Chapter XVI: Part 16

The lady patronesses did not expect many people before four o'clock. Erect behind their stalls in the great hall they waited for customers to arrive. Their wares were spread out on long tables covered with crimson cloth. There were several stalls of Parisian and Chinese fancy goods; two of children's toys; a florist's kiosk crammed full of roses; and, lastly, inside a tent, a lucky-wheel, like those to be seen at the fairs in the Parisian suburbs. The stall-holders, in low-necked theatre dresses, assumed all the persuasive graces of shopkeepers, the seductive smiles of _modistes_ trying to palm off old-fashioned goods, and they modulated their voices alluringly, as they prattled and puffed their wares. They made themselves quite familiar with everyone who came to purchase of them. A Princess presided over one of the toy stalls, and in front of her, on the opposite side of the hall, a Marchioness sold purses which had cost twenty-nine sous for twenty francs a-piece. These two were rivals, each seeking to make a larger sum of money than the other. They seized hold of customers, called out to the men, and asked the most shameless prices; and, after bargaining as greedily as thievish butchers, they would throw in the tips of their fingers or a glimpse of their bosoms to turn the scale and complete some remunerative transaction. Charity was, of course, their excuse.

Little by little the hall gradually filled. Gentlemen calmly halted and examined the stall-holders, as though the latter formed part of the goods for sale. Fashionably dressed young fellows crowded round certain stalls, laughing and flirting, while the lady-sellers flitted from one to another with inexhaustible complacence, offering all their wares in turn with the same charming expression. It seemed quite an enjoyment to them. Sales by auction could be heard proceeding, interrupted by joyous peals of laughter, amid the low tramping over the sanded floor. The crimson hangings softened the bright light from the lofty windows, and diffused a ruddy glow, which here and there set a pinky touch on the stall-holders' bare necks and shoulders. And in the space between the stalls six other ladies, a baroness, two bankers' daughters, and the wives of three high officials, threaded their way among the public with light baskets hanging from their necks. These darted upon each new arrival, crying cigars and matches.

However, Madame de Combelot met with particular success. She was the flower girl, and sat on a high seat in the rose-crammed kiosk, a carved and gilded affair which looked like a great pigeon-cote. She was dressed in a tight-fitting rose-coloured dress, the corsage of which was very low. And she wore no jewellery, but simply the regulation bunch of violets nestling on her bosom. To make herself as much like a genuine flower-girl as possible, it had occurred to her to tie up her bouquets in public, holding the wire between her teeth and twisting it round a full-blown rose, a bud, and three leaves, which she sold at prices ranging from one to ten louis, according to the appearance of her customers. And her bouquets were in such demand that she could not make them quickly enough, while every now and then she pricked herself in her haste and quickly sucked the blood from her fingers.

In the canvas tent opposite the flower stall pretty Madame Bouchard presided over the lucky-wheel. She was wearing a charming blue peasant-costume, high waisted and with a _fichu_-shaped bodice; indeed almost a disguise which gave her quite the appearance of a vendor of cakes and gingerbread. She also affected a pretty lisp and a guileless air which was very original. Over the lucky-wheel were displayed the different prizes; some hideous trifles in leather, glass, and china, worth four or five sous a-piece. And every few moments, whenever there was a lack of patrons, Madame Bouchard called out, in her pretty innocent voice, which suggested some simple Susan fresh from her village: 'Try your luck, gentlemen! Only twenty sous a time! Try your luck, gentlemen!'

The refreshment room, which, like the larger hall, had its floor sanded and its corners decorated with rare plants, was furnished with little round tables and cane-seated chairs. It had been made to resemble a café as much as possible. At one end, behind a massive counter, were three ladies who fanned themselves while waiting for orders. Decanters of _liqueurs_, plates of cakes and sandwiches, sweetmeats, cigars and cigarettes, were set out in front of them, recalling the kind of display which one sees at the buffets of questionable dancing saloons. Every few moments the lady in the middle, a dark and petulant Countess, rose and bent forward to pour out a glass of something or other, seeming quite bewildered amidst all those decanters, and dashing her bare arms about at the risk of breaking everything. It was Clorinde, however, who was the real queen of the buffet. It was she who handed the customers the refreshments they ordered, when they sat down at the little tables. She looked like Juno masquerading as a waiting-maid. She wore a yellow satin robe slashed slant-wise with black satin, a dazzling, extraordinary arrangement which suggested a blazing star with a comet's tail sweeping after it. Her bodice was cut very low, and she sailed about majestically amidst the cane-seated chairs, carrying her glasses on a pewter tray with all the serenity of a goddess. Her bare elbows brushed against the men's shoulders, and her bosom showed conspicuously as she bent down to take their orders, evincing no haste as she did so, but answering every one with a smile, apparently quite at her ease. When the refreshments had been consumed, she received in her queenly hand the silver and copper coins tendered in payment, and, with a gesture that had already become familiar to her, dropped them into a bag hanging from her waist.

At last M. Kahn and M. Béjuin came into the buffet and sat down. The former jocosely rapped the zinc table at which he installed himself just as he might have done at a café, and called: 'Two beers, madame.'

Clorinde hastened up, served the two glasses of beer, and then remained standing near the table, to snatch a little rest, as just then there happened to be very few customers. And while she wiped her fingers on which some beer had trickled, M. Kahn noticed the peculiar brightness of her eyes, the expression of triumph with which her whole face shone. He blinked at her for a moment, and then asked: 'When did you get back from Fontainebleau?'

