wealthy nobility of the Saint-Marc quarter were slumbering in
mute despair, fearing, perhaps that they might compromise themselves and
again be condemned to exile, he multiplied himself, as it were, spread
the propaganda and rallied faithful ones together. He was a weapon whose
hilt was held by an invisible hand. From that time forward he paid daily
visits to the Rougons. He required a centre of operations. His relative,
Monsieur de Valqueyras, had forbidden him to bring any of his associates
into his house, so he had chosen Felicite's yellow drawing-room.
Moreover, he very soon found Pierre a valuable assistant. He could not
go himself and preach the cause of Legitimacy to the petty traders and
workmen of the old quarter; they would have hooted him. Pierre, on the
other hand, who had lived among these people, spoke their language and
knew their wants, was able to catechise them in a friendly way. He thus
became an indispensable man. In less than a fortnight the Rougons were
more determined royalists than the king himself. The marquis, perceiving
Pierre's zeal, shrewdly sheltered himself behind him. What was the use
of making himself conspicuous, when a man with such broad shoulders was
willing to bear on them the burden of all the follies of a party? He
allowed Pierre to reign, puff himself out with importance and speak
with authority, content to restrain or urge him on, according to
the necessities of the cause. Thus, the old oil-dealer soon became a
personage of mark. In the evening, when they were alone, Felicite used
to say to him: "Go on, don't be frightened. We're on the right track. If
this continues we shall be rich; we shall have a drawing-room like the
tax-receiver's, and be able to entertain people."

A little party of Conservatives had already been formed at the Rougons'
house, and meetings were held every evening in the yellow drawing-room
to declaim against the Republic.

Among those who came were three or four retired merchants who trembled
for their money, and clamoured with all their might for a wise and
strong government. An old almond-dealer, a member of the Municipal
Council, Monsieur Isidore Granoux, was the head of this group. His
hare-lipped mouth was cloven a little way from the nose; his round eyes,
his air of mingled satisfaction and astonishment, made him resemble a
fat goose whose digestion is attended by wholesome terror of the cook.
He spoke little, having no command of words; and he only