Pierre, surrounded by everybody and anxiously questioned about his pallor, could only escape for a minute.

He was just able to whisper in his wife's ear that he had found Pascal and that Macquart would leave that night.

Then lowering his voice still more he told her of his mother's insanity, and placed his finger on his lips, as if to say: "Not a word; that would spoil the whole evening." Felicite bit her lips.

They exchanged a look in which they read their common thoughts: so now the old woman would not trouble them any more: the poacher's hovel would be razed to the ground, as the walls of the Fouques' enclosure had been demolished; and they would for ever enjoy the respect and esteem of Plassans.
But the guests were looking at the table.

Felicite showed the gentlemen their seats.