'This morning,' she replied.

'You've seen the Emperor, then, I suppose? Well, what is the news?'

Clorinde smiled, compressed her lips in a peculiar fashion, and then in her turn looked at M. Kahn. The latter thereupon noticed that she was wearing an eccentric ornament which he had never seen before. It was a dog-collar encircling her bare neck; a real dog-collar of black velvet, with buckle, ring and bell. The bell was of gold, and a pearl tinkled inside it. Upon the collar there were two names in letters of diamonds, oddly twisted and interlaced. And from the ring a thick gold chain fell over her bosom, and then rose again, ending in a gold plate fastened to her right arm, on which were these words: _I belong to my master_.

'Is that a present?' softly asked M. Kahn, pointing to the ornament.

Clorinde nodded assent, still keeping her lips compressed with a cunning, sensual expression. She had desired this servitude and she paraded it with shameless serenity, as though she felt honoured by a sovereign's choice, an object of envy to every other woman. When she had made her appearance with this collar round her neck, on which the keen eyes of rivals fancied they could decipher an illustrious name interlaced with her own, every woman present had understood the truth, and had exchanged significant glances with her acquaintances.

However, business in the refreshment room was suddenly becoming brisk. 'A glass of beer, madame, please,' said a fat gentleman wearing a decoration--a general--as he looked at Clorinde smiling.

When she had brought the beer, two deputies asked her for some Chartreuse. A crowd was now pouring into the buffet, and orders were given on all sides for liqueurs, lemonade, biscuits, and cigars. And the men, while staring at Clorinde, repeated in whispers the various stories which were current. For her part she turned her neck in all serenity, the better indeed to show her dog-collar and the heavy gold chain which tinkled as she moved. That she had been a queen of the left hand imparted additional piquancy to her present assumption of the part of a waiting-maid, who, answering every one's beck and call, dragged statuesque feet--which had been passionately kissed by august moustaches--over the floor of a mock café, amongst pieces of lemon-peel and biscuit-crumbs.

'It's really quite amusing,' the young woman said, as she came back and stood by M. Kahn. 'One of the gentlemen actually gave me a pinch just now! But I didn't say anything. What would have been the good? It's all for the sake of the poor, isn't it?'

M. Kahn motioned to her to stoop, and when she had done so, he whispered: 'Well, what about Rougon?'

'Hush! You'll know everything soon,' she replied, in equally low tones. 'I have sent him an invitation card, and I am expecting his arrival.' Then, as M. Kahn wagged his head, she added, with animation: 'Yes, yes, I know him, I'm sure he'll come. And besides he knows nothing of what has happened.'

M. Kahn and M. Béjuin then began to look out anxiously for Rougon's appearance. They could see the whole of the large hall through the opening in the curtains. The crowd there was increasing every minute. On the circular settee several men were lounging with their knees crossed and their eyes sleepily closed, while a continual flow of visitors brushed against their feet as it streamed past. The heat was becoming excessive; and the hubbub grew ever louder in the roseate haze that floated over the forest of black silk hats. Every few moments, too, the grating, rattling sound of the lucky-wheel could be heard.

Madame Correur, who had just arrived, was going slowly round the stalls. She looked very fat, in her gown of grenadine striped white and mauve; and there was a shrewd expression on her face, the calculating air of the customer who looks about her with the intention of making some advantageous bargain. There were plenty of such to be made, she said, at these charitable bazaars, for the ladies often did not know the value of their wares. However, she never bought anything of such stall-holders as were friends of her own, for they always tried to take advantage of her. When she had been all round the hall, moving the different goods about, examining them and putting them back in their places again, she returned to a stall where some fancy articles in leather were displayed for sale, and here she remained for fully ten minutes turning everything over with an air of perplexity. At last, she carelessly took up a Russian leather pocket-book, on which she had really cast her eyes a quarter of an hour previously.

'How much?' she asked.

The stall-holder, a tall, fair, young woman, who was joking with two gentlemen, scarcely turned as she replied: 'Fifteen francs.'

The pocket-book was worth at least twenty. These ladies, who contended with each other in wresting extravagant prices from the men, generally sold their goods to visitors of their own sex at cost price, actuated in the matter by a sort of freemasonry. Madame Correur, however, laid the pocket-book on the stall again, and put on an expression of alarm. 'Oh, it is too expensive,' she said. 'I want something for a present, but I don't wish to give more than ten francs. Have you got anything nice for ten francs?'

Then she began to turn all the goods over again. Nothing, however, seemed to suit her. What a pity it was that the pocket-book was so dear! She took it up again and poked her nose into the pockets, whereupon the stall-holder, growing impatient, at last offered to sell it to her for fourteen francs, and then for twelve. That, however, was still too much, according to Madame Correur, who, after much keen bargaining, succeeded in getting it for eleven.

'I prefer selling things if I can,' said the tall young woman. 'All the ladies bargain and not one of them buys anything. If it weren't for the gentlemen I don't know what we should do!'

As Madame Correur went off she had the satisfaction of finding inside the pocket-book a ticket denoting that the real price was twenty-five francs. Then she strolled about again, and finally installed herself behind the lucky-wheel, by the side of Madame Bouchard, whom she called her 'pet,' and whose side curls she began to arrange.

'Ah! here comes the colonel!' suddenly exclaimed M. Kahn, who was still sitting in the refreshment room with his eyes fixed upon the entrance.

