Passavant, leaning towards Sarah, had passed his arm round her waist and was becoming more and more pressing. Aware of the unpleasant rumours which were rife concerning his relations with Olivier, he thought he would give them the lie. And to make his behaviour more public, he had determined to get Sarah to sit on his knees. Sarah had so far put up very little defence, but her eyes sought Bernard’s, and when they met them, her smile seemed to say: “See how far a person may go with me!” But Passavant was afraid of overdoing it; he was lacking in experience. “If I can only get her to drink a little more, I’ll risk it,” he said to himself, putting out his free hand towards a bottle of curaçao. Olivier, who was watching him, was beforehand with him; he snatched up the bottle, simply to prevent Passavant from getting it; but as soon as he took hold of it, it seemed to him that the liqueur would restore him a little of his courage--the courage he felt failing within him--the courage he needed to utter, loud enough for Edouard to hear, the complaint that was trembling on his lips: “If only you had chosen....” Olivier filled his glass and emptied it at a draught. Just at that moment, he heard Jarry, who was moving about from group to group, say in a half-whisper, as he passed behind Bercail: “And now we’re going to ki-kill little Bercail.” Bercail turned round sharply: “Just say that again out loud.” Jarry had already moved away. He waited until he had got round the table and then repeated in a falsetto voice: “And now we’re going to ki-kill little Bercail”; then, taking out of his pocket a large pistol, with which the _Argonauts_ had often seen him playing about, he raised it to his shoulder. Jarry had acquired the reputation of being a good shot. Protests were heard. In the drunken state in which he now was, people were not very sure that he would confine himself to play-acting. But little Bercail was determined to show he was not afraid; he got on to a chair, and with his arms folded behind his back, took up a Napoleonic attitude. He was just a little ridiculous and some tittering was heard, but it was at once drowned by applause. Passavant said to Sarah very quickly: “It may end unpleasantly. He’s completely drunk. Get under the table.” Des Brousses tried to catch hold of Jarry, but he shook him off and got on to a chair in his turn (Bernard noticed he was wearing patent leather pumps). Standing there straight opposite Bercail, he stretched out his arm and took aim. “Put the light out! Put the light out!” cried des Brousses. Edouard, who was still standing by the door, turned the switch. Sarah had risen in obedience to Passavant’s injunction; and as soon as it was dark, she pressed up against Bernard, to pull him under the table with her. The shot went off. The pistol was only loaded with a blank cartridge. But a cry of pain was heard. It came from Justinien, who had been hit in the eye by the wad.