The pyrotechnic pieces sent to Monsieur Tuvache had, through an excess

of caution, been shut up in his cellar, and so the damp powder would

not light, and the principal set piece, that was to represent a dragon

biting his tail, failed completely. Now and then a meagre Roman-candle

went off; then the gaping crowd sent up a shout that mingled with the

cry of the women, whose waists were being squeezed in the darkness. Emma

silently nestled against Charles's shoulder; then, raising her chin, she

watched the luminous rays of the rockets against the dark sky. Rodolphe

gazed at her in the light of the burning lanterns.

They went out one by one. The stars shone out. A few crops of rain began

to fall. She knotted her fichu round her bare head.

At this moment the councillor's carriage came out from the inn.

His coachman, who was drunk, suddenly dozed off, and one could see from

the distance, above the hood, between the two lanterns, the mass of his

body, that swayed from right to left with the giving of the traces.

"Truly," said the druggist, "one ought to proceed most rigorously

against drunkenness! I should like to see written up weekly at the door

of the town hall on a board ad hoc* the names of all those who during

the week got intoxicated on alcohol. Besides, with regard to statistics,

one would thus have, as it were, public records that one could refer to

in case of need. But excuse me!"

*Specifically for that.

And he once more ran off to the captain. The latter was going back to

see his lathe again.

"Perhaps you would not do ill," Homais said to him, "to send one of your

men, or to go yourself--"

"Leave me alone!" answered the tax-collector. "It's all right!"

"Do not be uneasy," said the druggist, when he returned to his friends.

"Monsieur Binet has assured me that all precautions have been taken. No

sparks have fallen; the pumps are full. Let us go to rest."

"Ma foi! I want it," said Madame Homais, yawning at large. "But never

mind; we've had a beautiful day for our fete."

Rodolphe repeated in a low voice, and with a tender look, "Oh, yes! very

beautiful!"

And having bowed to one another, they separated.

Two days later, in the "Final de Rouen," there was a long article on the

show. Homais had composed it with verve the very next morning.

"Why these festoons, these flowers, these garlands? Whither hurries this

crowd like the waves of a furious sea under the torrents of a tropical

sun pouring its heat upon our heads?"




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