The colonel had come because he could not very well help doing so. He hoped, however, to get off with the expenditure of a louis, though the thought of even that small outlay was already making his heart bleed. As soon as he made his appearance he was surrounded and attacked by three or four ladies, who repeated: 'Buy a cigar of me, monsieur! A box of matches, monsieur!'

The colonel smiled, and politely extricated himself from their skirts. Then he looked round him and coming to the conclusion that he had better spend his money at once, he went up to a stall presided over by a lady high in favour at Court, of whom he inquired the price of a very ugly cigar-case. Seventy-five francs! The colonel could not suppress a gesture of alarm, and dropping the cigar-case he hurriedly escaped; while the lady, flushing red and feeling offended, turned her head away as though he had been guilty of some shocking impropriety in her presence. Then the colonel, desirous of preventing any unpleasant comments, went up to the kiosk where Madame de Combelot was still manufacturing her little bouquets. These, at any rate, could not be so very expensive, he thought. However, he would not even venture upon the purchase of a bouquet, for he felt sure that Madame de Combelot would put a fairly good price upon her handiwork; so from amongst the heap of roses he chose a cankered bud, the poorest and most insignificant he could see.

'What is the price of this flower, madame?' he then inquired, with a great show of politeness, as he took out his purse.

'A hundred francs, monsieur,' replied the lady, who had been stealthily watching his manœuvres.

The colonel began to stammer, and his hands trembled. This time, however, he felt that retreat was impossible. There were several people watching him. So he reluctantly paid his money and then sought refuge in the refreshment room.

'It is an abominable swindle, an abominable swindle!' he muttered, as he took a seat at M. Kahn's table.

'You haven't seen anything of Rougon in the hall, have you?' asked M. Kahn.

The colonel made no reply. He was casting furious side-long glances at the stall-holders. Then, hearing M. d'Escorailles and M. La Rouquette laughing loudly in front of one of the stalls, he ground out between his teeth: 'Ah! it's all very well for those young fellows! They manage to get something for their money!'

M. d'Escorailles and M. La Rouquette certainly seemed to be amusing themselves. The ladies at the stalls were struggling to get possession of them. As soon as they had made their appearance, all hands had beckoned to them and they were called on every side: 'Monsieur d'Escorailles, you know that you promised me--' 'Now, Monsieur La Rouquette, do buy this little horse of me! No? Well, you shall buy a doll, then! Yes, a doll: a doll's exactly what you want!'

The two young men were walking arm in arm for mutual protection as they playfully asserted. They advanced radiant, enraptured through the attacking battalion of petticoats, greeted with a caressing chorus of sweet voices. Every now and then they disappeared amidst a wave of bare shoulders, against which they pretended to defend themselves with little cries of alarm. And at every stall they allowed themselves to be attacked. Then they began to affect miserliness and to assume the most comical expressions of surprise. What! a louis for a doll that wasn't worth more than a sou! Oh, that was quite beyond their means! Two louis for three pencils! What! did the ladies want to reduce them to starvation? The ladies were immensely amused and their pretty laughter rippled on in flute-like strains. They grew keener than ever, quite intoxicated by the shower of gold raining around them, and trebled and quadrupled their prices in their craving for plunder. They passed the young men on from stall to stall with significant winks; and such remarks as 'I'll squeeze them well!' or 'You can stick it on with them!' were bandied about; remarks which the two young fellows heard and acknowledged with playful bows. Behind them the ladies triumphed and boasted one to the other. The cleverest and most envied was a girl of eighteen, who had sold one of them a stick of sealing wax for three louis. However, when they at last reached the end of the hall and a lady insisted upon forcing a box of soap into M. d'Escorailles' pocket, he shook his purse before her face, saying: 'But I haven't a copper left. Shall I give you a promissory note for the money?'

The lady, who was quite excited, took the purse and searched it. Then she looked at the young man, and it seemed as though she was on the point of asking him for his watch chain. However, it was all a trick on M. d'Escorailles' part. On such occasions he took an empty purse with him by way of amusement.

'Come, let's be off!' he said, dragging M. La Rouquette away. 'I'm going to be stingy now. We must try to recoup ourselves, eh?'

'Try your luck, gentlemen! Twenty sous a chance!' called Madame Bouchard as they passed in front of the lucky-wheel.

They at once approached her, and went into the business enthusiastically. For a quarter of an hour the lucky-wheel was kept going without cessation. First one, then the other set it spinning. M. d'Escorailles won two dozen egg-cups, three little looking-glasses, seven china figures, and five cigarette-cases; while M. La Rouquette's winnings consisted of two packets of lace, a china tray mounted on feet of gilded zinc, some glasses, a candlestick, and a box with a glass cover. Madame Bouchard became indignant: 'Come, that's enough,' said she, 'you're too lucky! I won't let you go on any longer! Here, take your winnings away.'

She had arranged them in two big piles upon a table beside her. M. La Rouquette seemed filled with consternation at the sight of them; and asked her to exchange them for the regulation bunch of violets which she was wearing in her hair. But she declined to do so. 'No, no,' she said, 'you've won those things, haven't you? Very well, then, take them away with you.'

'Madame is quite right,' remarked M. d'Escorailles, gravely. 'We mustn't despise fortune, and for my part I do not mean to leave a single egg-cup behind me. I'm getting stingy.'

