there was
an interruption.

"And you were only forty-one; it's marvellous!"

"Ah, indeed! it must have been frightfully dark!"

"No; I confess I never should have dared it!"

"Then you seized him, like that, by the throat?

"And the insurgents, what did they say?"

These remarks and questions only incited Rougon's imagination the more.
He replied to everybody. He mimicked the action. This stout man, in his
admiration of his own achievements, became as nimble as a schoolboy; he
began afresh, repeated himself, amidst the exclamations of surprise and
individual discussions which suddenly arose about some trifling detail.
And thus he continued blowing his trumpet, making himself more and
more important as if some irresistible force impelled him to turn his
narrative into a genuine epic. Moreover Granoux and Roudier stood by
his side prompting him, reminding him of such trifling matters as he
omitted. They also were burning to put in a word, and occasionally
they could not restrain themselves, so that all three went on talking
together. When, in order to keep the episode of the broken mirror for
the denouement, like some crowning glory, Rougon began to describe what
had taken place downstairs in the courtyard, after the arrest of the
guard, Roudier accused him of spoiling the narrative by changing
the sequence of events. For a moment they wrangled about it somewhat
sharply. Then Roudier, seeing a good opportunity for himself, suddenly
exclaimed: "Very well, let it be so. But you weren't there. So let me
tell it."

He thereupon explained at great length how the insurgents had awoke, and
how the muskets of the town's deliverers had been levelled at them to
reduce them to impotence. He added, however, that no blood, fortunately,
had been shed. This last sentence disappointed his audience, who had
counted upon one corpse at least.

"But I thought you fired," interrupted Felicite, recognising that the
story was wretchedly deficient in dramatic interest.

"Yes, yes, three shots," resumed the old hosier. "The pork-butcher
Dubruel, Monsieur Lievin, and Monsieur Massicot discharged their guns
with really culpable alacrity." And as there were some murmurs at this
remark; "Culpable, I repeat the word," he continued. "There are quite
enough cruel necessities in warfare without any useless shedding of
blood. Besides, these gentlemen swore to me that it was not their fault;
they can't understand how it was their guns went off.