clenched, and women talked of strangling

Mouret. If any incredulous person shook his head, he was put to

confusion by a summons to explain the dreadful scenes which took

place every night. Only a madman, people said, was capable of flying

in that way at his wife's throat the moment she went to bed. There was

a spice of mystery in the affair which helped materially to spread the

story about the town. For nearly a month the rumours went on gaining

strength. Yet, in spite of Olympe's tragical gossipings, peace had been

restored at the Mourets' and the nights now passed in quietness. Marthe

exhibited much nervous impatience when her friends, without openly

speaking on the subject, advised her to be very careful.

'You will only go your own way, I suppose,' said Rose. 'Well, you'll

see, he will begin again, and we shall find you murdered one of these

fine mornings.'

Madame Rougon now ostentatiously called at the house every other day.

She entered it with an air of extreme uneasiness, and, as soon as the

door was opened, she asked Rose:

'Well! has anything happened to-day?'

Then, as soon as she caught sight of her daughter, she kissed her, and

threw her arms round her with a great show of affection, as though

she had been afraid that she might not find her alive. She passed the

most dreadful nights, she said; she trembled at every ring of the

bell, imagining that it was the signal of the tidings of some dreadful

calamity; and she no longer had any pleasure in living. When Marthe

told her that she was in no danger whatever she looked at her with an

expression of admiration, and exclaimed:

'You are a perfect angel! If I were not here to look after you, you

would allow yourself to be murdered without raising even a sigh.

But make yourself easy; I am watching over you, and am taking all

precautions. The first time your husband raises his little finger

against you, he will hear from me.'

She did not explain herself any further. The truth of the matter was

that she had visited every official in Plassans, and had in this way

confidentially related her daughter's troubles to the mayor, the

sub-prefect, and the presiding judge of the tribunal, making them

promise to observe absolute secrecy about the matter.

'It is a mother in despair who tells you this,' she said with tears in

her eyes. 'I am giving the honour and reputation of my poor child into

your keeping. My husband would take to his bed if there were to be a

public scandal, but I can't wait till there is some fatal catastrophe.

Advise me, and tell me what I ought to do.'

The officials showed her the greatest sympathy and kindness. They did

their best to reassure her, they promised to keep a careful watch over

Madame Mouret without in any way letting it be known, and to take some

active step at the slightest sign of danger. In her interviews with

Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies and Monsieur Rastoil, she drew their

especial attention to the fact that, as they were her son-in-law's

immediate neighbours, they would be able to interfere at once in the

event of anything going wrong.

This story of a lunatic in his senses, who awaited the stroke of

midnight to become mad, imparted much interest to the meetings of the

guests in Mouret's garden. They showed great alacrity in going to greet

Abbé Faujas. The priest came downstairs at four o'clock, and did the

honours of the arbour with much urbanity, but in talking he persisted

in keeping in the background, merely nodding in answer to what was said

to him. For the first few days, only indirect allusions were made to

the drama which was being acted in the house, but one Tuesday Monsieur

Maffre, who was gazing at it with an uneasy expression, fixing his eyes

upon one of the windows of the first floor, ventured to ask:

'That is the room, isn't it?'

Then, in low tones, the two parties began to discuss the strange story

which was exciting the neighbourhood. The priest made some vague

remarks: it was very sad, and much to be regretted, said he, and then

he pitied everybody, without venturing to say anything more explicit.

'But you, Doctor,' asked Madame de Condamin of Doctor Porquier, 'you

who are the family doctor, what do you think about it all?'

Doctor Porquier shook his head for some time before making any reply.

He at first affected a discreet reserve.

'It is a very delicate matter,' he muttered. 'Madame Mouret is not

robust, and as for Monsieur Mouret----'

'I have seen Madame Rougon,' said the sub-prefect. 'She is very uneasy.'

'Her son-in-law has always been obnoxious to her,' Monsieur de Condamin

exclaimed bluntly. 'I met Mouret myself at the club the other day, and

he gave me a beating at piquet. He seemed to me to be as sensible as

ever. The good man was never a Solomon, you know.'

'I have not said that he is mad, in the common interpretation of the

word,' said the doctor, thinking that he was being attacked: 'but

neither will I say that I think it prudent to allow him to remain at

large.'

This statement caused considerable emotion, and Monsieur Rastoil

instinctively glanced at the wall which separated the two gardens.

Every face was turned towards the doctor.

'I once knew,' he continued, 'a charming lady, who kept up a large

establishment, giving dinner-parties, receiving the most distinguished

members of society, and showing much sense and wit in her conversation.

Well, when that lady retired to her bedroom, she locked herself in, and

spent a part of the night in crawling round the room on her hands and

knees, barking like a dog. The people in the house long imagined that

she really had a dog in the room with her. This lady was an example of

what we doctors call lucid madness.'

Abbé Surin's face was wreathed with twinkling smiles as he glanced at

Monsieur Rastoil's daughters, who appeared much amused by this story of

a fashionable lady turning herself into a dog. Doctor Porquier blew his

nose very gravely.

'I could give you a score of other similar instances,' he continued,

'of people who appeared to be in full possession of their senses, and

who yet committed the most extravagant actions as soon as they found

themselves alone.'

'For my part,' said Abbé Bourrette, 'I once had a very strange

penitent. She had a mania for killing flies, and could never see one

without feeling an irresistible desire to capture it. She used to keep

them at home strung upon knitting needles. When she came to confess,

she would weep bitterly and accuse herself of the death of the poor

creatures, and believe that she was damned. But I could never correct

her of the habit.'

This story was very well received, and even Monsieur Péqueur des

Saulaies and Monsieur Rastoil themselves condescended to smile.

'There is no great harm done,' said the doctor, 'so long as one

confines one's self to killing flies. But the conduct of all lucid

madmen is not so innocent as that. Some of them torture their families

by some concealed vice, which has reached the degree of a mania; there

are other wretched ones who drink and give themselves up to secret

debauchery, or who steal because they can't help stealing, or who

are mad with pride or jealousy or ambition. They are able to control

themselves in public, to carry out the most complicated schemes and

projects, to converse rationally and without giving any one any reason

to suspect their mental weakness, but as soon as they get back to their

own private life, and are alone with their victims, they surrender

themselves to their delirious ideas and become brutal savages. If they

don't murder straight out, they do it gradually.'

'Well, now, what about Monsieur Mouret?' asked Madame de Condamin.

'Monsieur Mouret has always been a teasing, restless, despotic sort of

man. His cerebral derangement has increased with his years. I should

not hesitate now to class him amongst dangerous madmen. I had a patient

who used to shut herself up, just as he does, in an unoccupied room,

and spend the whole day in contriving the most abominable actions.'

'But, doctor, if that is your opinion, you ought to proffer your

advice,' exclaimed Monsieur Rastoil; 'you ought to warn those who are

concerned.'

Doctor Porquier seemed slightly embarrassed.

'Well, we will see about it,' he said, smiling again with his

fashionable doctor's smile. 'If it should be necessary and matters

should become serious, I will do my duty.'

'Pooh!' cried Monsieur de Condamin satirically; 'the greatest lunatics

are not those who have the reputation of being so. No brain is sound

for a mad-doctor. The doctor here has just been reciting to us a page

out of a book on lucid madness, which I have read, and which is as

interesting as a novel.'

Abbé Faujas had been listening with curiosity, though he had taken

no part in the conversation. Then, as soon as there was a pause, he

remarked that their talk about mad people had a depressing effect

upon the ladies, and suggested that the subject should be changed.

Everybody's curiosity was fully awakened, however, and the two sets of

guests began to keep a sharp watch upon Mouret's behaviour. The latter

now came out into the garden for an hour a day, while the Faujases

remained at table with his wife. Directly he appeared there, he came

under the active surveillance of the Rastoils and the frequenters of

the Sub-Prefecture. He could not stand for a moment in front of a

bed of vegetables or examine a plant, or even make a gesture of any

sort, without exciting in the gardens on his right and left the most

unfavourable comments. Everyone was turning against him. Monsieur de

Condamin was the only person who still defended him. One day the fair

Octavie said to him as they were at luncheon:

'What difference can it make to you whether Mouret is mad or not?'

'To me, my dear? Absolutely none,' he said in astonishment.

'Very well, then, allow that he is mad, since everyone says he is.

I don't know why you always persist in holding a contrary opinion

to your wife's. It won't prove to your advantage, my dear. Have the

intelligence, at Plassans, not to be too intelligent.'

Monsieur de Condamin smiled.

'You are right, my dear, as you always are,' he said gallantly; 'you

know that I have put my fortune in your hands--don't wait dinner for

me. I am going to ride to Saint-Eutrope to have a look at some timber

they are felling.'

Then he left the room, biting the end off a cigar.

Madame de Condamin was well aware that he had a flame for a young girl

in the neighbourhood of Saint-Eutrope; but she was very tolerant and

had even saved him twice from the consequences of scandalous intrigues.

On his side, he felt very easy about his wife; he knew that she was

much too prudent to give cause for scandal at Plassans.

'You would never guess how Mouret spends his time in that room where he

shuts himself up!' the conservator of rivers and forests said the next

morning when he called at the Sub-Prefecture. 'He is counting all the

s's in the Bible. He is afraid of making any mistake about the matter,

and he has already recommenced counting them for the third time. Ah!

you were quite right; he is cracked from top to bottom!'

From this time forward Monsieur de Condamin was very hard upon Mouret.

He even exaggerated matters and used all his skill to invent absurd

stories to scare the Rastoils; but it was Monsieur Maffre whom he

made his special victim. He told him one day that he had seen Mouret

standing at one of the windows overlooking the street in a state of

complete nudity, having only a woman's cap on his head and bowing

to the empty air. Another day he asserted with amazing assurance

that he had seen Mouret dancing like a savage in a little wood three

leagues away; and when the magistrate seemed to doubt this story, he

appeared to be vexed and declared that Mouret might very easily have

got down out of his house by the water-spout without being noticed.

The frequenters of the Sub-Prefecture smiled, but the next morning the

Rastoils' cook spread these extraordinary stories about the town, where

the legend of the man who beat his wife was assuming extraordinary

proportions.

One afternoon Aurélie, the elder of Monsieur Rastoil's two daughters,

related with a blushing face how on the previous night, having gone to

look out of her window about midnight, she had seen their neighbour

promenading about his garden, carrying a big altar candle. Monsieur de

Condamin thought the girl was making fun of him, but she gave the most

minute details.

'He held the candle in his left hand; and he knelt down on the ground

and dragged himself along on his knees, sobbing as he did so.'

'Can it be possible that he has committed a murder and has buried the

body of his victim in his garden?' exclaimed Monsieur Maffre, who had

turned quite pale.

Then the two sets of guests agreed to watch some evening till midnight

if necessary, to clear the matter up. The following night, indeed,

they kept on the alert, in both gardens, but Mouret did not appear.

Three nights were wasted in the same way. The Sub-Prefecture party was

going to abandon the watch, and Madame de Condamin declared that she

could not stay any longer under the chestnut trees, where it was so

dreadfully dark, when all at once a light was seen flickering through

the inky blackness of the ground floor of Mouret's house. When Monsieur

Péqueur des Saulaies' attention was drawn to this, he slipped into

the Impasse des Chevillottes to invite the Rastoils to come on to

his terrace, which overlooked the neighbouring garden. The presiding

judge, who was on the watch with his daughters behind the cascade,

hesitated for a moment, reflecting whether he might not compromise

himself politically by going to the sub-prefect's in this way, but as

the night was very black, and his daughter Aurélie was most anxious to

have the truth of her report manifested, he followed Monsieur Péqueur

des Saulaies with stealthy steps through the darkness. It was in this

manner that a representative of Legitimacy at Plassans for the first

time entered the grounds of a Bonapartist official.

