o through with the matter to the end.
At the town-hall, Rougon found only four members of the Commission in
attendance; the others had sent excuses, they were really ill. Panic
had been sweeping through the town with growing violence all through the
morning. The gentlemen had not been able to keep quiet respecting the
memorable night they had spent on the terrace of the Valqueyras mansion.
Their servants had hastened to spread the news, embellishing it with
various dramatic details. By this time it had already become a matter of
history that from the heights of Plassans troops of cannibals had been
seen dancing and devouring their prisoners. Yes, bands of witches had
circled hand in hand round their caldrons in which they were boiling
children, while on and on marched endless files of bandits, whose
weapons glittered in the moonlight. People spoke too of bells that of
their own accord, sent the tocsin ringing through the desolate air,
and it was even asserted that the insurgents had fired the neighbouring
forests, so that the whole country side was in flames.

It was Tuesday, the market-day at Plassans, and Roudier had thought it
necessary to have the gates opened in order to admit the few peasants
who had brought vegetables, butter, and eggs. As soon as it had
assembled, the Municipal Commission, now composed of five members only,
including its president, declared that this was unpardonable imprudence.
Although the sentinel stationed at the Valqueyras mansion had seen
nothing, the town ought to have been kept closed. Then Rougon decided
that the public crier, accompanied by a drummer, should go through the
streets, proclaim a state of siege, and announce to the inhabitants
that whoever might go out would not be allowed to return. The gates were
officially closed in broad daylight. This measure, adopted in order to
reassure the inhabitants, raised the scare to its highest pitch. And
there could scarcely have been a more curious sight than that of this
little city, thus padlocking and bolting itself up beneath the bright
sunshine, in the middle of the nineteenth century.

When Plassans had buckled and tightened its belt of dilapidated
ramparts, when it had bolted itself in like a besieged fortress at
the approach of an assault, the most terrible anguish passed over the
mournful houses. At every moment, in the centre of the town, people
fancied they could hear a discharge of musketry in the Faubourgs. They
no longer rece