He had spread out his handkerchief and was tying his winnings up in a neat bundle, which caused a fresh burst of gaiety. And M. La Rouquette's embarrassment was equally amusing. But at last Madame Correur, who had hitherto kept in the background with smiling matronly dignity, protruded her fat rosy face. She would be very glad to make an exchange, said she.

'Oh, no, I don't want anything!' the young deputy hastily exclaimed. 'Take the whole lot; I make you a present of everything.'

He and Escorailles did not, however, take themselves off at once, but began to whisper doubtful compliments to Madame Bouchard. Turning a lucky-wheel was all very well, they told her, but she knew much better how to turn men's heads. Meanwhile Madame Bouchard dropped her eyelashes and giggled like a peasant-girl chaffed by gentlemen. Madame Correur gazed at her in admiration. 'Isn't she sweet? Isn't she sweet?' she exclaimed every now and then, with a rapturous expression.

But Madame Bouchard at last began to rap M. d'Escorailles' fingers, for he wanted to examine the mechanism of the lucky-wheel, alleging that it did not work fairly. Would they never leave her at peace? she cried. As there was nothing more to be got out of them they had better go. And when she at length managed to get rid of them, she again began to call in a coaxing voice: 'Only twenty sous a spin, gentlemen. Come and try one spin!'

At that moment M. Kahn, who had risen from his chair to look over the heads of the crowd, hastily sat down again. 'Here's Rougon coming!' he exclaimed. 'Let's pretend not to see him.'

Rougon was slowly making his way up the hall. He stopped first at Madame Bouchard's tent, tried his fortune at the lucky-wheel, and afterwards purchased a rose from Madame de Combelot for three louis. Having thus contributed to the funds of the charity, he seemed inclined to take his departure. He elbowed his way through the throng, already turning towards one of the doors. But all at once, having glanced into the refreshment room, he abruptly altered his course, and entered the buffet, proudly, calmly, with head erect. M. d'Escorailles and M. La Rouquette had now taken seats beside M. Kahn, M. Béjuin, and the colonel. M. Bouchard also came up and joined them. And all of them trembled slightly as the minister passed by, so big and strong did he seem to them with those massive limbs of his. He greeted them familiarly in a loud distinct voice and seated himself at a neighbouring table. He kept his broad face raised, and turned it slowly to the right and left as though anxious to confront unflinchingly the glances which he felt were fixed upon him.

Clorinde stepped up to him, dragging her heavy yellow train majestically behind her. 'What will you take?' she asked him, affecting a vulgarity of manners not untinged with raillery.

'Ah, that's the question,' he answered gaily. 'I never drink anything, you know. What have you got?'

Clorinde went rapidly through her list of liqueurs; brandy, rum, curaçoa, kirsch-water, chartreuse, vespétro, anisette, and kummel.

'No, no, I won't have any of those. Give me a glass of sugared water.'

She went off to the counter, and came back with the glass of sugared water, still preserving an air of goddess-like majesty. And she lingered in front of Rougon, watching him stir the sugar. The minister continued to smile, making the first commonplace remarks that suggested themselves to him. 'You are well, I hope? It is an age since I saw you.'

'I have been at Fontainebleau,' she quietly replied.

Rougon raised his eyes, and gave her a searching glance. But in her turn she began to question him. 'And are you well pleased?' she asked. 'Is everything going on as you wish it?'

'Yes, quite so,' the minister replied.

'Oh! so much the better.'

For a moment she turned around him with all the attention of a professional waiter. But her malicious flashing eyes were fixed on him, as though she were every moment going to overwhelm him with her triumph. At last, as she was making up her mind to leave him, she raised herself upon tip-toes, and cast a glance into the adjoining hall. And thereupon she touched Rougon's shoulder. 'There is some one looking for you, I believe,' she said, with an animated expression on her face.

Merle indeed was respectfully threading his way between the neighbouring chairs and tables. He made three bows, one after the other, and begged his excellency to excuse him; but, said he, the letter which his excellency had been expecting all the morning had arrived, and, although he had received no instructions, he had thought----

'Yes, yes, all right; give it to me,' interrupted Rougon.

The usher handed him a large envelope, and then went off to prowl about the bazaar. Rougon had recognised the writing at a glance. It was an autograph letter from the Emperor in answer to the one proffering his resignation. A chilly perspiration mounted to his brow; still he showed no sign of pallor, but quietly slipped the letter into the inner pocket of his coat, without ceasing to meet the glances that were directed upon him from M. Kahn's table. Clorinde had just gone to speak a few words to the latter gentleman; and the whole band was now watching Rougon with feverish curiosity.

However, Clorinde returned and again stood in front of him, while he drank half his glassful of sugared water, and thought of some compliment to address to her.

'You are looking quite lovely to-day. If queens turn themselves into waiting-maids----'

But she cut his compliment short. 'You haven't read your letter then?' she said audaciously.

For a moment he affected forgetfulness; and then all at once pretended to recollect. 'Oh, yes, that letter. I'll read it at once, if it will give you any pleasure.'

He opened the envelope carefully with a penknife, and at a glance read the brief letter inside it. The Emperor accepted his resignation. For nearly a minute he kept the letter before his face as though he were reading it over again. He felt afraid lest he should not be able to maintain a calm expression. A terrible protest was rising within him; a rebellion of his whole strength, which was unwilling to accept this downfall, shook him to his very bones. If he had not sternly restrained himself, he would have shouted aloud, and have smashed the table with his ponderous fists. And with his eyes still fixed upon the letter, he pictured the Emperor as he had seen him at Saint Cloud renewing his expressions of confidence, and confirming his previous instructions with soft words and ceaseless smile. What long devised plan of disgrace had Napoleon been maturing behind that impenetrable expression of his, that he should now so suddenly have crushed him in a night, after a score of times insisting on his retaining office?

