the story had spread
from one end of the town to the other. Rougon's name flew from mouth to
mouth, with exclamations of surprise in the new town, and of praise in
the old quarter. The idea of being without a sub-prefect, a mayor, a
postmaster, a receiver of taxes, or authorities of any kind, at first
threw the inhabitants into consternation. They were stupefied at having
been able to sleep through the night and get up as usual, in the
absence of any settled government. Their first stupor over, they
threw themselves recklessly into the arms of their liberators. The few
Republicans shrugged their shoulders, but the petty shopkeepers, the
small householders, the Conservatives of all shades, invoked blessings
on those modest heroes whose achievements had been shrouded by the
night. When it was known that Rougon had arrested his own brother, the
popular admiration knew no bounds. People talked of Brutus, and thus the
indiscretion which had made Pierre rather anxious, really redounded
to his glory. At this moment when terror still hovered over them,
the townsfolk were virtually unanimous in their gratitude. Rougon was
accepted as their saviour without the slightest show of opposition.

"Just think of it!" the poltroons exclaimed, "there were only forty-one
of them!"

That number of forty-one amazed the whole town, and this was the
origin of the Plassans legend of how forty-one bourgeois had made three
thousand insurgents bite the dust. There were only a few envious spirits
of the new town, lawyers without work and retired military men ashamed
of having slept ingloriously through that memorable night, who raised
any doubts. The insurgents, these sceptics hinted, had no doubt left
the town of their own accord. There were no indications of a combat,
no corpses, no blood-stains. So the deliverers had certainly had a very
easy task.

"But the mirror, the mirror!" repeated the enthusiasts. "You can't deny
that the mayor's mirror has been smashed; go and see it for yourselves."

And, in fact, until night-time, quite a stream of town's-people flowed,
under one pretext or another, into the mayor's private office, the door
of which Rougon left wide open. The visitors planted themselves in front
of the mirror, which the bullet had pierced and starred, and they all
gave vent to the same exclamation: "By Jove; that ball must have had
terrible force!"

Then they departed quite convinced.

Felicite, at her window, listened with deli