'Don't make a noise,' whispered the sub-prefect. 'Lean over the

terrace.'

There Monsieur Rastoil and his daughters found Doctor Porquier and

Madame de Condamin and her husband. The darkness was so dense that they

exchanged salutations without being able to see one another. Then they

all held their breath. Mouret had just appeared upon the steps, with a

candle, which was stuck in a great kitchen candlestick.

'You see he has got a candle,' whispered Aurélie.

No one dissented. The fact was quite incontrovertible; Mouret certainly

was carrying a candle. He came slowly down the steps, turned to the

left and then stood motionless before a bed of lettuces. Then he raised

his candle to throw a light upon the plants. His face looked quite

yellow amidst the black night.

'What a dreadful face!' exclaimed Madame de Condamin. 'I shall dream of

it, I'm certain. Is he asleep, doctor?'

'No, no,' replied Doctor Porquier, 'he is not a somnambulist; he is

wide awake. Do you notice how fixed his gaze is? Observe, too, the

abruptness of his movements----'

'Hush! hush!' interrupted Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies; 'we don't

require a lecture just now.'

The most complete silence then fell. Mouret had stridden over the

box-edging and was kneeling in the midst of the lettuces. He held his

candle down, and began searching along the trenches underneath the

spreading leaves of the plants. Every now and then he made a slight

examination and seemed to be crushing something and stamping it into

the ground. This went on for nearly half an hour.

'He is crying; it is just as I told you,' Aurélie complacently remarked.

'It is really very terrifying,' Madame de Condamin exclaimed nervously.

'Pray let us go back into the house.'

Mouret dropped his candle and it went out. They could hear him uttering

exclamations of annoyance as he went back up the steps, stumbling

against them in the dark. The Rastoil girls broke out into little cries

of terror, and did not quite recover from their fright till they were

again in the brightly lighted drawing-room, where Monsieur Péqueur des

Saulaies insisted upon the company refreshing themselves with some tea

and biscuits. Madame de Condamin, who was still trembling with alarm,

huddled up on a couch, said, with a touching smile, that she had never

felt so overcome before, not even on the morning when she had had the

reprehensible curiosity to go and see a criminal executed.

'It is strange,' remarked Monsieur Rastoil, who had been buried in

thought for a moment or two; 'but Mouret looked as if he were searching

for slugs amongst his lettuces. The gardens are quite ravaged by them,

and I have been told that they can only be satisfactorily exterminated

in the night-time.'

'Slugs, indeed!' cried Monsieur de Condamin. 'Do you suppose he

troubles himself about slugs? Do people go hunting for slugs with a

candle? No; I agree with Monsieur Maffre in thinking that there is

some crime at the bottom of the matter. Did this man Mouret ever have

a servant who disappeared mysteriously? There ought to be an inquiry

made.'

Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies thought that his friend the conservator

of rivers and forests was theorising a little further than the facts

warranted. He took a sip at his tea and said:

'No, no; my dear sir. He is mad and has extraordinary fancies, but that

is all. It is quite bad enough as it is.'

He then took a plate of biscuits, handed it to Monsieur Rastoil's

daughter with a gallant bow, and after putting it down again continued:

'And to think this wretched man has mixed himself up in politics!

I don't want to insinuate anything against your alliance with the

Republicans, my dear judge, but you must allow that in Mouret the

Marquis de Lagrifoul had a very peculiar supporter.'

Monsieur Rastoil, who had become very grave, made a vague gesture,

without saying anything.

'And he still busies himself with these matters. It is politics,

perhaps, which have turned his brain,' said the fair Octavie, as she

delicately wiped her lips. 'They say he takes the greatest interest in

the approaching elections, don't they, my dear?'

She addressed this question to her husband, casting a glance at him as

she spoke.

'He is quite bursting over the matter!' cried Monsieur de Condamin.

'He declares that he can entirely control the election, and can have a

shoemaker returned if he chooses.'

'You are exaggerating,' said Doctor Porquier. 'He no longer has the

influence he used to have; the whole town jeers at him.'

'Ah! you are mistaken! If he chooses, he can lead the old quarter of

the town and a great number of villages to the poll. He is mad, it is

true, but that is a recommendation. I myself consider him still a very

sensible person, for a Republican.'

This attempt at wit met with distinct success. Monsieur Rastoil's

daughters broke out into school-girl laughs and the presiding judge

himself nodded his head in approval. He threw off his serious

expression, and, without looking at the sub-prefect, he said:

'Lagrifoul has not rendered us, perhaps, the services we had a right to

expect, but a shoemaker would be really too disgraceful for Plassans!'

Then, as though he wanted to prevent any further remarks on the

subject, he added quickly: 'Why, it is half-past one o'clock! This is

quite an orgie we are having, my dear sub-prefect; we are all very much

obliged to you.'

Madame de Condamin wrapped her shawl round her shoulders and contrived

to have the last word.

'Well,' she said, 'we really must not let the election be controlled by

a man who goes and kneels down in the middle of a bed of lettuces after

twelve o'clock at night.'

That night became quite historical, and Monsieur de Condamin derived

much amusement from relating the details of what had occurred to

Monsieur de Bourdeu, Monsieur Maffre, and the priests, who had not seen

Mouret with his candle. Three days later all the neighbourhood was

asserting that the madman who beat his wife had been seen walking about

with his head enveloped in a sheet. Meantime, the afternoon assemblies

under the arbour were much exercised by the possible candidature

of Mouret's radical shoemaker. They laughed as they studied each

other's demeanour. It was a sort of political pulse-feeling. Certain

confidential statements of his friend the presiding judge induced

Monsieur de Bourdeu to believe that a tacit understanding might be

arrived at between the Sub-Prefecture and the moderate opposition to

promote the candidature of himself, and thus inflict a crushing defeat

upon the Republicans. Possessed by this idea, he waxed more and more

sarcastic against the Marquis de Lagrifoul, and made the most of the

latter's blunders in the Chamber. Monsieur Delangre, who only called at

long intervals, alleging the pressure of his municipal duties as an

excuse for his infrequent appearance, smiled softly at each fresh sally

of the ex-prefect.

'You've only got to bury the marquis, now, your reverence,' he said one

day in Abbé Faujas's ear.

Madame de Condamin, who heard him, turned her head and laid her finger

upon her lips with a pretty look of mischief.

Abbé Faujas now allowed politics to be mentioned in his presence. He

even occasionally expressed an opinion in favour of the union of all

honest and religious men. Thereupon all present, Monsieur Péqueur des

Saulaies, Monsieur Rastoil, Monsieur de Bourdeu, and even Monsieur

Maffre, grew quite warm in their expressions of desire for such an

agreement. It would be so very easy, they said, for men with a stake in

the country to come to an understanding together to work for the firm

establishment of the great principles without which no society could

hold together. Then the conversation turned upon property, and family

and religion. Sometimes Mouret's name was mentioned, and Monsieur de

Condamin once said:

'I never let my wife come here without feeling uneasy. I am really

getting alarmed. You will see some strange things happen at the next

elections if that man is still at liberty.'

Trouche did his best to frighten Abbé Faujas during the interviews

which he had with him every morning. He told him the most alarming

stories. The working men of the old quarter of the town, said he, were

showing too much interest in Mouret; they talked of coming to see him,

of judging his condition for themselves, and taking his advice.

As a rule, the priest merely shrugged his shoulders; but one day

Trouche came away from him looking quite delighted. He went off to

Olympe and kissed her, exclaiming:

'This time, my dear, I've managed it!'

'Has he given you leave?' she asked.

'Yes, full leave. We shall be delightfully comfortable when we have got

rid of the old man.'

Olympe was still in bed. She dived under the bed-clothes, and wriggled

about and laughed gleefully.

'We shall have everything to do as we like with, then, sha'n't we? I

shall take another bedroom, and go out into the garden whenever I

like, and do all my cooking in the kitchen. My brother will have to let

us do all that. You must have managed to frighten him very much.'

It was not till about ten o'clock that evening that Trouche made his

appearance at the low café where he was accustomed to meet Guillaume

Porquier and other wild young fellows. They joked him about the

lateness of the hour, and playfully accused him of having been out

on the ramparts courting one of the girls of the Home of the Virgin.

Jests of this kind generally pleased him, but that night he remained

very grave. He declared that he had been engaged with business--very

serious business. It was only about midnight, when he had emptied the

decanters on the counter, that he became more expansive. Then he began

to talk familiarly to Guillaume, leaning the while against the wall,

stammering, and lighting his pipe afresh between every two sentences.

'I saw your father this evening. He is a very good fellow. I wanted a

paper from him. He was very kind, very kind indeed. He gave it to me.

I have it here in my pocket. He didn't want to give it me at first,

though. He said it was only the family's business. But I told him, "I

am the family; I have got the wife's orders." You know her, don't you?

a dear little woman. She seemed quite pleased when I went to talk the

matter over with her beforehand. Then he gave me the paper. You can

feel it here in my pocket.'

Guillaume looked at him, concealing his extreme curiosity with an

incredulous laugh.

'I'm telling you the truth,' continued the drunkard. 'The paper's here

in my pocket. Can't you feel it?'

'Oh, it's only a newspaper!' said Guillaume.

At this, Trouche sniggered, and drew a large envelope from the pocket

of his overcoat, and laid it on the table amidst the cups and glasses.

For a moment, though Guillaume had reached out his hand, he prevented

him from taking it, but then he allowed him to have it, laughing loudly

the while. The paper proved to be a most detailed statement by Doctor

Porquier with respect to the mental condition of François Mouret,

householder, of Plassans.

'Are they going to shut him up, then?' asked Guillaume, handing back

the paper.

'That's no business of yours, my boy,' replied Trouche, who had now

become distrustful again. 'This paper here is for his wife. I am merely

a friend who is glad to do a service. She will act as she pleases.

However, she can't go on letting herself be half murdered, poor lady!'

By the time they were turned out of the café he was so drunk that

Guillaume had to accompany him to the Rue Balande. He wanted to lie

down and go to sleep on every seat on the Cours Sauvaire. When they

reached the Place of the Sub-Prefecture, he began to shed tears and

stutter:

'I've no friends now; everyone despises me just because I'm poor. But

you are a good-hearted young fellow, and you shall come and have coffee

with us when we get into possession. If the Abbé interferes with us,

we'll send him to keep the other one company. He isn't very sharp, the

Abbé, in spite of all his grand airs. I can persuade him into believing

anything. But you are a real friend, aren't you? Mouret is done for,

old chap; we'll drink his wine together.'

When Guillaume had seen Trouche to his door, he walked back through the

sleeping town and went and whistled softly before Monsieur Maffre's

house. It was a signal he was making. The young Maffres, whom their

father locked up in their bedroom, opened a window on the first floor

and descended to the ground by the help of the bars with which the

ground-floor windows were protected. Every night they thus went off to

the haunts of vice in the company of Guillaume Porquier.

