The last enthusiastic bourgeois saw the Republic tottering, and hastened to rally round the Conservatives.

Thus the Rougons' hour had arrived; the new town almost gave them an ovation on the day when the tree of Liberty, planted on the square before the Sub-Prefecture, was sawed down.

This tree, a young poplar brought from the banks of the Viorne, had gradually withered, much to the despair of the republican working-men, who would come every Sunday to observe the progress of the decay without being able to comprehend the cause of it.

A hatter's apprentice at last asserted that he had seen a woman leave Rougon's house and pour a pail of poisoned water at the foot of the tree.

It thenceforward became a matter of history that Felicite herself got up every night to sprinkle the poplar with vitriol.