At last, by a mighty effort, Rougon conquered his emotion. He raised his face again, and it appeared unruffled. Then he put the letter back into his pocket with a careless gesture. But Clorinde, whose hands rested upon the little table, stooped eagerly towards him, and with quivering, eager lips exclaimed: 'I knew it all. I was there this morning--my poor friend!'

Then she went on to pity him in so cruelly mocking a voice that he again looked keenly at her. She had ceased to dissemble now. She had at last reached the triumph to which she had been looking forward for months past, and she spoke slowly and deliberately, savouring the sweetness of being at last able to show herself his implacable and avenged foe.

'I was unable to defend you,' she continued. 'You are doubtless not aware----' Then she broke off, and said with a cutting expression: 'Guess who succeeds you as Minister of the Interior!'

He made a gesture expressive of indifference; but she still kept her eyes fixed on him, and at last let these words fall: 'My husband!'

Rougon, whose mouth was parched, drank some more of the sugared water. Clorinde had thrown into her last two words the expression of all she felt, her anger at having been formerly despised, the rancour which she had so skilfully satisfied, her delight as a woman in having crushed a man who was credited with the highest abilities. And she allowed herself the pleasure of torturing him and abusing her victory. No doubt, said she, her husband wasn't a very clever person. She confessed it freely, and even joked about it; meaning to convey that the first comer would have done equally as well, and that she could have made Merle a minister if the whim had seized her. Yes, indeed, the usher Merle, or any other imbecile that she might have come across. Any one would have done to succeed Rougon. All this went to prove the omnipotence of woman. Then she assumed a motherly, protecting air, and began to lavish good advice.

'You see, my friend, as I've often told you, you made a mistake in despising women. Women are not the fools you imagine them to be. It used to make me quite angry to hear you speak of us as though we were idiots, mere cumbersome paraphernalia, even mill-stones about your neck. Look at my husband now! Have I been a mill-stone to him, do you think? I have been looking forward to show you all this. I promised myself this satisfaction, as you may perhaps remember, on the day when we had a certain conversation together. Now I hope I have convinced you. I willingly allow, my friend, that you are a very clever fellow; but be quite sure of this, that a woman can always topple you over if she chooses to take the trouble.'

Rougon had turned rather pale, still he smiled. 'Yes; I dare say you are right,' he said in a low voice, calling to mind all that had gone before.

He indulged in no recriminations. Clorinde had sucked some of his strength away from him to use it for his own overthrow; she had applied to his own ruin the lessons which she had learnt from him during those pleasant afternoons in the Rue Marbeuf. He was now drinking the cup of ingratitude and treason; but, man of experience that he was, he accepted it with all its bitterness. The only point which troubled him was whether he even now fully understood Clorinde. He thought of his former inquiries about her, his futile efforts to discover the secret workings of that majestic but erratic machine. Decidedly, he said to himself, the folly of man was great indeed.

Clorinde had twice left him for a moment to serve other customers; and, now that she had had full satisfaction, she again resumed her stately perambulations amidst the tables, affecting to take no further notice of him. He watched her, however, and saw her approach a gentleman with an immense beard, a foreigner, whose lavish prodigality was at that time quite exciting Paris. He was just finishing a glass of Malaga.

'How much, madame?' he inquired, rising from his seat.

'Five francs, monsieur. Everything is five francs a glass.'

He paid the money. 'And a kiss, how much is that?' he continued, in the same tone with his foreign accent.

'A hundred thousand francs,' answered Clorinde, without the slightest hesitation.

The foreigner sat down again, and wrote a few words on a page which he tore from a memorandum-book. Then he deposited a smacking kiss on Clorinde's cheek, paid for it, and went off in the most phlegmatic manner possible. All the people in the café smiled, much amused by the incident.

'It's only a question of paying the price,' murmured Clorinde, going up towards Rougon again.

He detected a fresh allusion in this remark. To him she had said 'Never!' And then, this man of chaste life, who had borne so bravely the stunning blow of his dismissal, began to feel keenly pained by the collar which Clorinde so impudently paraded. She stooped and swayed her neck as though to provoke him still further. The pearl tinkled in the golden bell; the chain hung low, still warm from the hands of the giver; and on the velvet flashed the diamond letters by which Rougon could easily read the secret known to everybody. And never before had he so keenly felt the bite of unconfessed jealousy, the burning envy which he had sometimes experienced in the presence of the all-powerful Emperor.

The young woman probably guessed the torment he was suffering, and it pleased her to inflict yet another pang upon him. She called his attention to Madame de Combelot, who was still selling her roses in the flower-stall. 'Ah! that poor Madame de Combelot!' she said, with a malicious laugh; 'she is still waiting!'

However, Rougon finished his sugared water. He felt as though he were choking. 'How much?' he stammered, taking out his purse.

'Five francs.'

When she had tossed the coin into the bag, Clorinde held out her hand again. 'Aren't you going to give anything to the waiter?' she asked playfully.

Rougon felt in his pocket and brought out a couple of sous, which he dropped into her hand. This insult was the only vengeance which his parvenu boorishness could think of. In spite of her self-possession, Clorinde blushed. But she quickly resumed her goddess-like demeanour, and went off bowing and saying: 'Thank you, your excellency.'

