Of all of this Jean Marot actually knew less than any other well-informed person in Paris. Being wholly absorbed in his domestic affairs, he had scarcely more than glanced at a newspaper, and did not at this moment know that his name had ever been printed in the Paris journals. The few acquaintances he had met had congratulated him for something, and some students he did not know had raised their hats to him in the streets; and once he had been saluted by a class procession with desultory cries of "Vive Marot!" Mere rioting was then too common in Paris to excite particular attention individually.
But Jean Marot had been magnified by newspaper controversy into a formidable political leader; besides which there were young men here who had followed him a few days before in the riots. Therefore he was now the cynosure of curious attention.
From admiring glances the crowd of diners quickly passed to complimentary language intended for his ears.
"He's a brave young man!" "You should have seen him that day!" "Ah, but he's a fighter, is M. Marot!" "Un bon camarade!" "He is a patriot!" etc.
These broken expressions were mingled with sly allusions to Mlle. Fouchette from the women, who were consumed by envy. They had heard of the Savatière's conquest with disbelief, now they saw it with their own eyes. The brazen thing! She was showing him off.
"She's caught on at last."
"Monsieur has more money than taste."
"Is he as rich as they say?"
"The skinny model."
"Model, bah!"