And he added, with the crafty hypocrisy of an old hosier from the Rue Saint-Honore: "But you, my dear Granoux; don't you think the ribbon would look well in your button-hole?
After all, you did as much to save the town as Rougon did.
Yesterday, when I was calling upon some very distinguished persons, they could scarcely believe it possible that you had made so much noise with a mere hammer." Granoux stammered his thanks, and, blushing like a maiden at her first confession of love, whispered in Roudier's ear: "Don't say anything about it, but I have reason to believe that Rougon will ask the ribbon for me.

He's a good fellow at heart, you know." The old hosier thereupon became grave, and assumed a very affable manner.

When Vuillet came and spoke to him of the well-deserved reward that their friend had just received, he replied in a loud voice, so as to be heard by Felicite, who was sitting a little way off, that "men like Rougon were an ornament to the Legion of Honour." The bookseller joined in the chorus; he had that morning received a formal assurance that the custom of the college would be restored to him.

As for Sicardot, he at first felt somewhat annoyed to find himself no longer the only one of the set who was decorated.

According to him, none but soldiers had a right to the ribbon.