It was the last blast of terror, as it were, which blew over the Rougons, amidst the splendour and enthusiastic merriment of the dinner.

True, Felicite, on returning to her seat, espied a taper burning behind a window on the other side of the road.

Some one sat watching Monsieur Peirotte's corpse, which had been brought back from Sainte-Roure that morning.

She sat down, feeling as if that taper were heating her back.
But the gaiety was now increasing, and exclamations of rapture rang through the yellow drawing-room when the dessert appeared.
At that same hour, the Faubourg was still shuddering at the tragedy which had just stained the Aire Saint-Mittre with blood.

The return of the troops, after the carnage on the Nores plain, had been marked by the most cruel reprisals.