'Well,' he said to them, when they had reached the dark paths near the

ramparts, 'we needn't trouble ourselves now. If my father talks any

more about sending me off anywhere, I shall have something serious to

say to him. I'll bet you that I can get elected into the Young Men's

Club whenever I like now.'

The following night Marthe had a dreadful attack. She had been present

in the morning at a long religious ceremony, the whole of which Olympe

had insisted upon seeing. When Rose and the lodgers ran into the room

upon hearing her piercing screams, they found her lying at the foot of

the bed with her forehead gashed open. Mouret was kneeling in the midst

of the bed-clothes, trembling all over.

'He has killed her this time!' cried the cook.

She seized Mouret in her arms, although he was in his night-dress,

pushed him out of the room and into his office--the door of which was

on the other side of the landing--then she went back to get a mattress

and some blankets, which she threw to him. Trouche had set off at a

run for Doctor Porquier. When the doctor arrived he dressed Marthe's

wound. If the cut had been a trifle lower down, he said, it would have

been fatal. Downstairs in the hall, he declared in the presence of them

all that it was necessary to take some active steps, and that Madame

Mouret's life could no longer be left at the mercy of a violent madman.

The next morning Marthe was obliged to keep her bed. She was still

slightly delirious, and fancied that she saw an iron hand driving a

flaming sword into her skull. Rose absolutely declined to allow Mouret

to enter the room. She served him his lunch on a dusty table in his own

office. He was still gazing at his plate with a look of stupefaction

when Rose ushered into the room three men dressed in black.

'Are you the doctors?' he asked. 'How is she getting on?'

'She is better than she was,' replied one of the men.

Mouret began to cut his bread mechanically as though he were going to

eat it.

'I wish the children were here,' he said. 'They would look after her,

and we should be more lively. It is since the children went away that

she has been ill. I am no longer good for anything.'

He raised a piece of bread to his mouth, and heavy tears trickled down

his face. The man who had already spoken to him now said, casting at

the same time a glance at his companions:

'Shall we go and fetch your children?'

'I should like it very much,' replied Mouret, rising from his seat.

'Let us start at once.'

As he went downstairs he saw no one except Trouche and his wife, who

were leaning over the balustrade on the second floor, following each

step he took with gleaming eyes. Olympe hurried down behind him and

rushed into the kitchen, where Rose, in a state of great emotion, was

watching out of the window. When a carriage, which was waiting at the

door, had driven off with Mouret, she sprang up the staircase again,

four steps at a time, and seizing Trouche by his shoulders, made him

dance round the landing in a paroxysm of delight.

'He's packed off!' she cried.

Marthe kept her bed for a week. Her mother came to see her every

afternoon and manifested the greatest affection. The Faujases and the

Trouches succeeded each other in attendance at her bedside; and even

Madame de Condamin called to see her several times. Nothing was said

about Mouret, and Rose told her mistress that she thought he had gone

to Marseilles. When Marthe, however, was able to come downstairs again,

and took her place at table in the dining-room, she began to manifest

some astonishment, and inquired uneasily where her husband was.

'Now, my dear lady, don't distress yourself,' said Madame Faujas,

'or you will make yourself ill again. It was absolutely necessary

that something should be done, and your friends felt bound to consult

together and take steps for your protection.'

'You've no reason to regret him, I'm sure,' cried Rose harshly. 'The

whole neighbourhood breathes more freely now that he's no longer here.

One was always afraid of him setting the place on fire or rushing out

into the street with a knife. I used to hide all the knives in my

kitchen and Monsieur Rastoil's cook did the same. And your poor mother

nearly died of fright. Everybody who has been here while you have been

ill, those ladies and gentlemen, they all said to me as I let them out,

"It is a good riddance for Plassans." A place is always on the alert

when a man like that is free to go about as he likes.'

Marthe listened to this stream of words with dilated eyes and pale

face. She had let her spoon fall from her hand, and she gazed out of

the window in front of her as though some dreadful vision rising from

behind the fruit-trees in the garden was filling her with terror.

'Les Tulettes! Les Tulettes!' she gasped, as she buried her face in her

trembling hands.

She fell backwards and was fainting away, when Abbé Faujas, who had

finished his soup, grasped her hands, pressing them tightly, and saying

in his softest tone:

'Show yourself strong before this trial which God is sending you. He

will afford you consolation if you do not prove rebellious--He will

grant you the happiness you deserve.'

At the pressure of the priest's hands and the tender tone of his voice,

Marthe revived and sat up again with flushing cheeks.

'Oh, yes!' she cried, as she burst into sobs, 'I have great need of

happiness; promise me great happiness, I beg you.'

XIX

The general elections were to take place in October. About the middle

of September, Monseigneur Rousselot suddenly set off to Paris, after

having a long interview with Abbé Faujas. It was said that one of his

sisters, who lived at Versailles, was seriously ill. Five days later

he was back in Plassans again, and he called Abbé Surin into his study

to read to him. Lying back in his easy chair, closely enveloped in a

padded robe of violet silk, although the weather was still quite warm,

he smilingly listened to the young Abbé's womanish voice as he softly

lisped the strophes of Anacreon.

'Good, very good,' he said; 'you express the music of that beautiful

tongue excellently.'

Then, glancing at the timepiece with an expression of uneasiness, he

added:

'Has Abbé Faujas been here yet this morning? Ah, my child, what a

dreadful time I've had! My ears are still buzzing with the abominable

uproar of the railway. It was raining the whole time I was in Paris. I

had to rush all over the place, and saw nothing but mud everywhere.'

Abbé Surin laid his book on the corner of a small table.

'Is your lordship satisfied with the results of your journey?' he

asked, with the familiarity of a petted favourite.

'I have learnt what I wanted to know,' the Bishop replied with his

subtle smile. 'I ought to have taken you with me. You would have learnt

a good many things that it would be useful for you to know at your age,

destined as you are by your birth and connections for the episcopate.'

'I am listening, my lord,' said the young priest with a beseeching

expression.

But the prelate shook his head.

'No, no; these matters are not to be spoken of. Make a friend of Abbé

Faujas. He maybe able to do much for you some day. I have received full

information about him.'

Abbé Surin, however, clasped his hands with such a wheedling look of

curiosity that Monseigneur Rousselot went on to say:

'He had some bother or other at Besançon. Afterwards he was living in

great poverty in furnished apartments in Paris. He went and offered

himself. Just at that time the minister was on the look-out for some

priests devoted to the government. I was told that Faujas at first

quite frightened him with his fierce looks and his old cassock. It was

quite by chance that he was sent here. The minister was most pleasant

and courteous to me.'

The Bishop finished his sentences with a slight wave of his hand, as he

sought for fitting words, fearing, as it were, to say too much. But at

last the affection which he felt for his secretary got the better of

his caution, and he continued with more animation:

'Take my advice and try to be useful to the vicar of Saint-Saturnin's.

He will want all the assistance he can get, and he seems to me to be a

man who never forgets either an injury or a kindness. But don't ally

yourself with him. He will end badly. That is my impression.'

'End badly?' exclaimed the young priest in surprise.

'Oh! just now he is in the full swing of triumph. But his face

disquiets me, my child. He has a terrible face. That man will never die

in his bed. Don't you do anything to compromise me. All I ask is to be

allowed to live tranquilly--quietness is all I want.'

Abbé Surin was just taking up his book again, when Abbé Faujas was

announced. Monseigneur Rousselot advanced to meet him with outstretched

hands and a smiling face, addressing him as his 'dear Curé.'

'Leave us, my child,' he said to his secretary, who thereupon retired.

He spoke of his journey. His sister was better than she had been, he

said, and he had been able to shake hands with some old friends.

'And did you see the minister?' asked Abbé Faujas, fixing his eyes upon

him.

'Yes; I thought it my duty to call upon him,' replied the Bishop, who

felt that he was blushing. 'He spoke to me very favourably indeed of

you.'

'Then you no longer have any doubts--you trust me absolutely?'

'Absolutely, my dear Curé. Besides, I know nothing about politics

myself, and I leave everything in your hands.'

They remained talking together the whole morning. Abbé Faujas persuaded

the Bishop to undertake a visitation of his diocese, and said he

would go with him and prompt him as to what he should say. It would

be necessary to summon all the rural deans so that the priests of

the smallest villages might receive their instructions. There would

be no difficulty in all this, for the clergy would act as they were

told. The most delicate task would be in Plassans itself, in the

district of Saint-Marc. The aristocrats there, shutting themselves

up in the privacy of their houses, were entirely beyond the reach of

Abbé Faujas's influence, and he had so far only been able to work

upon certain ambitious royalists, such men as Rastoil and Maffre and

Bourdeu. The Bishop, however, undertook to sound the feelings of

various drawing-rooms in the district of Saint-Marc where he visited.

But even allowing that the aristocracy should vote adversely, they

would be in a ridiculous minority if they were deserted by those

electors of the middle classes who were amenable to clerical influence.

'Now,' said Monseigneur Rousselot as he rose from his seat, 'it would

perhaps be as well if you told me the name of your candidate, so that I

may recommend him in my letters.'

Abbé Faujas smiled.

'It is dangerous to mention names,' he said. 'There wouldn't be a scrap

of our candidate left in a week's time if we made his name known now.

The Marquis de Lagrifoul has become quite out of the question. Monsieur

de Bourdeu, who reckons upon being a candidate, is still more so. We

shall leave them to destroy each other, and then, at the last moment,

we shall come forward. Just say that an election on purely political

grounds would be very regrettable, and that what is needed for the

interests of Plassans is somebody who is not a party man, but has an

intimate knowledge of the requirements of the town and the department.

And you may let it be understood that such a man has been found; but

don't go any further.'

The Bishop now in his turn smiled. He detained the priest for a moment

as he was about to take leave.

'And Abbé Fenil?' he said, lowering his voice. 'Are you not afraid that

he will do all he can to thwart your plans?'

Abbé Faujas shrugged his shoulders.

'He has made no sign at all,' he said.

'It is precisely that quietness of his that makes me uneasy,' rejoined

the prelate. 'I know Fenil well. He is the most vindictive priest in

my diocese. He may possibly have abandoned the ambition of beating you

in the political arena, but you may be sure he will wreak personal

vengeance upon you. I have no doubt that he is keeping a watch on you

in his retirement.'

'Pooh!' said Abbé Faujas, showing his white teeth. 'I'll take care that

he doesn't eat me up.'

Abbé Surin had just returned into the room, and when the vicar of

Saint-Saturnin's had gone he made the Bishop laugh by exclaiming:

'Ah! if they could only devour each other like a couple of foxes, and

leave nothing but their tails!'

The electoral campaign was on the point of commencing. Plassans, which

generally remained quite calm, unexcited by political questions, was

growing a little feverish and perturbed. From some invisible mouth a

breath of war seemed to sweep through its quiet streets. The Marquis

de Lagrifoul, who lived at La Palud, a large straggling village in the

neighbourhood, had been in Plassans for the last fortnight, staying at

the house of a relative of his, the Count de Valqueyras, whose mansion

was one of the largest in the Saint-Marc district. The Marquis showed

himself about the town, promenaded on the Cours Sauvaire, attended

Saint-Saturnin's, and bowed to sundry influential townspeople, but

without succeeding in throwing aside his haughty ways. His attempts

to acquire popularity seemed to fail. Fresh charges against him,

originating from some unknown source, were bandied about every day.

