quietly he came down again.

Macquart had now been kept in the room for two days and two nights. He
had had time to indulge in lengthy reflections. After his sleep, his
first hours had been given up to outbursts of impotent rage. Goaded by
the idea that his brother was lording it in the adjoining room, he had
felt a great longing to break the door open. At all events he would
strangle Rougon with his own hands, as soon as the insurgents should
return and release him. But, in the evening, at twilight, he calmed
down, and gave over striding furiously round the little room. He inhaled
a sweet odour there; a feeling of comfort relaxed his nerves. Monsieur
Garconnet, who was very rich, refined, and vain, had caused this little
room to be arranged in a very elegant fashion; the sofa was soft and
warm; scents, pomades, and soaps adorned the marble washstand, and the
pale light fell from the ceiling with a soft glow, like the gleams of
a lamp suspended in an alcove. Macquart, amidst this perfumed soporific
atmosphere fell asleep, thinking that those scoundrels, the rich, "were
very fortunate, all the same." He had covered himself with a blanket
which had been given to him, and with his head and back and arms
reposing on the cushions, he stretched himself out on the couch until
morning. When he opened his eyes, a ray of sunshine was gliding through
the opening above. Still he did not leave the sofa. He felt warm, and
lay thinking as he gazed around him. He bethought himself that he would
never again have such a place to wash in. The washstand particularly
interested him. It was by no means hard, he thought, to keep oneself
spruce when one had so many little pots and phials at one's disposal.
This made him think bitterly of his own life of privation. The idea
occurred to him that perhaps he had been on the wrong track. There
is nothing to be gained by associating with beggars. He ought to have
played the scamp; he should have acted in concert with the Rougons.

Then, however, he rejected this idea. The Rougons were villains who had
robbed him. But the warmth and softness of the sofa, continued to work
upon his feelings, and fill him with vague regrets. After all, the
insurgents were abandoning him, and allowing themselves to be beaten
like idiots. Eventually he came to the conclusion that the Republic was
mere dupery. Those Rougons were lucky! And he recalled his own bootless
wickedness and underhand intrigues. Not one member of