Then Merle proceeded to explain matters in studiously polite language. He had met Madame Correur in the afternoon, and she had advised him to see Monsieur Rougon that very evening. If it had not been for that, he, Merle, would never have presumed to disturb him at such an hour. 'Madame Correur is extremely kind,' he repeated several times. Then he went on to say that he was out of employment. If he now wore a full beard it was because he had left the Council of State some six months previously. When Rougon inquired the reason of his dismissal, he would not allow that he had been discharged for bad conduct, but bit his lip and said: 'They all knew there how devoted I was to you, sir. After you went away, I had to put up with all sorts of unpleasantness, because I have never been able to conceal my real feelings. One day I almost struck a fellow-servant who was saying provoking things, and then they discharged me.' Rougon looked at him searchingly. 'And so, my man, it's on my account that you are now out of place?' Merle smiled slightly. 'And I owe you another berth, eh? You want me to find you a situation somewhere?' 'It would be very kind of you, sir.' There was a short pause. Rougon tapped his hands together in a fidgety, mechanical way. But soon he began to smile, having made up his mind. He had too many debts; he must pay them and get rid of them. 'Well, I will look after you,' he said, 'and get you a place somewhere. You did right to come to me, my man.' Then he dismissed him. He now hesitated no longer. He went straight into the dining-room where Gilquin had just finished off a pot of jam, after eating a slice of _pâté_, the leg of a fowl, and some cold potatoes. Du Poizat, who had joined him, was sitting astride a chair and talking to him. They were discussing women in somewhat crude language. Gilquin had kept his hat on his head, and leant back, lounging in his chair and picking his teeth, under the impression that he was behaving in proper aristocratic style. 'Well, I must be off now,' he said, after gulping down the contents of his glass, which was full, and smacking his lips. 'I am going to the Rue Montmartre to see what has become of my birds.' Rougon, who seemed in high spirits, began, however, to joke at him. Now that he had dined, did he still believe in that story of a plot? Du Poizat, too, affected complete incredulity. He made an appointment for the next morning with Gilquin, to whom, he said, he owed a breakfast. Gilquin, with his cane under his arm, asked as soon as he could get a word in: 'Then you are not going to warn----' 'Yes, I am, of course,' Rougon replied. 'But they'll merely laugh at me. In any case there's no hurry. There will be plenty of time to-morrow morning.' The ex-commercial traveller had already got his hand upon the handle of the door. However, he stepped back with a grin on his face. 'For all I care,' he said, 'they may blow Badinguet to smithereens.'