It was asserted that he was a miserably incompetent man. With any

other representative Plassans would long ago have had a branch line

of railway connecting it with Nice. It was said, too, that if anyone

from the district went to see him in Paris he had to call three or four

times before he could obtain the slightest service. However, although

the candidature of the Marquis was much damaged by gossip of this kind,

no other candidate had openly entered the lists. There was some talk

of Monsieur de Bourdeu coming forward, though it was considered that

it would be extremely difficult to obtain a majority for an ex-prefect

of Louis-Philippe, who had no strong connection with the place. There

seemed also to be some unknown influence at work in Plassans upsetting

all the previous prospects of the election by breaking the alliance

between the Legitimists and the Republicans. The prevailing feeling was

one of general perplexity and confusion, mingled with weariness and a

desire to get the affair over as quickly as possible.

'The majority is shifting,' said the politicians of the Cours Sauvaire.

'The question is which way will it finally incline?'

Amid the excitement and restlessness which this doubtful state of

things was causing in the town, the Republicans became anxious to run

a candidate of their own. Their choice fell upon a master-hatter,

one Maurin, a plain simple man, who was very much liked by the

working-classes. In the cafés, in the evenings, Trouche expressed

an opinion that Maurin was by no means sufficiently advanced in his

views, and proposed in his stead a wheelwright of Les Tulettes, whose

name had appeared in the list of the December proscripts.[6] This man,

however, had the good sense to decline the nomination. It should be

said that Trouche now gave himself out as an extreme Republican. He

would have come forward himself, he said, if his wife's brother had not

been a parson, but as he was--to his great regret, he declared--forced

to eat the bread of the hypocrites, he felt bound to remain in the

background. He was one of the first to circulate reports to the

detriment of the Marquis de Lagrifoul, and he also favoured the rupture

of the Republicans and the Legitimists. Trouche's greatest success

was obtained by accusing the Sub-Prefecture party and the adherents

of Monsieur Rastoil of having brought about the confinement of poor

Mouret, with the view of depriving the democratic party of one of its

worthiest chiefs. On the evening when he first launched this accusation

at a spirit-dealer's in the Rue Canquoin, the company assembled there

looked at one other with a peculiar expression. The gossips of the

old quarter of the town spoke quite feelingly about 'the madman who

beat his wife,' now that he was shut up at Les Tulettes, and told one

another that Abbé Faujas had simply wanted to get an inconvenient

husband out of his way. Trouche repeated his charge every evening,

banging his fists upon the tables of the cafés with such an air of

conviction that he succeeded in persuading his listeners of the truth

of his story, in which, by the way, Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies

was made to play the most extraordinary part imaginable. There was

a complete reaction in Mouret's favour. He was considered to be a

political victim, a man whose influence had been feared so much that he

had been put out of the way in a cell at a mad-house.

'Just leave it all to me,' Trouche said with a confidential air. 'I'll

expose all these precious pious folks, and I'll tell some fine stories

about their Home of the Virgin. It's a nice place is that Home--a place

where the ladies make assignations!'

Meanwhile Abbé Faujas almost seemed to have the power of multiplying

himself. For some time past he was to be seen everywhere. He bestowed

much attention upon his appearance, and was careful always to have a

pleasant smile upon his face; though now and then his eyelids dropped

for an instant to hide the stern fire kindling in his glance. Often

with his patience quite worn out, weary of his wretched struggles, he

returned to his bare room with clenched fists. Old Madame Rougon, whom

he continued to see in secret, proved his good genius. She lectured him

soundly whenever he felt despondent, and kept him bent before her while

she told him that he must strive to please, and that he would ruin

everything if he let the iron hand appear from under the velvet glove.

Afterwards, when he had made himself master, he might seize Plassans by

the throat and strangle it, if he liked. She herself certainly had no

great affection for Plassans, against which she owed a grudge for forty

years' wretchedness, and which had been bursting with jealousy of her

ever since the Coup d'État.

'It is I who wear the cassock,' she said sometimes, with a smile; 'you

carry yourself like a gendarme, my dear Curé.'

The priest showed himself particularly assiduous in his attendance at

the Young Men's Club. He listened with an indulgent air to the young

men talking politics, and told them, with a shake of his head, that

honesty was all that was necessary. His popularity at the Club was

still increasing. One evening he consented to play at billiards, and

showed himself extremely skilful at the game, and sometimes, when they

formed a quiet little party, he would even accept a cigarette. The

club took his advice on every question that arose. His reputation for

tolerance was completely established by the kind, good-natured way in

which he advocated the admission of Guillaume Porquier, who had now

renewed his application.

'I have seen the young man,' he said; 'he came to me to make a general

confession, and I ended by giving him absolution. There is forgiveness

for every sin. We must not treat him as a leper just because he pulled

down a few signboards in Plassans, and ran into debt at Paris.'

When Guillaume was elected, he said to the young Maffres, with a grin:

'Well, you owe me a couple of bottles of champagne now. You see that

the Curé does all that I want. I have a little machine to tickle him

with in a sensitive place, and then he begins to laugh, my boys, and he

can't refuse me anything.'

'Well, it doesn't seem as though he were very fond of you, anyhow,'

said Alphonse; 'he looks very sourly at you.'

'Pooh! that's because I tickled him too hard. You will see that we

shall soon be the best friends in the world.'

Abbé Faujas did, indeed, seem to have an affection for the doctor's

son. He declared that this young man wanted guiding with a very gentle

hand. In a short time Guillaume became the moving spirit of the club.

He invented amusements, showed them how to make kirsch-water punch, and

led young fellows fresh from college into all sorts of dissipation. His

pleasant vices gave him enormous influence. While the organ was pealing

above the billiard-room, he drank away, and gathered round him the sons

of the most respectable people in Plassans, making them almost choke

with laughter at his broad stories. The club now got into a very fast

way, indulging in doubtful topics of conversation in all the corners.

Abbé Faujas, however, appeared quite unconscious of it. Guillaume said

that he had a splendid noddle, teeming with the greatest thoughts.

'The Abbé may be a bishop whenever he likes,' he remarked. 'He has

already refused a living in Paris. He wants to stay at Plassans; he

has taken a liking to the place. I should like to nominate him as

deputy. He's the sort of man we want in the Chamber! But he would never

consent; he is too modest. Still it would be a good thing to take his

advice when the elections are at hand. We may trust anything that he

tells us. He wouldn't deceive anybody.'

Meantime, Lucien Delangre remained the serious man of the club. He

showed great deference to Abbé Faujas, and won the group of studious

young men over to the priest's side. He frequently walked with him

to the club, talking to him with much animation, but subsiding into

silence as soon as they entered the general room.

On leaving the café established beneath the Church of the Minimes, the

Abbé regularly went to the Home of the Virgin. He arrived there during

play-time, and made his appearance with a smiling face upon the steps

of the playground. Thereupon the girls surrounded him, and disputed

with each other for the possession of his pockets, in which some sacred

pictures or chaplets or medals that had been blessed were always to be

found. Those big girls quite worshipped him as he tapped them gently

on their cheeks and told them to be good, at which they broke into sly

smiles. The Sisters often complained to him that the children confided

to their care were utterly unmanageable, that they fought, tore each

other's hair, and did even worse things. The Abbé, however, regarded

their offences as mere peccadilloes, and as a rule simply reproved

the more turbulent girls in the chapel, whence they emerged in a more

submissive frame of mind. Occasionally he made some rather graver piece

of misconduct a pretext for sending for the parents, whom he sent away

again quite touched by his kindness and good-nature. In this wise the

young scapegraces of the Home of the Virgin gained him the hearts of

the poor families of Plassans. When they went home in the evening, they

told the most wonderful things about his reverence the Curé. It was no

uncommon occurrence to find a couple of them in some secluded corner of

the ramparts on the point of coming to blows to decide which of them

his reverence liked the better.

'Those young hussies represent from two to three thousand votes,'

Trouche thought to himself, as from the window he watched Abbé Faujas

showing himself so amiable.

Trouche himself had tried to win over 'the little dears,' as he called

the girls; but the priest, distrusting him, had forbidden him to set

foot in the playground; and so he now confined himself to throwing

sugar-plums there, when the Sisters' backs were turned.

The Abbé's day's work did not end at the Home of the Virgin. From there

he started on a series of short visits to the fashionable ladies of

Plassans. Madame Rastoil and Madame Delangre welcomed him with delight,

and repeated his slightest words everywhere. But his great friend was

Madame de Condamin. She maintained an air of easy familiarity towards

him betokening the superiority of a beautiful woman who is conscious

that she is all-powerful. She spoke now and again in low tones, and

with meaning smiles and glances, which seemed to indicate that there

was some secret understanding between them. When the priest came to see

her, she dismissed her husband. 'The government was going to hold a

cabinet-council,' so the conservator of rivers and forests playfully

said, as he philosophically went off to mount his horse.

It was Madame Rougon who had brought Madame de Condamin to the priest's

notice.

'She has not yet absolutely established her position here,' the old

lady explained to Abbé Faujas. 'But there is a good deal of cleverness

under those pretty, coquettish airs of hers. You can take her into your

confidence, and she will see in your triumph a means of making her own

success and power more complete. She will be of great use to you if

you should find it necessary to give away places or crosses. She has

retained an influential friend in Paris, who sends her as many red

ribbons as she asks for.'

As Madame Rougon kept herself aloof from reasons of diplomacy, the

fair Octavie thus became Abbé Faujas's most active ally. She won over

to his side both her friends and her friends' friends. She resumed

her campaign afresh every morning and exerted an astonishing amount

of influence merely by the pleasant little waves of her delicately

gloved fingers. She had particular success with the _bourgeoises_,

and increased tenfold that feminine influence of which the priest had

felt the absolute necessity as soon as he began to thread the narrow

world of Plassans. She succeeded, too, in closing the mouths of the

Paloques--who were growing very rabid about the state of affairs at the

Mourets' house--by throwing a honied cake to the two monsters.

'What! do you still bear us a grudge, my dear lady?' she said one day,

as she met the judge's wife. 'It is very wrong of you. Your friends

have not forgotten you; they are thinking about you and are preparing a

surprise for you.'

'A fine surprise, I'll be bound!' cried Madame Paloque, bitterly. 'No,

we are not going to allow ourselves to be laughed at again. I have

firmly made up my mind to keep to my own affairs.'

Madame de Condamin smiled.

'What would you say,' she asked, 'if Monsieur Paloque were to be

decorated?'

The judge's wife stared in silence. A rush of blood to her face turned

it quite blue, and made her terrible to behold.

'You are joking,' she stammered. 'This is only another plot against

us--if it isn't true, I'll never forgive you.'

The fair Octavie swore that she had spoken nothing but the truth. The

distinction would certainly be conferred upon Monsieur Paloque, but

it would not be officially notified in the 'Moniteur' until after the

elections, as the government did not wish it to appear as if it were

buying the support of the magistracy. She also hinted that Abbé Faujas

was not unconcerned in the bestowal of this long-desired reward, and

said that he had talked about it to the sub-prefect.

'My husband was right, then,' exclaimed Madame Paloque, in great

surprise. 'For a long time past he has been worrying me dreadfully to

go and apologise to the Abbé. But I am very obstinate, and I would

have let myself be killed sooner. But since the Abbé makes the first

move--well, we ask nothing more than to live at peace with everyone. We

will go to the Sub-Prefecture to-morrow.'

