All the morning this crush went on increasing. Towards one o'clock there was a crowd waiting to enter; the street was blocked as in a time of riot. Just at that moment, as Madame de Boves and her daughter Blanche stood hesitating on the pavement opposite, they were accosted by Madame Marty, also accompanied by her daughter Valentine.
"What a crowd—eh?" said the countess. "They're killing themselves inside. I ought not to have come, I was in bed, but got up to take a little fresh air."
"It's just like me," said the other. "I promised my husband to go and see his sister at Montmartre. Then just as I was passing, I thought of a piece of braid I wanted. I may as well buy it here as anywhere else, mayn't I? Oh, I shan't spend another sou! in fact I don't want anything."
However, seized, carried away as it were, by the force of the crowd, they did not take their eyes off the door.
"No, no, I'm not going in, I'm afraid," murmured Madame de Boves. "Blanche, let's go away, we should be crushed."
But her voice failed her, she was gradually yielding to a desire to follow the others; and her fears dissolved before the irresistible attractions of the crush. Madame Marty likewise was giving way, repeating the while: "Keep hold of my dress, Valentine. Ah, well! I've never seen such a thing before. I'm lifted off my feet. What will it be inside?"
Caught by the current the ladies could not now go back. Just as rivers attract the fugitive waters of a valley, so it seemed as if the stream of customers, flowing into the vestibule, was absorbing the passers-by, drinking in people from the four corners of Paris. They advanced but slowly, squeezed almost to death, and maintained upright by the shoulders around them; and their desires already derived enjoyment from this painful entrance which heightened their curiosity. It was a medley of ladies arrayed in silk, of poorly dressed middle-class women, and of bare-headed girls, all excited and carried away by the same passion. A few men, buried beneath the overflowing bosoms, were casting anxious glances around them. A nurse, in the thickest of the crowd, held her baby above her head, the youngster crowing with delight. The only one to get angry was a skinny woman who broke out into bad words, accusing her neighbour of digging right into her.
"I really think I shall lose my skirts in this crowd," remarked Madame de Boves.
Mute, her face still cool from the open air, Madame Marty was standing on tip-toe in her endeavour to catch a glimpse of the depths of the shop before the others. The pupils of her grey eyes were as contracted as those of a cat coming out of the broad daylight, and she had the restful feeling, and clear expression of a person just waking up.
"Ah, at last!" said she, heaving a sigh.