"Why, certainly. You know what I told you. Nothing could be more
sensible. The uncle will find you a berth before six months are over."

A push of the crowd separated them, and Berthaud went off to make sure
whether the march through the Grotto was now being accomplished in a
methodical manner, without any crushing. For hours the same unbroken tide
rolled in--women, men, and children from all parts of the world, all who
chose, all who passed that way. As a result, the crowd was singularly
mixed: there were beggars in rags beside neat /bourgeois/, peasants of
either sex, well dressed ladies, servants with bare hair, young girls
with bare feet, and others with pomatumed hair and foreheads bound with
ribbons. Admission was free; the mystery was open to all, to unbelievers
as well as to the faithful, to those who were solely influenced by
curiosity as well as to those who entered with their hearts faint with
love. And it was a sight to see them, all almost equally affected by the
tepid odour of the wax, half stifling in the heavy tabernacle air which
gathered beneath the rocky vault, and lowering their eyes for fear of
slipping on the gratings. Many stood there bewildered, not even bowing,
examining the things around with the covert uneasiness of indifferent
folks astray amidst the redoubtable mysteries of a sanctuary. But the
devout crossed themselves, threw letters, deposited candles and bouquets,
kissed the rock below the Virgin's statue, or else rubbed their chaplets,
medals, and other small objects of piety against it, as the contact
sufficed to bless them. And the /defile/ continued, continued without end
during days and months as it had done for years; and it seemed as if the
whole world, all the miseries and sufferings of humanity, came in turn
and passed in the same hypnotic, contagious kind of round, through that
rocky nook, ever in search of happiness.

When Berthaud had satisfied himself that everything was working well, he