The next day the Paloques were very humble. Madame Paloque accused Abbé

Fenil of the blackest conduct; and related with consummate impudence

how she had gone to see him one day, and how he had spoken in her

presence of turning 'the whole of Abbé Faujas's clique' neck-and-crop

out of Plassans.

'If you like,' she said to the priest, taking him aside, 'I will give

you a note written at the vicar-general's dictation. It concerns you.

He tried, I believe, to get several discreditable stories inserted in

the "Plassans Gazette."'

'How did this note come into your hands?' asked Faujas.

'Well, it's sufficient that it is there,' she replied, without any sign

of embarrassment.

And, with a smile, she continued:

'I found it. I recollect, by the way, that there are two or three words

written in the vicar-general's own hand. I may trust to your honour in

all this, may I not? We are upright, honest people, and we don't want

to compromise ourselves.'

She pretended to be affected by scruples for three days before

bringing him the note; and Madame de Condamin was obliged to assure

her privately that an application to have Monsieur Rastoil pensioned

off would shortly be made, so that her husband could succeed to his

post. Then she gave up the paper. Abbé Faujas did not wish to keep it

himself, but took it to Madame Rougon, and charged her to make use

of it--keeping herself, however, strictly in the background--if the

vicar-general showed the slightest sign of interfering in the elections.

Madame de Condamin also dropped a hint to Monsieur Maffre that

the Emperor was thinking about decorating him, and she made a

formal promise to Doctor Porquier to find a suitable post for his

good-for-nothing son. She showed the most obliging kindliness at the

friendly afternoon meetings in the gardens. The summer was now drawing

to a close, but she still arrived in light toilettes, shivering

slightly and risking a cold, in order to show her arms and overcome the

last scruples of the Rastoil party. It was really under the Mourets'

arbour that the election was decided.

'Well, my dear sub-prefect,' said Abbé Faujas one day with a smile,

when the two sets of guests were mingling together; 'the great battle

is drawing near.'

They had now arrived at discussing the political struggle in a quiet

friendly way. In the gardens at the back of the houses they cordially

grasped each other's hands, while in front of them they still feigned

an appearance of hostility. On hearing Abbé Faujas, Madame de Condamin

cast a quick glance at Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies, who bent forward

with his habitual elegance and said all in a breath:

'I shall remain in my tent, Monsieur le Curé. I have been fortunate

enough to make his excellency understand that it is the duty of the

government, in the immediate interests of Plassans, to hold itself

aloof. There will be no official candidate.'

Monsieur de Bourdeu turned pale. His eyelids quivered and his hands

trembled with delight.

'There will be no official candidate?' cried Monsieur Rastoil, greatly

moved by this unexpected news, and departing from the reserve which he

generally maintained.

'No,' replied Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies: 'the town contains a

sufficient number of honourable men to make its own choice of a

representative.'

He bowed slightly towards Monsieur de Bourdeu, who rose from his seat;

and stammered:

'Undoubtedly, undoubtedly.'

While these remarks were being exchanged Abbé Surin had got up

a game of 'hot and cold;' and Monsieur Rastoil's daughters and

Monsieur Maffre's sons and Séverin were busy hunting for the Abbé's

handkerchief, which he had rolled into a ball and hidden. All the young

people were flitting about their elders, while the priest called in his

falsetto voice:

'Hot! Hot!'

Angéline at length found the handkerchief in Doctor Porquier's gaping

pocket, where Abbé Surin had adroitly slipped it. They all laughed and

considered the selection of the hiding-place a very ingenious joke.

'Bourdeu has a chance now,' said Monsieur Rastoil, taking Abbé Faujas

aside. 'It is very annoying. I can't tell him so, but we sha'n't vote

for him: he has compromised himself too much as an Orleanist.'

'Just look at your son Séverin!' cried Madame de Condamin, interrupting

the conversation. 'What a big baby he is! He put the handkerchief under

Abbé Bourrette's hat.'

Then she lowered her voice as she continued:

'By the way, I have to congratulate you, Monsieur Rastoil. I have

received a letter from Paris, from a correspondent who tells me that

he has seen your son's name on an official list. He will be nominated

assessor to the public prosecutor at Faverolles, I believe.'

The presiding judge bowed with a flushed face. The minister had never

forgiven the election of the Marquis de Lagrifoul. Since then a kind of

fatality had seemed to prevent him from finding either a place for his

son or husbands for his daughters. He had never uttered any complaints,

but his compressed lips had often borne witness to his feelings on the

matter.

'I was remarking to you,' he resumed, to conceal his emotion, 'that

Bourdeu is dangerous. But he isn't a Plassans man, and he doesn't know

our requirements. We might just as well re-elect the Marquis.'

'If Monsieur de Bourdeu persists in his candidature,' rejoined Abbé

Faujas, 'the Republicans will poll an imposing minority, which will

have a very bad effect.'

Madame de Condamin smiled. She pretended to understand nothing about

politics, and slipped away while the Abbé drew the presiding judge

aside to the end of the arbour, where they continued the conversation

in subdued tones. As they slowly strolled back again, Monsieur Rastoil

remarked:

'You are quite right. He would be a very suitable candidate. He belongs

to no party, and we could all unite in supporting him. I am no fonder

of the Empire than you are, but it would be childish to go on sending

deputies to the Chamber for no other purpose than to obstruct and rail

at the government. Plassans is suffering from such tactics. What we

want is a man with a good head for business, a local man who can look

after the interests of the place.'

'Hot! Hot!' now cried Aurélie in her fluty voice.

Abbé Surin passed through the arbour at the head of the searchers,

hunting for the handkerchief.

'Cold! Cold!' exclaimed the girl, laughing at their lack of success.

One of the young Maffres, however, lifted up a flower-pot and there

discovered the handkerchief folded in four.

'That big stick Aurélie might have very well crammed it into her

mouth,' said Madame Paloque. 'There is plenty of room for it, and no

one would ever have thought of looking for it there.'

Her husband reduced her to silence with an angry look. He would no

longer allow her to indulge in bitter language. Fearing that Monsieur

de Condamin might have overheard her, he exclaimed:

'What a handsome lot of young people!'

'Your success is certain, my dear sir,' the conservator of rivers and

forests was saying to Monsieur de Bourdeu. 'But be careful what you do

when you get to Paris. I hear from a very trustworthy source that the

government has resolved upon taking strong measures if the opposition

shows itself too provoking.'

The ex-prefect looked at Monsieur de Condamin very uneasily, wondering

if he was making fun of him. Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies merely

smiled, and stroked his moustaches. Then the conversation became

general again, and Monsieur de Bourdeu thought he could detect that

everyone was congratulating him upon his approaching triumph, with a

discretion that was full of tact. He enjoyed the sweets of an hour's

imaginary popularity.

'It is surprising how much more quickly the grapes ripen in the sun,'

remarked Abbé Bourrette, who had never moved from his chair, but now

raised his eyes to the arbour.

'In the north,' Doctor Porquier explained, 'grapes can often only be

got to ripen by freeing them from the surrounding leaves.'

They were beginning to discuss this point, when Séverin in his turn

cried out: 'Hot! Hot!'

But he had hung the handkerchief with such little concealment upon the

garden door that Abbé Surin found it at once. When the Abbé hid it

again, the whole troop vainly scoured the garden for nearly half an

hour, and at last gave it up. Then the Abbé showed it to them lying in

the centre of a flowerbed, rolled up so artistically that it looked

like a white stone. This was the most effective stratagem of the

afternoon.

The news that the government had determined to run no candidate of

its own quickly spread through the town, where it gave rise to great

excitement. This abstention had the natural effect of disquieting the

various political sections, who had each counted upon the diversion of

a certain number of votes in favour of the official candidate to enable

their own man to win. The Marquis de Lagrifoul, Monsieur de Bourdeu

and hatter Maurin appeared to divide the support of the voters pretty

equally amongst them. There would certainly be a second ballot, and

heaven only could tell what name would then appear at the top of the

list. However, there was certainly some talk of a fourth candidate,

whose name nobody quite knew, some moderate equable man who would

possibly bring the different parties into concord and harmony. The

Plassans electors, who had grown a little alarmed since they had felt

the imperial bridle about their necks, would have been only too glad to

come to an understanding, and choose one of their fellow-citizens who

would be acceptable to all parties.

'The government is wrong to treat us like refractory children,' said

the politicians of the Commercial Club, in tones of annoyance. 'Anybody

would suppose that the town was a hot-bed of revolution. If the

authorities had been tactful enough to bring forward the right sort of

candidate, we should all have voted for him. The sub-prefect has talked

about a lesson. Well, we sha'n't receive the lesson. We shall be able

to find a candidate for ourselves, and we will show that Plassans is a

town of sound sense and true liberty.'

They then began to look about for a candidate. But the names which

were proposed by friends or interested parties only served to increase

the confusion. In a week's time there were twenty candidates before

Plassans. Madame Rougon, who had become very uneasy, and quite

unable to understand the position, went to see Abbé Faujas, full of

indignation with the sub-prefect. That Péqueur was an ass, she cried,

a fop, a dummy, of no use except as a pretty ornament to the official

drawing-room. He had already allowed the government to be defeated,

and now he was going to compromise it by an attitude of ridiculous

indifference.

'Make yourself easy,' said the priest, with a smile; 'this time

Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies is confining himself to obeying orders.

Victory is certain.'

'But you've got no candidate!' cried Madame Rougon. 'Where is your

candidate?'

Then the priest unfolded his plans to her. She expressed her approval

of them; but she received the name which he confided to her with the

greatest surprise.

'What!' she exclaimed, 'you have chosen him! No one has ever thought of

him, I assure you.'

'I trust that they haven't,' replied the priest, again smiling. 'We

want a candidate of whom nobody has ever thought, so that all parties

may accept him without fancying that they are compromising themselves.'

Then with the perfect frankness of a shrewd man who has made up his

mind to explain his designs, he continued:

'I have very much to thank you for. You have prevented me from making

many mistakes. I was looking straight towards the goal, and I did not

see the strings that were stretched across the path, and which might,

perhaps, have tripped me up and brought me to grief. Thank heaven! all

this petty childish struggle is over, and I shall soon be able to move

at my ease. As for the choice I have made, it is a good one; you may

feel quite assured of that. Ever since my arrival at Plassans, I have

been looking about for a man, and he is the only one I have found.

He is flexible, very capable, and very energetic. He has been clever

enough not to embroil himself with a single person in the place, which

is no common accomplishment. I know that you are not a very great

friend of his, and that is the reason that I did not confide my plan to

you sooner. But you will see that you are mistaken, and that he will

make his way rapidly as soon as he gets his foot into the stirrup. What

finally determined me in his favour is what I heard about his means.

It is said that he has taken his wife back again three separate times,

after she had been detected in actual unfaithfulness, and after he had

made his good-natured father-in-law pay him a hundred thousand francs

on each occasion. If he has really coined money in that way, he will be

very useful in Paris in certain matters. You may look about as much as

you like; but, putting him aside, there is only a pack of imbeciles in

Plassans.'

'Then it is a present you are making to the government?' said Félicité,

with a laugh.

