d that the dignity of the Republic required
its removal. For this, as they feared the displeasure of the working
classes, they selected an advanced hour of the night. However, the
conservative householders of the new town got wind of the little
ceremony, and all came down to the square before the Sub-Prefecture in
order to see how the tree of Liberty would fall. The frequenters of the
yellow drawing-room stationed themselves at the windows there. When the
poplar cracked and fell with a thud in the darkness, as tragically rigid
as some mortally stricken hero, Felicite felt bound to wave a white
handkerchief. This induced the crowd to applaud, and many responded to
the salute by waving their handkerchiefs likewise. A group of people
even came under the window shouting: "We'll bury it, we'll bury it."

They meant the Republic, no doubt. Such was Felicite's emotion, that
she almost had a nervous attack. It was a fine evening for the yellow
drawing-room.

However, the marquis still looked at Felicite with the same mysterious
smile. This little old man was far too shrewd to be ignorant of whither
France was tending. He was among the first to scent the coming of the
Empire. When the Legislative Assembly, later on, exhausted its energies
in useless squabbling, when the Orleanists and the Legitimists tacitly
accepted the idea of the Coup d'Etat, he said to himself that the
game was definitely lost. In fact, he was the only one who saw things
clearly. Vuillet certainly felt that the cause of Henry V., which his
paper defended, was becoming detestable; but it mattered little to him;
he was content to be the obedient creature of the clergy; his entire
policy was framed so as to enable him to dispose of as many rosaries and
sacred images as possible. As for Roudier and Granoux, they lived in
a state of blind scare; it was not certain whether they really had any
opinions; all that they desired was to eat and sleep in peace; their
political aspirations went no further. The marquis, though he had bidden
farewell to his hopes, continued to come to the Rougons' as regularly as
ever. He enjoyed himself there. The clash of rival ambitions among
the middle classes, and the display of their follies, had become an
extremely amusing spectacle to him. He shuddered at the thought of again
shutting himself in the little room which he owed to the beneficence of
the Count de Valqueyras. With a kind of malicious delight, he kept to
himself the conv