The officials showed her the greatest sympathy and kindness. They did their best to reassure her, they promised to keep a careful watch over Madame Mouret without in any way letting it be known, and to take some active step at the slightest sign of danger. In her interviews with Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies and Monsieur Rastoil, she drew their especial attention to the fact that, as they were her son-in-law's immediate neighbours, they would be able to interfere at once in the event of anything going wrong.

This story of a lunatic in his senses, who awaited the stroke of midnight to become mad, imparted much interest to the meetings of the guests in Mouret's garden. They showed great alacrity in going to greet Abbé Faujas. The priest came downstairs at four o'clock, and did the honours of the arbour with much urbanity, but in talking he persisted in keeping in the background, merely nodding in answer to what was said to him. For the first few days, only indirect allusions were made to the drama which was being acted in the house, but one Tuesday Monsieur Maffre, who was gazing at it with an uneasy expression, fixing his eyes upon one of the windows of the first floor, ventured to ask:

'That is the room, isn't it?'

Then, in low tones, the two parties began to discuss the strange story which was exciting the neighbourhood. The priest made some vague remarks: it was very sad, and much to be regretted, said he, and then he pitied everybody, without venturing to say anything more explicit.

'But you, Doctor,' asked Madame de Condamin of Doctor Porquier, 'you who are the family doctor, what do you think about it all?'

Doctor Porquier shook his head for some time before making any reply. He at first affected a discreet reserve.

'It is a very delicate matter,' he muttered. 'Madame Mouret is not robust, and as for Monsieur Mouret——'

'I have seen Madame Rougon,' said the sub-prefect. 'She is very uneasy.'

'Her son-in-law has always been obnoxious to her,' Monsieur de Condamin exclaimed bluntly. 'I met Mouret myself at the club the other day, and he gave me a beating at piquet. He seemed to me to be as sensible as ever. The good man was never a Solomon, you know.'