Then Madame Gourd, who had remained in her arm-chair on account of her poor legs, rose painfully on her feet. As she was quite unable to get even as far as the church, Monsieur Gourd had told her to be sure and salute the landlord’s corpse when it passed their room. It was a matter of duty. She went to the door with a mourning cap on her head, and curtesied as the coffin went by.
At Saint-Roch, Doctor Juillerat made a show of not going inside during the ceremony. There was, however, a tremendous crowd, and quite a group of men preferred to remain on the steps. The weather was very mild—a superb June day. And, as they were unable to smoke, their conversation turned upon politics. The principal door was left open, and at moments the sound of the organs issued from the church, which was draped in black and filled with lighted tapers, looking like so many stars.
“You know that Monsieur Thiers will stand for our district next year,” announced Léon Josserand, in his grave way.
“Ah!” said the doctor. “Of course you will not vote for him—you are a Republican?”
The young man, whose opinions cooled down the more Madame Dambreville introduced him into good society, curtly answered:
“Why not? He is the declared adversary of the Empire.”
Then a heated discussion ensued. Léon talked of tactics, whilst Doctor Juillerat stuck to principles. According to the latter, the middle classes had had their day; they were an obstacle in the road of the Revolution; now that they had acquired property, they barred the future with greater obstinacy and blindness than the old nobility.
“You are afraid of everything; you go in for the very worst reaction the moment you fancy yourself threatened!”
“I, sir, have been a Jacobin and an atheist like you. But, thank heaven! reason came to me. No, I will not even stoop to your Monsieur Thiers. A blunderhead—a man who amuses himself with chimeras!”
However, all the Liberals present—Monsieur Josserand, Octave, Trublot even, who did not care a straw, declared that they would vote for Monsieur Thiers. The official candidate was a great chocolate manufacturer of the Rue Saint-Honoré, Monsieur Dewinck, whom they chaffed immensely. This Monsieur Dewinck had not even the support of the clergy, who were uneasy at his relations with the Tuileries. Campardon, decidedly gone over to the priests, greeted his name with reserve. Then, suddenly changing the subject, he exclaimed: