the family had
ever been on his side; neither Aristide, nor Silvere's brother, nor
Silvere himself, who was a fool to grow so enthusiastic about the
Republic and would never do any good for himself. Then Macquart
reflected that his wife was dead, that his children had left him, and
that he would die alone, like a dog in some wretched corner, without a
copper to bless himself with. Decidedly, he ought to have sold himself
to the reactionary party. Pondering in this fashion, he eyed the
washstand, feeling a strong inclination to go and wash his hands with a
certain powder soap which he saw in a glass jar. Like all lazy fellows
who live upon their wives or children, he had foppish tastes. Although
he wore patched trousers, he liked to inundate himself with aromatic
oil. He spent hours with his barber, who talked politics, and brushed
his hair for him between their discussions. So, at last, the temptation
became too strong, and Macquart installed himself before the washstand.
He washed his hands and face, dressed his hair, perfumed himself, in
fact went through a complete toilet. He made use in turn of all the
bottles, all the various soaps and powders; but his greatest pleasure
was to dry his hands with the mayor's towels, which were so soft and
thick. He buried his wet face in them, and inhaled, with delight, all
the odour of wealth. Then, having pomaded himself, and smelling sweetly
from head to foot, he once more stretched himself on the sofa, feeling
quite youthful again, and disposed to the most conciliatory thoughts. He
felt yet greater contempt for the Republic since he had dipped his nose
into Monsieur Garconnet's phials. The idea occurred to him that there
was, perhaps, still time for him to make peace with his brother. He
wondered what he might well ask in return for playing the traitor. His
rancour against the Rougons still gnawed at his heart; but he was in one
of those moods when, lying on one's back in silence, one is apt to admit
stern facts, and scold oneself for neglecting to feather a comfortable
nest in which one may wallow in slothful ease, even at the cost of
relinquishing one's most cherished animosities. Towards evening Antoine
determined to send for his brother on the following day. But when, in
the morning, he saw Felicite enter the room he understood that his aid
was wanted, so he remained on his guard.

The negotiations were long and full of pitfalls, being conducted on
either side with infinite