ad several times felt a mad inclination to break
into his two hundred francs at some neighbouring cafe. This money was
burning a hole in his waistcoat pocket; however, he whiled away his time
by spending it in imagination. His mother moved about, in her stiff,
automatic way, as if she were not even aware of his presence. During the
last few days her children had been coming to her rather frequently,
in a state of pallor and desperation, but she departed neither from her
taciturnity, nor her stiff, lifeless expression. She knew nothing of
the fears which were throwing the pent-up town topsy-turvy, she was a
thousand leagues away from Plassans, soaring into the one constant
fixed idea which imparted such a blank stare to her eyes. Now and again,
however, at this particular moment, some feeling of uneasiness, some
human anxiety, occasionally made her blink. Antoine, unable to resist
the temptation of having something nice to eat, sent her to get a roast
chicken from an eating-house in the Faubourg. When it was set on the
table: "Hey!" he said to her, "you don't often eat fowl, do you? It's
only for those who work, and know how to manage their affairs. As for
you, you always squandered everything. I bet you're giving all your
savings to that little hypocrite, Silvere. He's got a mistress, the sly
fellow. If you've a hoard of money hidden in some corner, he'll ease you
of it nicely some day."

Macquart was in a jesting mood, glowing with wild exultation. The money
he had in his pocket, the treachery he was preparing, the conviction
that he had sold himself at a good price--all filled him with the
self-satisfaction characteristic of vicious people who naturally
became merry and scornful amidst their evil practices. Of all his talk,
however, aunt Dide only heard Silvere's name.

"Have you seen him?" she asked, opening her lips at last.

"Who? Silvere?" Antoine replied. "He was walking about among the
insurgents with a tall red girl on his arm. It will serve him right if
he gets into trouble."

The grandmother looked at him fixedly, then, in a solemn voice,
inquired: "Why?"

"Eh! Why, he shouldn't be so stupid," resumed Macquart, feeling somewhat
embarrassed. "People don't risk their necks for the sake of ideas. I've
settled my own little business. I'm no fool."

But aunt Dide was no longer listening to him. She was murmuring: "He had
his hands covered with blood. They'll kill him like the other one. His
uncles will send