She allowed herself to be convinced. The next day the name of Delangre

was in everybody's mouth. His friends declared that it was only

after the strongest pressure had been brought to bear upon him that

he had accepted the nomination. He had refused it for a long time,

considering himself unworthy of the position, insisting that he was not

a politician, and that the Marquis de Lagrifoul and Monsieur de Bourdeu

had, on the other hand, had long experience of public affairs. Then,

when it had been impressed upon him that what Plassans urgently needed

was a representative who was unconnected with the political parties,

he had allowed himself to be prevailed upon. He explicitly declared

the principles upon which he should act if he were returned. It must

be thoroughly understood, he said, that he would not go to the Chamber

either to oppose or support the government under all circumstances; he

should look upon himself solely as the representative of the interests

of the town; he would always vote for liberty with order, and order

with liberty, and would still remain mayor of Plassans, so that he

might show what a conciliatory and purely administrative task he had

charged himself with. These views struck people as being singularly

sensible. The knowing politicians of the Commercial Club vied with each

other that same evening in lauding Delangre.

'I told you so; he is the very man we want. I shall be curious to see

what the sub-prefect will say when the mayor's name heads the list.

The authorities can scarcely accuse us of having voted like a lot of

sulking school-boys, any more than they can reproach us with having

gone down on our knees before the government. If the Empire could only

receive a few lessons like this, things would go much better.'

The whole thing was like a train of gunpowder. The mine was laid,

and a spark was sufficient to set it off. In every part of Plassans

simultaneously, in all the three quarters of the town, in every house,

and in every family, Monsieur Delangre's name was pronounced amidst

unanimous eulogies. He had become the expected Messiah, the saviour,

unknown the previous day, revealed in the morning, and worshipped ere

night.

Even in the sacristies and confessionals of Plassans, his name was

buzzed about; it mingled with the echoes in the naves, sounded

from pulpits in the suburbs, was passed on from ear to ear like

a sacrament, and made its way into the most distant homes of the

pious. The priests carried it about with them in the folds of their

cassocks; Abbé Bourrette bestowed on it the respectable cheeriness of

his corporation, Abbé Surin the grace of his smile, and Monseigneur

Rousselot the charm of his pastoral blessing. The fashionable ladies

were never tired of talking of Monsieur Delangre. He had such a kind

disposition, they said, and such a fine sensible face. Madame Rastoil

learned to blush again at mention of him; Madame Paloque grew almost

pretty in her enthusiasm, while as for Madame de Condamin, she was

ready to fight for him, and won all hearts to his side by the tender

way in which she pressed the hands of the electors who promised to vote

for him. The Young Men's Club, too, grew passionately enthusiastic on

his behalf. Séverin made quite a hero of him, and Guillaume and the

young Maffres went canvassing for him through all the disreputable

parts of the town.

On the day of the election his majority was overwhelming. The whole

town seemed to have conspired together to return him. The Marquis de

Lagrifoul and Monsieur de Bourdeu, bursting with indignation and crying

that they had been betrayed, had retired from the contest, and thus

Monsieur Delangre's only opponent was the hatter Maurin. The latter

received the votes of some fifteen hundred intractable Republicans

of the outskirts of the town; while the mayor had the support of the

country districts, the fervent Bonapartists, the townsmen of the new

quarter who were amenable to clerical influence, the timid shopkeepers

of the old town, and even certain simple-minded Royalists of the

district of Saint-Marc, whose aristocratic denizens chiefly abstained

from voting. Monsieur Delangre thus obtained thirty-three thousand

votes. The business was managed so promptly, the victory was won with

such a dash, that Plassans felt quite amazed, on the evening of the

election, to find itself so unanimous. The town half fancied that it

had just had a wonderful dream, that some powerful hand must have

struck the soil and drawn from it those thirty-three thousand electors,

that army, almost alarming in its numbers, whose strength no one had

ever before suspected. The politicians of the Commercial Club looked at

one another in perplexity, like men dazed with victory.

In the evening, Monsieur Rastoil's friends joined those of Monsieur

Péqueur des Saulaies, to congratulate each other, in a little

drawing-room at the Sub-Prefecture, overlooking the gardens. Tea was

served to them. The great victory of the day ended by a coalition of

the two parties. All the usual guests were present.

'I have never systematically opposed any government,' said Monsieur

Rastoil, after a time, as he accepted some little cakes which Monsieur

Péqueur des Saulaies offered him. 'The judicial bench ought to take

no part in political struggles. I willingly admit that the Empire has

already accomplished some great things, and that it has a still nobler

future before it, if it continues to advance in the paths of justice

and liberty.'

The sub-prefect bowed, as though this eulogy was addressed to himself

personally. The previous evening, Monsieur Rastoil had read in the

'Moniteur' a decree appointing his son assistant public prosecutor at

Faverolles. There was also a good deal of talk about a marriage between

his eldest daughter and Lucien Delangre.

'Oh, yes! it is quite settled,' Monsieur de Condamin said in low tones

to Madame Paloque, who had just been questioning him upon the subject.

'He has chosen Angéline. I believe that he would rather have had

Aurélie, but it has probably been hinted to him that it would not be

seemly for the younger sister to be married before the elder one.'

'Angéline! Are you quite sure?' Madame Paloque murmured maliciously. 'I

fancy that Angéline has a likeness--'

The conservator of rivers and forests put his finger to his lips, with

a smile.

'Well, it's just a toss-up, isn't it?' she continued. 'It will

strengthen the ties between the two families. We are all good friends

now. Paloque is expecting his cross, and I am quite satisfied with

everything.'

Monsieur Delangre did not arrive till late. He received, as newspaper

writers say, a perfect ovation. Madame de Condamin had just informed

Doctor Porquier that his son Guillaume had been nominated chief clerk

at the post-office. She was circulating good news through the room,

declaring that Abbé Bourrette would be vicar-general the following

year; that Abbé Surin would be a bishop before he was forty, and that

Monsieur Maffre was to have a cross.

'Poor Bourdeu!' exclaimed Monsieur Rastoil, with a last sigh of regret.

'Oh, there's no occasion to pity him!' cried Madame de Condamin, gaily.

'I will undertake to console him. He is not cut out for the Chamber.

What he wants is a prefecture. Tell him that he shall have one before

long.'

The merriment increased. The fair Octavie's high spirits, and the

desire which she showed to please everybody, delighted the company.

It was really she who was doing the honours of the Sub-Prefecture.

She was the queen of the place. And, while she seemed to be speaking

quite playfully, she gave Monsieur Delangre the most practical advice

in the world about the part he ought to play in the Corps Législatif.

She took him aside and offered to introduce him to several influential

people, an offer which he gratefully accepted. About eleven o'clock,

Monsieur de Condamin suggested that the garden should be illuminated,

but his wife calmed the enthusiasm of the gentlemen, and said that such

a course would be inadvisable, for it would not do to appear to be

exulting over the town.

'Well, what about Abbé Fenil?' she suddenly asked Abbé Faujas, as she

took him aside into one of the window recesses. 'He has not made any

movement, has he?'

'Abbé Fenil is a man of sense,' the priest replied. 'It has been hinted

to him that he would do well not to interfere in political matters for

the future.'

In the midst of all the triumphant joy, Abbé Faujas remained grave. He

had won after a hard fight. Madame de Condamin's chatter wearied him;

and the satisfaction of these people, with their poor vulgar ambitions,

filled him with disdain. As he stood leaning against the mantelpiece,

with a far-off look in his eyes, he seemed to be buried in thought. He

was master now, and no longer compelled to veil and suppress his real

feelings. He could reach out his hand and seize the town, and make

it tremble in his grasp. His tall, black figure seemed to fill the

room. The guests gradually drew their chairs closer to him, and formed

a circle round him. The men awaited some expression of satisfaction

from his lips, the women besought him with their eyes, like submissive

slaves. But he bluntly broke through the circle and went away the

first, saying but a brief word or two as he took his leave.

When he returned to the Mourets' house, going thither by way of the

Impasse des Chevillottes and the garden, he found Marthe alone in the

dining-room, sitting listlessly on a chair against the wall, looking

very pale, and gazing with a blank expression at the lamp, the wick of

which was beginning to char. Upstairs, Trouche was having a party, and

could be heard singing a broad comic song, which Olympe and his guests

accompanied by striking their glasses with the handles of their knives.

XX

Abbé Faujas laid his hand on Marthe's shoulder. 'What are you doing

here?' he asked. 'Why haven't you gone to bed? I told you that you were

not to wait for me.'

She started up and stammered:

'I thought you would be back much earlier than this. I fell asleep. I

dare say Rose will have got some tea ready.'

The priest called for the cook and rated her for not having made her

mistress go to bed. He spoke in authoritative tones that admitted of no

reply.

'Bring the tea for his reverence, Rose,' said Marthe.

'No, I don't want any tea,' the priest said with a show of vexation.

'Go to bed immediately. It is absurd. I can scarcely control myself.

Show me a light, Rose.'

The cook went with him as far as the foot of the staircase.

'Your reverence knows that I am not to blame,' she said. 'Madame is

very strange. Ill as she is, she can't stop for a single hour in her

room. She can't keep from coming and going up and down, and fidgetting

about merely for the sake of being on the move. She puts me out quite

as much as anyone else; she is always in my way, preventing me from

getting on with anything. Then she drops down on a chair and sits

staring in front of her with a terrified look, as though she could

see something horrible. I told her half a score of times at least,

to-night, that you would be very angry with her for not going to bed;

but she didn't even seem to hear what I said.'

The priest went upstairs without replying. As he passed the Trouches'

room he stretched out his arm as though he was going to bang his fist

on the door. But the singing had stopped, and he could tell from the

sounds within that the visitors were about to take their departure, so

he quickly stepped into his own room. Almost immediately afterwards

Trouche went downstairs with a couple of men whom he had picked up in

some low café, crying out on the staircase that he knew how to behave

himself and was going to see them home. Olympe leant over the banisters.

'You can fasten the doors,' she said to Rose. 'He won't be back before

to-morrow morning.'

Rose, from whom she had not been able to conceal her husband's

misconduct, expressed much pity for her, and growled as she fastened

the doors:

'What fools women are to get married! Their husbands either beat them

or go off after hussies. For my part, I'd very much rather keep as I

am.'

When she went back into the dining-room she found her mistress again

in a sort of melancholy stupor, with her eyes fixed upon the lamp.

She shook her and made her go upstairs to bed. Marthe had become very

timid. She said she saw great patches of light on the walls of her room

at night-time, and heard violent blows at the head of her bed. Rose

now slept near her, in a little dressing-room whence she hastened to

calm her at the slightest uneasiness. That night she had not finished

undressing herself before she heard Marthe groaning, and, on rushing

into her room, she found her lying amidst the disordered bed-clothes,

her eyes staring widely in mute horror, and her clenched fists pressed

closely against her mouth to keep herself from shrieking. Rose was

obliged to talk to her and soothe her as though she were a mere child,

and even had to look behind the curtains and under the furniture, and

assure her that she was mistaken, for there was really no one there.

These attacks of terror ended in cataleptic seizures, when the unhappy

woman lay back on her pillow, with her eyelids rigidly opened as though

she were dead.

'It is the thought of the master that torments her,' Rose muttered, as

she at last got into bed.

The next day was one of those when Doctor Porquier called. He came

regularly twice a week to see Madame Mouret. He patted her hands and

said to her with his amiable optimism:

'Oh! nothing serious will come of this, my dear lady. You still cough a

little, don't you? Ah! it's a mere cold which has been neglected, but

which we will cure with some syrups.'