Rougon did not dare to rise immediately. His legs felt nerveless, he was afraid of tottering, and desired to go away as he had come, with a firm gait and calm expression. He particularly disliked having to pass his old friends and associates, whose straining ears and staring eyes had not lost a point of what had taken place. So for a few moments longer he let his glance wander over the room, feigning perfect indifference. He was thinking over what had happened. Another act of his political life had come to a conclusion. He had fallen, undermined, eaten away and ruined by his band. His heavy shoulders had collapsed beneath the weight of the responsibilities he had assumed, the acts of folly and injustice which he had perpetrated entirely on their account in his braggart craving to be a feared and generous chief. And his mighty muscles only made his fall the more ignominious. The very conditions on which he had held power: the necessity of having behind him a crowd of greedy appetites whose longings he must satisfy, of maintaining himself in his position by dint of abusing his credit, had made his fall merely a question of time. And he now recalled the slow efforts of his band, whose sharp teeth had day by day nibbled away some of his authority. They had thronged around him, hung on to his knees, then to his breast, then to his throat, and finally they had choked him. They had availed themselves of him in every way. They had used his feet to climb with, his hands to plunder with, his jaws to devour with. They had, so to say, used his body as their own, used it for their personal gratification, indulging in every fancy without a thought of the morrow. And now, having drained his body, and hearing its frame-work crack, they abandoned him like rats, whom instinct warns of the approaching collapse of a house, the foundations of which they have undermined. They were all sleek and flourishing, and they were already battening upon some one else. M. Kahn had just sold his railway line from Niort to Angers to M. de Marsy. In another week the colonel would be gazetted to an appointment in the imperial palaces. M. Bouchard had received a formal promise that his _protégé_, the interesting Georges Duchesne, should be appointed assistant head clerk as soon as Delestang entered upon his duties at the Ministry of the Interior. Madame Correur was rejoicing over a serious illness which had fallen on Madame Martineau, and already pictured herself residing in her house at Coulonges, where she would live comfortably, and play the part of a lady bountiful. M. Béjuin, on his side, was certain of the Emperor visiting his cut-glass works towards the autumn; and, lastly, M. d'Escorailles, after being seriously lectured by his parents, was rendering homage to Clorinde and winning a sub-prefecture merely by the look of admiration with which he watched her carrying glasses about the refreshment room. And Rougon, as he glanced at his glutted band, felt as though he had grown smaller, whereas they had attained to huge proportions, and were crushing him beneath their weight. And he did not dare to rise from his seat, for fear lest he should see them smile if he happened to totter.

By degrees, however, he grew more collected and then he at last stood up. And he was pushing the little zinc table aside to give himself room to pass, when Delestang entered the refreshment room on Count de Marsy's arm. There was a very curious story in circulation about the latter. If certain whisperings were to be believed, he had gone to Fontainebleau the previous week, while Clorinde was there, solely to facilitate the young woman's assignations with the Emperor, by entertaining and amusing the Empress, so as to divert her attention. To most people this seemed merely a piquant incident; but Rougon fancied he could detect in it a piece of revenge on the part of the Count, who had leagued himself with Clorinde to bring about his fall, thus turning against him the very weapons which had been successfully employed against himself some time previously at Compiègne. At all events, the Count, since his return from Fontainebleau, had kept perpetually in Delestang's company.

M. Kahn, M. Béjuin, the colonel, indeed the whole coterie, received the new minister with open arms. His appointment would not be officially notified in the _Moniteur_ till the following morning, when it would appear beneath the announcement of Rougon's resignation, but the decree was signed, and so they were at liberty to triumph. They greeted him with much vigorous hand-shaking, grinning, and whispered congratulation; indeed the presence of the crowd alone kept their enthusiasm within bounds. It was a gradual assumption of possession on the part of intimates, who kiss one's hands and one's feet before making one's entire body their prey. They already considered that Delestang belonged to them. One of them was holding him by the right arm, another by the left; a third had grasped one of the buttons of his coat, while a fourth, standing behind him, craned forward and breathed words of praise to the nape of his neck. Delestang, on his side, held his handsome head erect with affable dignity, preserving the stately yet imbecile demeanour of some monarch on his travels, such as one sees in official prints, receiving bouquets from the ladies of petty towns. Rougon looked at the group, very pale and stung to the quick by this triumph of mediocrity, and yet he could not restrain a smile. He remembered.

'I always predicted that Delestang would go a long way,' he said with a subtle expression to Count de Marsy, who had stepped up to him with outstretched hand.

The Count replied by a slight pout instinct with delicate irony. He had doubtless had much amusement since he had struck up a friendship with Delestang after rendering certain services to his wife. He detained Rougon for a moment, evincing the most refined politeness. Constant rivals as they were, antagonists by reason of their very temperaments, these two skilful men saluted each other at the termination of each of their duels, like enemies of equal strength who looked forward to an endless succession of return combats. Rougon had previously wounded Marsy; Marsy had now wounded Rougon; and so it would go on until one or other of them should be left dead on the field. It is possible that neither would have cared to see the other absolutely ruined, for their rivalry was at once a source of amusement and occupation. And, moreover, they vaguely felt that they were counterpoises necessary for the equilibrium of the Empire; one the shaggy fist which killed by a knock-down blow, the other the slender gloved hand which clutched the throat and strangled.

