oins, went through the movements in an automatic fashion. When he gave
the orders, his voice was gruff.

"Draw in your bellies!"

And immediately, Bouvard, keeping back his breath, drew in his stomach,
and stretched out his buttocks.

"Good God! you're not told to make an arch."

Pecuchet confused the ranks and the files, half-turns to the right and
half-turns to the left; but the most pitiable sight was the
schoolmaster: weak and of a slim figure, with a ring of fair beard
around his neck, he staggered under the weight of his gun, the bayonet
of which incommoded his neighbours.

They wore trousers of every colour, dirty shoulder-belts, old
regimentals that were too short, leaving their shirts visible over their
flanks; and each of them pretended that he had not the means of doing
otherwise. A subscription was started to clothe the poorest of them.
Foureau was niggardly, while women made themselves conspicuous. Madame
Bordin gave five francs, in spite of her hatred of the Republic. M. de
Faverges equipped a dozen men, and was not missing at the drill. Then he
took up his quarters at the grocer's, and gave those who came in first a
drink.

The powerful then began fawning on the lower class. Everyone went after
the working-men. People intrigued for the favour of being associated
with them. They became nobles.

Those of the canton were, for the most part, weavers; others worked in
the cotton mills or at a paper factory lately established.

Gorju fascinated them by his bluster, taught them the shoe trick,[16]
and brought those whom he treated as chums to Madame Castillon's house
for a drink.

But the peasants were more numerous, and on market days M. de Faverges
would walk about the green, make inquiries as to their wants, and try to
convert them to his own ideas. They listened without answering, like
Pere Gouy, ready to accept any government so long as it reduced the
taxes.

By dint of babbling, Gorju was making a name for himself. Perhaps they
might send him into the Assembly!

M. de Faverges also was thinking of it, while seeking not to compromise
himself.

The Conservatives oscillated between Foureau and Marescot, but, as the
notary stuck to his office, Foureau was chosen--a boor, an idiot. The
doctor waxed indignant. Rejected in the competition, he regretted Paris,
and the consciousness of his wasted life gave him a morose air. A more
distinguished career was about to open for him--what a revenge! He dr