CHAPTER V.
The high roads stretched far way, white with moonlight.
The insurrectionary army was continuing its heroic march through the cold, clear country.

It was like a mighty wave of enthusiasm.

The thrill of patriotism, which transported Miette and Silvere, big children that they were, eager for love and liberty, sped, with generous fervour, athwart the sordid intrigues of the Macquarts and the Rougons.

At intervals the trumpet-voice of the people rose and drowned the prattle of the yellow drawing-room and the hateful discourses of uncle Antoine.
And vulgar, ignoble farce was turned into a great historical drama.
On quitting Plassans, the insurgents had taken the road to Orcheres.
They expected to reach that town at about ten o'clock in the morning.
The road skirts the course of the Viorne, following at some height the windings of the hillocks, below which the torrent flows.

On the left, the plain spreads out like an immense green carpet, dotted here and there with grey villages.