However, Delestang was a prey to painful embarrassment. He had seen Rougon, but he did not know whether he ought to step up and shake hands with him. In his perplexity, he glanced at Clorinde, who seemed absorbed in her duties and indifferent to everything else. She was now hurrying about the room with sandwiches and pastry. However, her husband thought he could gather instruction from a glance she cast at him, so he at last advanced towards Rougon, nervous and seeking to justify himself.

'I hope, my dear friend, that you don't bear me any ill will,' he said. 'I refused at first, but they forced me to accept. There are demands, you know----'

But Rougon interrupted him. The Emperor had acted in his wisdom, and the country would find itself in excellent hands.

At this Delestang took courage. 'I said all I could in your defence,' he continued. 'We all did. But really, between ourselves, you had gone a little too far. The greatest grievance against you was what you did in connection with the Charbonnel affair; the matter of those poor Sisters, you know----'

M. de Marsy restrained a smile.

'Oh, yes, the perquisition at the convent,' replied Rougon, with all the good humour of his successful days. 'Well, really, among the various acts of folly which my friends led me to commit, that was perhaps the only sensible and just act of my five months of power.'

He was already going off, when he noticed Du Poizat come in and seize hold of Delestang. The prefect pretended not to see him. For the last three days he had been hiding in Paris and waiting. And apparently he was now successful in his request to be transferred to another prefecture, for he began to express the most profuse thanks with a wolfish smile which revealed his irregular white teeth. Then, on the new minister turning round, Merle, whom Madame Correur had just pushed forward, almost fell into his arms. The usher kept his eyes lowered, like a big bashful girl, while Madame Correur spoke warmly in his favour.

'He is not a favourite in the office,' she murmured, 'because he protested by his silence against abuses of authority; and he saw some very strange ones under Monsieur Rougon!'

'Yes, yes; very strange ones indeed,' added Merle. 'I could tell a long story about them. Monsieur Rougon won't be much regretted. I've no reason to love him myself. It was all through him that I was nearly turned adrift.'

Rougon heard none of this; he was already slowly passing down the great hall, where the stalls were now quite denuded of their wares. To please the Empress, who was the patroness of the charity, the visitors had carried everything away; and the delighted stall-holders were talking of opening again in the evening with a fresh supply of goods. They counted up the money they had taken, and different sums were shouted out amidst peals of triumphant laughter. One lady had taken three thousand francs, another seven thousand, and another ten thousand. The last was radiant with delight at having made so much money.

Madame de Combelot, however, was in despair. She had just disposed of her last rose, and yet customers were still thronging round her kiosk. She stepped out of it to ask Madame Bouchard if she could not give her something to sell, no matter what. But the latter's lucky-wheel had likewise disposed of everything. A lady had just carried off the last prize, a doll's washing-basin. However, they obstinately hunted about, and at last found a bundle of tooth-picks, which had fallen on the ground. Madame de Combelot carried it off with a shout of triumph. Madame Bouchard followed her, and they both mounted into the kiosk.

'Gentlemen! gentlemen!' cried Madame de Combelot boldly, standing up, and collecting the men together with a beckoning sweep of her bare arm. 'This is all that we have left, a bundle of tooth-picks. There are twenty-five of them. I shall put them up to auction.'

The men jostled one another, laughing, and waving their gloved hands in the air. Madame de Combelot's idea was hailed with great enthusiasm.

'A tooth-pick!' she now cried. 'We'll start it at five francs. Now, gentlemen, five francs!'

'Ten francs!' said a voice.

'Twelve francs!'

'Fifteen francs!'

However, on M. d'Escorailles suddenly going up to a bid of twenty-five francs, Madame Bouchard quickly called out in her fluty voice: 'Sold for twenty-five francs!'

The other tooth-picks fetched still higher prices. M. La Rouquette paid forty-three francs for the one that was knocked down to him. Chevalier Rusconi, who had just made his appearance, bid as much as seventy-two francs for another one. And eventually the very last, a very small one, which was split, as Madame Combelot kindly announced, not wishing to impose upon her audience, was knocked down for a hundred and seventeen francs to an old gentleman whose eyes glistened at the sight of the young woman's heaving bosom, as she vigorously plied the calling of auctioneer.

'It is split, gentlemen, but it is still a serviceable article. We've got to a hundred and eight francs for it. A hundred and ten are bid over there! a hundred and eleven! a hundred and twelve! a hundred and thirteen! a hundred and fourteen! Come, a hundred and fourteen! It's worth more than that, gentlemen! A hundred and seventeen! A hundred and seventeen! Won't any one bid any more? Sold, then, for a hundred and seventeen francs!'

