But Silvere shrugged his shoulders.  “Let me pass,” he calmly replied.  “I’m not a police-spy; I shall not reveal your hiding-place, never fear.”  And as Rougon continued to speak of the family dignity and the authority with which his seniority invested him:  “Do I belong to your family?” the young man continued.  “You have always disowned me.  To-day, fear has driven you here, because you feel that the day of judgment has arrived.  Come, make way!  I don’t hide myself; I have a duty to perform.”

Rougon did not stir.  But Aunt Dide, who had listened with a sort of delight to Silvere’s vehement language, laid her withered hand on her son’s arm.  “Get out of the way, Pierre,” she said; “the lad must go.”

The young man gave his uncle a slight shove, and dashed outside.  Then Rougon, having carefully shut the door again, said to his mother in an angry, threatening tone:  “If any mischief happens to him it will be your fault.  You’re an old mad-woman; you don’t know what you’ve just done.”

Adelaide, however, did not appear to hear him.  She went and threw some vine-branches on the fire, which was going out, and murmured with a vague smile:  “I’m used to it.  He would remain away for months together, and then come back to me in much better health.”

She was no doubt speaking of Macquart.

In the meantime, Silvere hastily regained the market-place.  As he approached the spot where he had left Miette, he heard a loud uproar of voices and saw a crowd which made him quicken his steps.  A cruel scene had just occurred.  Some inquisitive people were walking among the insurgents, while the latter quietly partook of their meal.  Amongst these onlookers was Justin Rebufat, the son of the farmer of the Jas-Meiffren, a youth of twenty years old, a sickly, squint-eyed creature, who harboured implacable hatred against his cousin Miette.  At home he grudged her the bread she ate, and treated her like a beggar picked up from the gutter out of charity.  It is probable that the young girl had rejected his advances.  Lank and pale, with ill-proportioned limbs and face all awry, he revenged himself upon her for his own ugliness, and the contempt which the handsome, vigorous girl must have evinced for him.  He ardently longed to induce his father to send her about her business; and for this reason he was always spying upon her.  For some time past, he had become aware of the meetings with Silvere, and had only awaited a decisive opportunity to reveal everything to his father, Rebufat.

On the evening in question, having seen her leave home at about eight o’clock, Justin’s hatred had overpowered him, and he had been unable to keep silent any longer.  Rebufat, on hearing his story, fell into a terrible rage, and declared that he would kick the gadabout out of his house should she have the audacity to return.  Justin then went to bed, relishing beforehand the fine scene which would take place on the morrow.  Then, however,