Then he held out his moist
hand to Rougon and the two others.
Vuillet had settled his little affairs alone. He had cut his own slice
out of the cake, as Felicite would have said. While peeping through
the ventilator of his cellar he had seen the insurgents arrest
the postmaster, whose offices were near his bookshop. At daybreak,
therefore, at the moment when Rougon was comfortably seated in the
mayor's arm-chair, he had quietly installed himself in the postmaster's
office. He knew the clerks; so he received them on their arrival,
told them that he would replace their chief until his return, and that
meantime they need be in nowise uneasy. Then he ransacked the morning
mail with ill-concealed curiosity. He examined the letters, and seemed
to be seeking a particular one. His new berth doubtless suited his
secret plans, for his satisfaction became so great that he actually gave
one of the clerks a copy of the "Oeuvres Badines de Piron." Vuillet, it
should be mentioned, did business in objectionable literature, which he
kept concealed in a large drawer, under the stock of heads and
religious images. It is probable that he felt some slight qualms at
the free-and-easy manner in which he had taken possession of the post
office, and recognised the desirability of getting his usurpation
confirmed as far as possible. At all events, he had thought it well to
call upon Rougon, who was fast becoming an important personage.
"Why! where have you been?" Felicite asked him in a distrustful manner.
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