Pursued by these figures, Rougon left the hall. He slackened his steps when he reached the terrace overlooking the river. Stormy-looking clouds were rising in the distance. Below him, the Seine, greasy and dirty green, flowed sluggishly past the pale quays, along which the dust was sweeping. In the Tuileries gardens, puffs of hot air shook the trees, whose branches fell languidly, lifelessly, without a quiver of their leaves. Rougon took his way beneath the tall chestnuts. It was almost quite dark there, and the atmosphere was damp and clammy like that of a vault. As he emerged into the main avenue, he saw the Charbonnels sitting on a bench. They were quite transformed, magnificent. The husband wore light-coloured trousers and a frock-coat fitting tightly at the waist, while his wife sported a light mantle over a robe of lilac silk, and her bonnet was ornamented with red flowers. Astride one end of the bench, however, there was a ragged, shirtless fellow, wearing a wretched old shooting-jacket. He was gesticulating energetically, and gradually drawing nearer to the Charbonnels. It was Gilquin. Administering frequent slaps to his canvas cap, which kept on slipping off his head, he exclaimed: 'They're a parcel of scoundrels. Has Théodore ever tried to cheat any one out of a single copper? They invented a fine story about a military substitute in order to ruin me. Then, of course, as you can understand, I left them to get on as they could without me. Ah! they are afraid of me! They know very well what my political opinions are. I have never belonged to Badinguet's gang. I only regret one person down there,' he continued in a lower tone, leaning forward and rolling his eyes sentimentally. 'Ah! such an adorable woman, a lady of society! She was fair. I had some of her hair given me.' Then, edging himself up to Madame Charbonnel, he broke into a loud voice again, and tapped her on the knee. 'Well, old lady, when are you going to take me with you to Plassans to taste those preserves of yours--the apples and the cherries and the jam? You've got your nest pretty well lined now, eh?'

But the Charbonnels seemed to be much annoyed by Gilquin's familiarity. 'We are stopping in Paris for some time,' replied Madame Charbonnel, stiffly, while gathering up her lilac silk dress. 'We shall probably spend six months here every year.'

'Ah, yes,' added her husband with an air of profound admiration, 'Paris is the only place!' Then as the gusts of wind became stronger, and a troop of nurses with children passed hastily through the garden, he resumed, turning to his wife, 'We had better be getting home my dear, if we don't want to be soaked through. Fortunately, we have only a step or two to take.'

They were now staying at the Hôtel du Palais Royal in the Rue de Rivoli. Gilquin watched them go off, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. 'So they leave me in the lurch too!' he muttered. 'Ah, they're all alike.'

But then he suddenly caught sight of Rougon, and, rising with a swagger, he waited for him to pass. 'I haven't been to see you yet,' he said, again tapping his cap. 'I hope you're not offended. That mountebank Du Poizat has told you some fine stories about me, I dare say. But they are all lies, my good fellow, as I can prove to you whenever you like. Well, for my part I don't bear you any ill will; and I'll prove it by giving you my address, 25 Rue du Bon Puits, at La Chapelle, five minutes' walk from the barrier. So if I can be of any further use to you, you see, you have merely to let me know.'

Then he walked away with a slouching gait. For a moment he glanced round as if taking his bearings, and then, shaking his fist at the Tuileries, which showed grey and gloomy beneath the black sky at the end of the avenue, he cried: 'Long live the Republic!'

Rougon passed out of the garden and went up the Champs Élysées. He experienced a strong desire to go and look at his little house in the Rue Marbeuf. He intended to quit his official residence on the morrow and again instal himself in his old home. He felt tired but calm, with just a slight pain in the depths of his being. He already dreamt hazily of some day proving his powers by again doing great things. Every now and then, too, he raised his head and looked at the sky. The rain did not seem inclined to come down just yet, though the horizon was streaked with coppery clouds, and loud claps of thunder travelled over the deserted avenue of the Champs Élysées, with a crash like that of some detachment of artillery at full gallop. The crests of the trees shook with the reverberation. As Rougon turned the corner of the Rue Marbeuf the first drops of rain began to fall.

A brougham was standing in front of the house, and Rougon found his wife examining the rooms, measuring the windows and giving orders to an upholsterer. He felt much surprised, but she explained to him that she had just seen her brother, M. Beulin-d'Orchère. The judge, who had already heard of Rougon's fall, had desired to overwhelm his sister, and after informing her of his approaching assumption of office as Minister of Justice, he had again tried to create discord between her and her husband. Madame Rougon, however, had merely ordered her brougham to be got ready, so that she might at once prepare for removal into their old house. She still retained a calm, pale, nun-like face, the unchangeable serenity of a good housewife. And with faint steps she went through the rooms, again taking possession of that house which she had indued with such cloistral quietude. Her only thought was to administer like a faithful stewardess the fortune which had been entrusted to her. Rougon felt quite touched at the sight of her spare withered face and all her scrupulous attention.

However, the storm now burst with tremendous violence. The thunder pealed and the rain came down in torrents. Rougon was obliged to remain there for nearly three quarters of an hour, for he wanted to walk back. When he set out again the Champs Élysées was a mass of mud, yellow liquid mud, which stretched from the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde like the bed of a freshly drained river. In the avenue there were but few pedestrians, who carefully picked their way along the kerbstones. The trees stood dripping in the calm fresh air. Overhead in the heavens the storm had left a trail of ragged coppery clouds, a low murky veil, from which fell a glimmer of weird, mournful light.

Rougon had again lapsed into his dreams for the future. He felt stiff and bruised, as though he had come into violent collision with some obstacle that had blocked his progress. But suddenly he heard a loud noise, behind him, the approach of galloping hoofs which made the ground tremble. He turned to see what it could be.

It was a _cortège_ dashing through the mire of the roadway beneath the faint glimmer of the coppery sky, a _cortège_ returning from the Bois and illumining the dimness of the Champs Élysées with the brilliance of uniforms. In front and behind galloped detachments of dragoons. And in the centre there was a closed landau drawn by four horses and flanked by two mounted equerries in gorgeous gold-embroidered uniforms, each of them imperturbably enduring the splashing of the mire, which was covering them from their high boots to their cocked hats. And inside the dim closed carriage only a child was to be seen, the Prince Imperial, who gazed out of the window, with his ten fingers and his red nose pressed to the glass.