“There’s a great article in this by Rochefort.  That fellow is a wonder!”

He read it aloud, emphasizing the parts which especially pleased him, so carried away by enthusiasm that he did not notice his friend’s entrance.  Monsieur de Meroul was holding in his hand the Gaulois for himself, the Clarion for his wife.

The fiery prose of the master writer who overthrew the empire, spouted with violence, sung in the southern accent, rang throughout the peaceful parsons seemed to spatter the walls and century-old furniture with a hail of bold, ironical and destructive words.

The man and the woman, one standing, the other sitting, were listening with astonishment, so shocked that they could not move.

In a burst of eloquence Mouradour finished the last paragraph, then exclaimed triumphantly: 

“Well! that’s pretty strong!”

Then, suddenly, he noticed the two sheets which his friend was carrying, and he, in turn, stood speechless from surprise.  Quickly walking toward him he demanded angrily: 

“What are you doing with those papers?”

Monsieur de Meroul answered hesitatingly: 

“Why—­those—­those are my papers!”

“Your papers!  What are you doing—­making fun of me?  You will do me the pleasure of reading mine; they will limber up your ideas, and as for yours—­there! that’s what I do with them.”

And before his astonished host could stop him, he had seized the two newspapers and thrown them out of the window.  Then he solemnly handed the Justice to Madame de Meroul, the Voltaire to her husband, while he sank down into an arm-chair to finish reading the Intransigeant.

The couple, through delicacy, made a pretense of reading a little, they then handed him back the Republican sheets, which they handled gingerly, as though they might be poisoned.

He laughed and declared: 

“One week of this regime and I will have you converted to my ideas.”

In truth, at the end of a week he ruled the house.  He had closed the door against the priest, whom Madame de Meroul had to visit secretly; he had forbidden the Gaulois and the Clarion to be brought into the house, so that a servant had to go mysteriously to the post-office to get them, and as soon as he entered they would be hidden under sofa cushions; he arranged everything to suit himself—­always charming, always good-natured, a jovial and all-powerful tyrant.

Other friends were expected, pious and conservative friends.  The unhappy couple saw the impossibility of having them there then, and, not knowing what to do, one evening they announced to Joseph Mouradour that they would be obliged to absent themselves for a few days, on business, and they begged him to stay on alone.  He did not appear disturbed, and answered: 

“Very well, I don’t mind!  I will wait here as long as you wish.  I have already said that there should be no formality between friends.  You are perfectly right-go ahead and attend to your business.  It will not offend me in the least; quite the contrary, it will make me feel much more completely one of the family.  Go ahead, my friends, I will wait for you!”