'It's all up with the place!' muttered Macquart, who stood quietly on the pathway with his hands in his pockets, watching the conflagration with lively interest.
Out in the street a perfect open-air drawing-room had now been established. The easy-chairs were arranged in a semicircle, as though to allow their occupants to view the spectacle at their ease. Madame de Condamin and her husband had just arrived. They had scarcely got back home from the Sub-Prefecture, they said, when they had heard the drum beating the alarm. Monsieur de Bourdeu, Monsieur Maffre, Doctor Porquier, and Monsieur Delangre, accompanied by several members of the municipal council, had also lost no time in hastening to the scene. They all clustered round poor Madame Rastoil and her daughter, trying to comfort and console them with sympathetic remarks. After a time most of them sat down in the easy-chairs, and a general conversation took place, while the engine snorted away half a score yards off and the blazing beams crackled.
'Have you got my watch, my dear?' Madame Rastoil inquired. 'It was on the mantelpiece with the chain.'
'Yes, yes, I have it in my pocket,' replied the president, trembling with emotion. 'I have got the silver as well. I wanted to bring everything away, but the firemen wouldn't let me; they said it was ridiculous.'
Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies still showed the greatest calmness and kindly attention.
'I assure you that your house is in no danger at all,' he remarked. 'The force of the fire is spent now. You may go and put your silver back in your dining-room.'
But Monsieur Rastoil would not consent to part with his plate, which he was carrying under his arm, wrapped up in a newspaper.
'All the doors are open,' he stammered, 'and the house is full of people that I know nothing about. They have made a hole in my roof that will cost me a pretty penny to put right again.'
Madame de Condamin now questioned the sub-prefect.