ad said to them with his kindly smile: "Well, perhaps you
are right, my friends; fight if you like, I shall be here to patch up
your arms and legs."

Then, in the morning he began to gather pebbles and plants along the
high road. He regretted that he had not brought his geologist's hammer
and botanical wallet with him. His pockets were now so full of stones
that they were almost bursting, while bundles of long herbs peered forth
from the surgeon's case which he carried under his arm.

"Hallo! You here, my lad?" he cried, as he perceived Silvere. "I thought
I was the only member of the family here."

He spoke these last words with a touch of irony, as if deriding the
intrigues of his father and his uncle Antoine. Silvere was very glad
to meet his cousin; the doctor was the only one of the Rougons who
ever shook hands with him in the street, and showed him any sincere
friendship. Seeing him, therefore, still covered with dust from the
march, the young man thought him gained over to the Republican cause,
and was much delighted thereat. He talked to the doctor, with youthful
magniloquence, of the people's rights, their holy cause, and their
certain triumph. Pascal smiled as he listened, and watched the youth's
gestures and the ardent play of his features with curiosity, as though
he were studying a patient, or analysing an enthusiasm, to ascertain
what might be at the bottom of it.

"How you run on! How you run on!" he finally exclaimed. "Ah! you are
your grandmother's true grandson." And, in a whisper, he added, like
some chemist taking notes: "Hysteria or enthusiasm, shameful madness
or sublime madness. It's always those terrible nerves!" Then, again
speaking aloud, as if summing up the matter, he said: "The family is
complete now. It will count a hero among its members."

Silvere did not hear him. He was still talking of his dear Republic.
Miette had dropped a few paces off; she was still wrapped in her large
red pelisse. She and Silvere had traversed the town arm-in-arm.
The sight of this tall red girl at last puzzled Pascal, and again
interrupting his cousin, he asked him: "Who is this child with you?"

"She is my wife," Silvere gravely answered.

The doctor opened his eyes wide, for he did not understand. He was very
shy with women; however, he raised his hat to Miette as he went away.

The night proved an anxious one. Forebodings of misfortune swept over
the insurgents. The enthusiasm and confidence of the pr