"A bouquet, madame!" was the cry.

"A bouquet for the Blessed Virgin!" If the lady escaped, she heard muttered insults behind her.
Trafficking, impudent trafficking, pursued the pilgrims to the very outskirts of the Grotto.

Trade was not merely triumphantly installed in every one of the shops, standing close together and transforming each street into a bazaar, but it overran the footways and barred the road with hand-carts full of chaplets, medals, statuettes, and religious prints.

On all sides people were buying almost to the same extent as they ate, in order that they might take away with them some souvenir of this holy Kermesse.

And the bright gay note of this commercial eagerness, this scramble of hawkers, was supplied by the urchins who rushed about through the crowd, crying the "Journal de la Grotte." Their sharp, shrill voices pierced the ear: "The 'Journal de la Grotte,' this morning's number, two sous, the 'Journal de la Grotte.'" Amidst the continual pushing which accompanied the eddying of the ever-moving crowd, Gerard's little party became separated.