The little fair-haired gentleman, the influential writer from Paris, had already gone away, quite vexed at not having seen a real miracle.
Pierre thereupon said to Doctor Chassaigne, "Let us go; I shall be taken ill if I stay here any longer." They left the office at the same time as La Grivotte, who was at last being dismissed.

And as soon as they reached the door they found themselves caught in a torrential, surging, jostling crowd, which was eager to behold the girl so miraculously healed; for the report of the miracle must have already spread, and one and all were struggling to see the chosen one, question her, and touch her.

And she, with her empurpled cheeks, her flaming eyes, her dancing gait, could do nothing but repeat, "I am cured, I am cured!" Shouts drowned her voice, she herself was submerged, carried off amidst the eddies of the throng.

For a moment one lost sight of her as though she had sunk in those tumultuous waters; then she suddenly reappeared close to Pierre and the doctor, who endeavoured to extricate her from the crush.

They had just perceived the Commander, one of whose manias was to come down to the piscinas and the Grotto in order to vent his anger there.