But Marthe complained to him of intolerable pains in her back and

chest, and kept her eyes upon him, as if trying to discover from his

face and manner what he would not say in words.

'I am afraid of going mad!' she suddenly cried, breaking into a sob.

The doctor smilingly reassured her. The sight of him always caused her

keen anxiety, she felt a sort of alarm of this gentle and agreeable

man. She often told Rose not to admit him, saying that she was not ill,

and had no need to have a doctor constantly to see her. Rose shrugged

her shoulders, however, and ushered the doctor into the room. However,

he had almost ceased speaking to Marthe about her ailments, and seemed

to be merely making friendly calls upon her.

As he was going away, he met Abbé Faujas, who was returning from

Saint-Saturnin's. The priest questioned him respecting Madame Mouret's

condition.

'Science is sometimes quite powerless,' said the doctor gravely, 'but

the goodness of Providence is inexhaustible. The poor lady has been

sorely shaken, but I don't altogether give her up. Her chest is only

slightly attacked as yet, and the climate here is favourable.'

Then he started a dissertation upon the treatment of pulmonary diseases

in the neighbourhood of Plassans. He was preparing a pamphlet on the

subject, not for publication, for he was too shrewd to wish to seem a

_savant_, but for the perusal of a few intimate friends.

'I have weighty reasons,' he said in conclusion, 'for believing that

the equable temperature, the aromatic flora, and the salubrious springs

of our hills, are extremely effective for the cure of pulmonary

complaints.'

The priest had listened to him with his usual stern expression.

'You are mistaken,' he said slowly, 'Plassans does not agree with

Madame Mouret. Why not send her to pass the winter at Nice?'

'At Nice?' repeated the doctor, uneasily.

He looked at the priest for a moment, and then continued in his

complacent way:

'Nice certainly would be very suitable for her. In her present

condition of nervous excitement, a change of surroundings would

probably have very beneficial results. I must advise her to make the

journey. It is an excellent idea of yours, Monsieur le Curé.'

He bowed, parted from the Abbé, and made his way to Madame de Condamin,

whose slightest headaches caused him endless trouble and anxiety. At

dinner, the next day, Marthe spoke of the doctor in almost violent

terms. She swore that she would never allow him to visit her again.

'It is he who is making me ill,' she exclaimed. 'This very afternoon he

has been advising me to go off on a journey.'

'And I entirely agree with him in that,' declared Abbé Faujas, folding

his napkin.

She fixed her eyes upon him, and turned very pale as she murmured in a

low voice:

'What! Do you also want to send me away from Plassans? Oh! I should die

in a strange land far away from all my old associations, and far away

from those I love.'

The priest had risen from his seat, and was about to leave the

dining-room. He stepped towards her, and said with a smile:

'Your friends only think of what is good for your health. Why are you

so rebellious?'

'Oh! I don't want to go! I don't want to go!' she cried, stepping back

from him.

There was a short contest between them. The blood rushed to the Abbé's

cheeks, and he crossed his arms, as though to withstand a temptation

to strike Marthe. She was leaning against the wall, in despair at her

weakness. Then, quite vanquished, she stretched out her hands, and

stammered:

'I beseech you to allow me to remain here. I will do whatever you tell

me.'

Then, as she burst into sobs, the Abbé shrugged his shoulders and left

the room, like a husband fearing an outbreak of tears. Madame Faujas,

who was tranquilly finishing her dinner, had witnessed the scene and

continued eating. She let Marthe cry on undisturbed.

'You are extremely unreasonable, my dear child,' she said after a time,

helping herself to some more sweetmeats. 'You will end by making Ovide

quite detest you. You don't know how to treat him. Why do you refuse to

go away from home, if it is necessary for your health? We should look

after the house for you, and you would find everything all right and in

its place when you came back.'

Marthe was still sobbing, and did not seem to hear what Madame Faujas

said.

'Ovide has so much to think about,' the old lady continued. 'Do you

know that he often works till four o'clock in the morning? When you

cough all through the night, it disturbs him very much, and distracts

his thoughts. He can't work any longer, and he suffers more than you

do. Do this for Ovide's sake, my dear child; go away, and come back to

us in good health.'

Then Marthe raised her face, red with weeping, and throwing all her

anguish into one cry, she wailed: 'Oh! Heaven lies!'

During the next few days no further pressure was brought to bear upon

Madame Mouret to induce her to make the journey to Nice. She grew

terribly excited at the least reference to it. She refused to leave

Plassans with such a show of determination that the priest himself

recognised the danger of insisting upon the scheme. In the midst

of his triumph she was beginning to cause him terrible anxiety and

embarrassment. Trouche declared, with his snigger, that it was she who

ought to have been sent the first to Les Tulettes. Ever since Mouret

had been taken off, she had secluded herself in the practice of the

most rigid religious practices, and refrained from ever mentioning her

husband's name, praying indeed that she might be rendered altogether

oblivious of the past. But she still remained restless, and returned

from Saint-Saturnin's with even a keener longing for forgetfulness than

she had had when she went thither.

'Our landlady is going it finely,' Olympe said to her husband when she

came home one evening. 'I went with her to church to-day, and I had to

pick her up from the flag-stones. You would laugh if I told you all

the things that she vomited out against Ovide. She is quite furious

with him; she says that he has no heart, and that he has deceived her

in promising her a heap of consolations. And you should hear her rail,

too, against the Divinity. Ah! it's only your pious people who talk

so badly of religion! Anyone would think, to hear her, that God had

cheated her of a large sum of money. Do you know, I really believe that

her husband comes and haunts her at night.'

Trouche was much amused by this gossip.

'Well, she has herself to blame for that,' he said. 'If that old joker

Mouret was put away, it was her own doing. If I were Faujas, I should

know how to arrange matters, and I would make her as gentle and content

as a sheep. But Faujas is an ass, and you will see that he will make

a mess of the business. Your brother, my dear, hasn't shown himself

sufficiently pleasant to us for me to help him out of the bother. I

shall have a rare laugh the day our landlady makes him take the plunge.'

'Ovide certainly looks down upon women too much,' declared Olympe.

Then Trouche continued in a lower tone:

'I say, you know, if our landlady were to throw herself down some well

with your noodle of a brother, we should be the masters, and the house

would be ours. We should be able to feather our nest nicely then. It

would be a splendid ending to it all, that!'

Since Mouret's departure, the Trouches also had invaded the

ground-floor of the house. Olympe had begun by complaining that the

chimneys upstairs smoked, and she had ended by persuading Marthe

that the drawing-room, which had hitherto been unoccupied, was the

healthiest room in the house. Rose was ordered to light a big fire

there, and the two women spent their days in endless talk, before the

huge blazing logs. It was one of Olympe's dreams to be able to live

like this, handsomely dressed and lolling on a couch in the midst of

an elegantly furnished room. She even persuaded Marthe to have the

drawing-room re-papered, to buy some new furniture and a fresh carpet

for it. Then she felt that she was a lady. She came downstairs in her

slippers and dressing-gown, and talked as though she were the mistress

of the house.

'That poor Madame Mouret,' she would say, 'has so much worry that

she has asked me to help her, and so I devote a little of my time to

assisting her. It is really a kindness to do so.'

She had, indeed, quite succeeded in winning the confidence of Marthe,

who, from sheer lassitude, handed over to her the petty details of the

household management. It was Olympe who kept the keys of the cellar

and the cupboards, and paid the tradesmen's bills as well. She had

been deliberating for a long time as to how she should manage to make

herself equally free in the dining-room. Trouche, however, dissuaded

her from attempting to carry out that design. They would no longer be

able to eat and drink as they liked, he said; they would not even dare

to drink their wine unwatered, or to ask a friend to come and have

coffee. Then Olympe declared that at any rate she would bring their

share of the dessert upstairs. She crammed her pockets with sugar, and

she even carried off candle-ends. For this purpose, she made some big

canvas pockets, which she fastened under her skirt, and which it took

her a good quarter of an hour to empty every evening.

'There! there's something for a rainy day,' she said, as she bundled a

stock of provisions into a box, which she then pushed under the bed.

'If we happen to fall out with our landlady, we shall have something to

keep us going for a time. I must bring up some pots of preserves and

some salt pork.'

'There is no need to make a secret of it,' said Trouche. 'If I were

you, I should make Rose bring them up, as you are the mistress.'

Trouche had made himself master of the garden. For a long time past he

had envied Mouret as he had watched him pruning his trees, gravelling

his walks, and watering his lettuces; and he had indulged in a dream

of one day having a plot of ground of his own, where he might dig and

plant as he liked. So, now that Mouret was no longer there, he took

possession of the garden, planning all kinds of alterations in it. He

began by condemning the vegetables. He had a delicate soul, he said,

and he loved flowers. But the labour of digging tired him out on the

second day, and a gardener was called in, who dug up the beds under

his directions, threw the vegetables on to the dung-heap, and prepared

the soil for the reception of pæonies, roses and lilies, larkspurs and

convolvuli, and cuttings of geraniums and carnations. Then an idea

occurred to Trouche. It struck him that the tall sombre box plants,

which bordered the beds, had a mournful appearance, and he meditated

for a long time about pulling them up.

'You are quite right,' said Olympe, whom he consulted on the matter.

'They make the place look like a cemetery. For my part, I should much

prefer an edging of cast-iron made to resemble rough wood. I will

persuade the landlady to have it done. Anyhow, pull up the box.'

The box was accordingly pulled up. A week later the gardener came

and laid down the cast-iron edging. Trouche also removed several

fruit-trees which interfered with the view, had the arbour painted

afresh a bright green, and ornamented the fountain with rock-work.

Monsieur Rastoil's cascade greatly excited his envy, but he contented

himself for the time by choosing a place where he would construct a

similar one, 'if everything should go on all right.'

'This will make our neighbours open their eyes,' he said in the evening

to his wife. 'They will see that there is a man of taste here now. In

the summer, when we sit at the window, we shall have a delightful view,

and the garden will smell deliciously.'

Marthe let him have his own way and gave her consent to all the plans

that were submitted to her, and in the end he gave over even consulting

her. It was solely Madame Faujas that the Trouches had to contend

against, and she continued to dispute possession of the house with them

very obstinately. It was only after a battle royal with her mother that

Olympe had been able to take possession of the drawing-room. Madame

Faujas had all but won the day on that occasion. It was the priest's

fault if she had not proved victorious.

'That hussy of a sister of yours says everything that is bad of us to

the landlady,' Madame Faujas perpetually complained. 'I can see through

her game. She wants to supplant us and to get everything for herself.

She is trying to settle herself down in the drawing-room like a fine

lady, the slut!'

The priest however paid no attention to what his mother said; he only

broke out into sharp gestures of impatience at her complaints. One day

he got quite angry and exclaimed:

'I beg of you, mother, do leave me in peace. Don't talk to me any more

about Olympe or Trouche. Let them go and hang themselves, if they like.'

'But they are seizing the whole house, Ovide. They are perfect rats.

When you want your share, you will find that they have gnawed it all

away. You are the only one who can keep them in check.'

He looked at his mother with a faint smile.

'You love me very much, mother,' said he, 'and I forgive you. Make your

mind easy; I want something very different from the house. It isn't

mine, and I only keep what I gain. You will be very proud when you see

my share. Trouche has been useful to me, and we must shut our eyes a

little.'

