'You told me to come and tell you all the gossip of the neighbourhood,' resumed the ex-commercial traveller. 'Well, I want to render you all the service I can, and so I tell you all I hear. It is wrong of you to shake your head like that. Do you think if I had gone to the prefecture that they would have sent me away without a nice little gratuity? But I prefer benefiting my friends. I tell you that the matter is really serious. So go and tell it to the Emperor, and just see how he embraces you.'
For the last three days, Gilquin had been keeping a watch over those fine gentlemen as he called them. During the daytime, two others made their appearance, a young man, and another of mature years, with a pale, handsome face and long black hair, who seemed to be the chief.[13] They all looked tired out when they entered the room, and they talked together in brief, guarded phrases. However, on the previous night, Gilquin had seen them filling some little iron 'machines' which he believed were bombs. He had got Eulalie's key, and had taken off his boots and kept a careful watch in the room, listening to every sound. In the evening he so managed matters that Eulalie began to snore at about nine o'clock, which, he had thought, would prevent the others from feeling any suspicion; besides, it was never prudent, he added, to let a woman have any share in political matters.
As Gilquin went on speaking, a grave expression came over Rougon's face. He was beginning to believe the story. Beneath the ex-bagman's vinous hilarity, amid the odd details mingled with the narrative, he felt that there was a basis of positive truth. And then all his irksome expectation during the day, all his anxious curiosity appeared to him in the light of a presentiment, and he again experienced that inward trembling which he had felt every now and then since the morning; the involuntary emotion, as it were, of a strong man when he realises that his fortune depends upon a single card. However, he affected utter indifference: 'A set of imbeciles who must have the whole detective force watching them,' he said.
Gilquin began to grin. 'The police had better lose no time, then,' he rejoined.
Then he became silent, but he still smiled and gently tapped his hat. The great man realised that he had not been told everything, and looked at Gilquin searchingly. However, the other opened the door to take his leave. 'Well, at any rate, I have given you warning,' he said. 'I'm going to dine now, my good fellow. I've had no dinner yet; I've been playing the spy on my men all the afternoon, and I'm tremendously hungry.'
At this Rougon stopped him, saying that he could let him have some cold meat; and forthwith he ordered a cover to be laid for him in the dining-room. Gilquin seemed quite touched by this attention. He once more closed the study door, and, lowering his voice so that the servant should not hear him, said to Rougon: 'You are a good fellow. Listen to me, now. I don't want to tell you any lies. If you had received me badly, I should have gone straight to the prefecture. But, now, I'll tell you everything. That's honest, isn't it? I'm sure you won't forget the service I'm rendering you. Friends are friends, whatever people may say.' Then he leant forward and continued in a whisper: 'It is to come off to-morrow night. They are going to blow Badinguet[14] up in front of the Opera-house when he arrives there. The carriage and the aides-de-camp and the whole lot will be clean swept away.'
While Gilquin sat down to his meal in the dining-room, Rougon remained standing in the middle of his study, perfectly still and with an ashy face. He was deep in thought, and seemed to be hesitating. At length he sat down at his writing-table and took up a sheet of paper, but he tossed it aside again almost immediately. For a moment it seemed as if he were going to rush to the door and give an order. Then he slowly came back and again became absorbed in thought, which cast a shrouding gloom over his face.
Just at that moment the high-backed arm-chair in front of the fire-place moved, and Du Poizat stood up, calmly folding a newspaper.
'What! were you there?' cried Rougon roughly.