as about to take place. Granoux walked straight up to Rougon, through
two lines of visitors, and held out his hand to him.

"My friend," he said, "I bring you the homage of the Municipal Council.
They call you to their head, until our mayor shall be restored to us.
You have saved Plassans. In the terrible crisis through which we are
passing we want men who, like yourself, unite intelligence with courage.
Come--"

At this point Granoux, who was reciting a little speech which he had
taken great trouble to prepare on his way from the Town Hall to the
Rue de la Banne felt his memory fail him. But Rougon, overwhelmed with
emotion, broke in, shaking his hand and repeating: "Thank you, my dear
Granoux; I thank you very much."

He could find nothing else to say. However, a loud burst of voices
followed. Every one rushed upon him, tried to shake hands, poured forth
praises and compliments, and eagerly questioned him. But he, already
putting on official dignity, begged for a few minutes' delay in order
that he might confer with Messieurs Granoux and Roudier. Business before
everything. The town was in such a critical situation! Then the three
accomplices retired to a corner of the drawing-room, where, in an
undertone, they divided power amongst themselves; the rest of the
visitors, who remained a few paces away, trying meanwhile to look
extremely wise and furtively glancing at them with mingled admiration
and curiosity. It was decided that Rougon should take the title of
president of the Municipal Commission; Granoux was to be secretary;
whilst, as for Roudier, he became commander-in-chief of the reorganised
National Guard. They also swore to support each other against all
opposition.

However, Felicite, who had drawn near, abruptly inquired: "And Vuillet?"

At this they looked at each other. Nobody had seen Vuillet. Rougon
seemed somewhat uneasy.

"Perhaps they've taken him away with the others," he said, to ease his
mind.

But Felicite shook her head. Vuillet was not the man to let himself be
arrested. Since nobody had seen or heard him, it was certain he had been
doing something wrong.

Suddenly the door opened and Vuillet entered, bowing humbly, with
blinking glance and stiff sacristan's smile. Then he held out his moist
hand to Rougon and the two others.

Vuillet had settled his little affairs alone. He had cut his own slice
out of the cake, as Felicite would have said. While peeping through
the ventilator of his