Madame Faujas was then obliged to beat a retreat; but she did so with

very bad grace. The absolute disinterestedness of her son made her,

with her material baser desires and careful economical nature, quite

desperate. She would have liked to lock the house up so that Ovide

might find it ready in perfect order for his occupation whenever he

might want it. The Trouches, with their grasping ways, caused her

all the torment and despair felt by a miser who is being preyed upon

by strangers. It was exactly as though they were wasting her own

substance, fattening upon her own flesh, and reducing herself and

her beloved son to penury and wretchedness. When the Abbé forbade

her to oppose the gradual invasion of the Trouches, she made up her

mind that she would at any rate save all she could from the hands of

the spoilers, and so she began pilfering from the cupboards, just

as Olympe did. She also fastened big pockets underneath her skirts,

and had a chest which she filled with all the things she collected

together--provisions, linen, and miscellaneous articles.

'What is that you are stowing away there, mother?' the Abbé asked one

evening as he went into her room, attracted by the noise which she made

in moving the chest.

She began to stammer out a reply, but the priest understood it all at a

glance, and flew into a violent rage.

'It is too shameful!' he said. 'You have turned yourself into a thief,

now! What would the consequences be if you were to be detected? I

should be the talk of the whole town!'

'It is all for your sake, Ovide,' she murmured.

'A thief! My mother a thief! Perhaps you think that I thieve, too,

that I have come here to plunder, and that my only ambition is to lay

my hands upon whatever I can! Good heavens! what sort of an opinion

have you formed of me? We shall have to separate, mother, if we do not

understand each other better than this.'

This speech quite crushed the old woman. She had remained on her knees

in front of the chest, and she sank into a crouching position upon

the floor, very pale and almost choking, and stretching out her hands

beseechingly. When she was able to speak, she wailed out:

'It is for your benefit, my child, for yours only, I swear. I have

told you before that they are taking everything; your sister crams

everything into her pockets. There will be nothing left for you, not

even a lump of sugar. But I won't take anything more, since it makes

you angry, and you will let me stay with you, won't you? You will keep

me with you, won't you?'

Abbé Faujas refused to make any promises until she had restored

everything she had taken to its place. For nearly a week he himself

superintended the secret restoration of the contents of the chest. He

watched his mother fill her pockets, and waited till she came back

upstairs again to take a fresh load. For prudential reasons he allowed

her to make only two journeys backwards and forwards every evening. The

old woman felt as though her heart was breaking as she restored each

article to its former place. She did not dare to cry, but her eyelids

were swollen with tears of regret, and her hands trembled even more

than they had done when they were ransacking the cupboards. However,

what afflicted her more than anything else was to see that as soon as

she had restored each article to its rightful position, Olympe followed

in her wake and took possession of it. The linen, the provisions, and

the candle-ends, merely passed from one pocket to another.

'I won't take anything more downstairs,' she exclaimed to her son,

growing rebellious at this unforeseen result of her restorations. 'It

isn't the least good, for your sister only walks off with everything

directly I put it back. The hussy! I might just as well give her the

chest at once! She must have got a nice little hoard together! I

beseech you, Ovide, let me keep what still remains. Our landlady will

be none the worse off for it, because she will lose it anyhow.'

'My sister is what she is,' the priest replied tranquilly; 'but I wish

my mother to be an honest woman. You will help me much more by not

committing such actions.'

She was forced to restore everything, and from that time forward she

harboured fierce hatred against the Trouches, Marthe, and the whole

establishment. She often said that the day would come when she should

have to defend Ovide against everybody.

The Trouches were now reigning in all sovereignty. They completed the

conquest of the house, and made their way into every corner of it. The

Abbé's own rooms were the only ones they respected. It was only before

him that they trembled. But even his presence in the house did not

prevent them from inviting their friends, and indulging in debauches

till two o'clock in the morning. Guillaume Porquier came with parties

of mere youths. Olympe, notwithstanding her thirty-seven years, then

simpered and put on girlish airs; and flirted with more than one of

the college lads. The house was becoming a perfect paradise to her.

Trouche sniggered and joked about it when they were alone together.

'Well,' she said, quite tranquilly, 'you do as you like, don't you? We

are both free to do as we please, you know.'

Trouche had, as a matter of fact, all but brought his pleasant life to

an abrupt conclusion. There had been an unpleasant affair at the Home

of the Virgin in connection with one of the girls there. One of the

Sisters of St. Joseph had complained of Trouche to Abbé Faujas. He had

thanked her for telling him, and had impressed upon her that the cause

of religion would suffer by such a scandal. So the affair was hushed

up, and the lady patronesses never had the faintest suspicion of it.

Abbé Faujas, however, had a terrible scene with his brother-in-law,

whom he assailed in Olympe's presence, so that his wife might have a

weapon against him, and be able to keep him in check.

The Trouches had been troubled for a long time past by another matter.

Notwithstanding their life of clover, although they were provided with

so many things out of Marthe's cupboards, they had got terribly into

debt in the neighbourhood. Trouche squandered his salary away in cafés,

and Olympe wasted the money which she drew out of Marthe's pockets by

indulging in all sorts of silly fancies. As for the necessaries of

life, they made a point of getting these upon credit. There was one

account which made them particularly uneasy, that of a pastrycook in

the Rue de la Banne, which amounted to more than a hundred francs, for

the pastrycook was a rough, blunt sort of man, who had threatened to

lay the whole matter before Abbé Faujas. The Trouches thus long lived

in a state of alarm, but when the bill was actually presented to him

Abbé Faujas paid it without a word, and even forgot to address any

reproaches to them on the subject. The priest seemed to be above all

those sordid little matters, and went on living a gloomy and rigid life

in this house that was given up to pillage, without appearing conscious

of the gradual ruin which was falling upon it. Everything, indeed,

was crumbling away around him, while he continued to advance straight

towards the goal of his ambition. He still camped like a soldier in his

big bare room, indulging in no comforts, and showing annoyance when any

were pressed upon him. Since he had become the master of Plassans, he

had dropped back into complete carelessness as to his appearance. His

hat became rusty, his stockings muddy; his cassock, which his mother

mended every morning, looked just like the pitiful, worn-out rag which

he had worn when he first came to Plassans.

'Pooh! it is very good yet,' he used to say, when anyone hazarded a

timid remark about it.

He made a display of it, walked about the streets in it, carrying

his head loftily, and altogether unheeding the curious glances which

were cast at him. There was no bravado in the matter; he was simply

following his natural inclinations. Now that he believed that he need

no longer lay himself out to please, he fell back into all his old

disdain for mere appearance. It was his triumph to sit down just as he

was, with his tall, clumsy body, rough, blunt manner and torn clothes,

in the midst of conquered Plassans.

Madame de Condamin, distressed by the strong smell which emanated from

his cassock, one day gently took him to task about his appearance.

'Do you know,' she said to him, laughing, 'that the ladies are

beginning to detest you? They say that you now never take the least

trouble over your toilet. Once upon a time, when you took your

handkerchief out of your pocket, it was just as though there were a

choir-boy swinging a thurible behind you.'

The priest looked greatly astonished. He was quite unaware of any

change in himself. Then Madame de Condamin, drawing a little nearer to

him, said in a friendly tone:

'Will you let me speak quite frankly to you, my dear Curé? It is

really a mistake on your part to be so negligent of your appearance.

You scarcely shave, and you never comb your hair; it is as rough and

tumbled as though you had been fighting. I can assure you that all

this has a very bad effect. Madame Rastoil and Madame Delangre told

me yesterday that they could scarcely recognise you. You are really

compromising your success.'

The priest gave a laugh of defiance, as he shook his powerful unkempt

head.

'Now that the battle is won,' he merely replied, 'they must put up with

my hair being uncombed.'

Plassans had, indeed, to put up with him with his hair uncombed. The

once seemingly flexible priest was now transformed into a stern,

despotic master who bent all wills to his own. His face, which had

again become cadaverous in hue, shone with eyes like an eagle's, and

he raised his big hands as though they were filled with threats and

chastisements. The town was positively terrified on beholding the

master it had imposed upon itself, with his shabby, dirty clothing and

unkempt hair. The covert alarm of the women only tended, however, to

strengthen his power. He was stern and harsh to his penitents, but not

one of them dared to leave him. They came to him in fear and trembling,

in which they found some touch of painful pleasure.

'I was wrong, my dear,' Madame de Condamin confessed to Marthe, 'in

wanting him to perfume himself. I am growing accustomed to him, and

even prefer him as he is. He is indeed a man!'

Abbé Faujas was supreme at the Bishop's. Since the elections he had

left Monseigneur Rousselot only a show of authority. The Bishop lived

amidst his beloved books in his study, where the Abbé, who administered

the diocese from an adjoining room, virtually kept him prisoner, only

allowing him to see those persons whom he could fully trust. The clergy

trembled before this absolute master. The old white-headed priests

bent before him with all humility and surrender of personal will.

Monseigneur Rousselot, when he was alone with Abbé Surin, often wept

silent tears. He regretted the impetuous mastery of Abbé Fenil, who

had, at any rate, intervals of affectionate softness, whereas now,

under Abbé Faujas's rule, he felt a relentless, ceaseless pressure.

However, he would smile again and resign himself, saying with a sort of

pleasant self-satisfaction:

'Come, my child, let us get to work. I must not complain, for I am now

leading the life which I always dreamed of--a life of perfect solitude

amongst my books.'

Then he sighed, and continued in a lower tone:

'I should be quite happy if I were not afraid of losing you, my dear

Surin. He will end by not tolerating your presence here any longer. I

thought that he looked at you very suspiciously yesterday. Always agree

with him, I beseech you; take his side and don't spare me. Ah me! I

have only you left now.'

Two months after the elections Abbé Vial, one of the Bishop's

grand-vicars, went to settle at Rome. Abbé Faujas stepped into his

place as a matter of course, although it had been promised long ago

to Abbé Bourrette. He did not even promote the latter to the living

of Saint-Saturnin's which he vacated, but preferred to it a young

ambitious priest whom he had made a tool of his own.

'His lordship would not hear of you,' he said curtly to Abbé Bourrette

when he met him.

When the poor old priest stammered out that he would go and see the

Bishop, and ask for an explanation, Abbé Faujas added more gently:

'His lordship is too unwell to see you. Trust yourself in my hands; I

will plead your cause for you.'

From his first appearance in the Chamber in Paris Monsieur Delangre

had voted with the majority. Plassans was conquered for the Empire.

Abbé Faujas almost seemed actuated by a feeling of revenge in the rough

way in which he treated the prudent townspeople. He again closed the

little doors that led into the Impasse des Chevillottes, and compelled

Monsieur Rastoil and his friends to enter the Sub-Prefecture by the

official door facing the Place. When he appeared at the sub-prefect's

friendly gatherings, the guests showed themselves very humble in his

presence. So great was the fascination he exercised, and so great the

fear he inspired, that even when he was not present nobody dared to

make the slightest equivocal remark concerning him.

'He is a man of the greatest merit,' declared Monsieur Péqueur des

Saulaies, who now counted on being promoted to a prefecture.

'A very remarkable man, indeed,' chimed in Doctor Porquier. All the

company nodded their heads approvingly till Monsieur de Condamin, who

began to feel irritated by this eulogistic unanimity, amused himself by

putting them into embarrassment.

'Well, he hasn't a pleasant temper, anyway,' said he.