The clamour began again. Étienne was enjoying the intoxication of his popularity. He held power, as it were, materialized in these three thousand breasts, whose hearts he could move with a word. Souvarine, if he had cared to come, would have applauded his ideas so far as he recognized them, pleased with his pupil's progress in anarchism and satisfied with the programme, except the article on education, a relic of silly sentimentality, for men needed to be dipped in a bath of holy and salutary ignorance. As to Rasseneur, he shrugged his shoulders with contempt and anger.
"You shall let me speak," he shouted to Étienne.
The latter jumped from the tree-trunk.
"Speak, we shall see if they'll hear you."
Already Rasseneur had replaced him, and with a gesture demanded silence. But the noise d
