Pierre then paused for a moment on the deserted pavement, heaving a deep sigh of relief and triumph.  So those rascals had really abandoned Plassans to him.  The town belonged to him now; it slept like the foolish thing it was; there it lay, dark and tranquil, silent and confident, and he had only to stretch out his hand to take possession of it.  That brief halt, the supercilious glance which he cast over the drowsy place, thrilled him with unspeakable delight.  He remained there, alone in the darkness, and crossed his arms, in the attitude of a great general on the eve of a victory.  He could hear nothing in the distance but the murmur of the fountains of the Cours Sauvaire, whose jets of water fell into the basins with a musical plashing.

Then he began to feel a little uneasy.  What if the Empire should unhappily have been established without his aid?  What if Sicardot, Garconnet, and Peirotte, instead of being arrested and led away by the insurrectionary band, had shut the rebels up in prison?  A cold perspiration broke out over him, and he went on his way again, hoping that Felicite would give him some accurate information.  He now pushed on more rapidly, and was skirting the houses of the Rue de la Banne, when a strange spectacle, which caught his eyes as he raised his head, riveted him to the ground.  One of the windows of the yellow drawing-room was brilliantly illuminated, and, in the glare, he saw a dark form, which he recognized as that of his wife, bending forward, and shaking its arms in a violent manner.  He asked himself what this could mean, but, unable to think of any explanation, was beginning to feel seriously alarmed, when some hard object bounded over the pavement at his feet.  Felicite had thrown him the key of the cart-house, where he had concealed a supply of muskets.  This key clearly signified that he must take up arms.  So he turned away again, unable to comprehend why his wife had prevented him from going upstairs, and imagining the most horrible things.

He now went straight to Roudier, whom he found dressed and ready to march, but completely ignorant of the events of the night.  Roudier lived at the far end of the new town, as in a desert, whither no tidings of the insurgents’ movements had penetrated.  Pierre, however, proposed to him that they should go to Granoux, whose house stood on one of the corners of the Place des Recollets, and under whose windows the insurgent contingents must have passed.  The municipal councillor’s servant remained for a long time parleying before consenting to admit them, and they heard poor Granoux calling from the first floor in a trembling voice: 

“Don’t open the door, Catherine!  The streets are full of bandits.”