At nine o'clock Denise came over to stay with her aunt. But when the funeral was about to start, the latter--who had ceased weeping, her eyes scorched by her hot tears--begged her to follow the body and look after her uncle, whose mute affliction and almost idiotic grief filled the family with anxiety. Downstairs, the young woman found the street full of people, for the small traders of the neighbourhood were anxious to give the Baudus a mark of sympathy, and in their eagerness there was a desire for a demonstration against that Ladies' Paradise, which they accused of having caused Geneviève's slow agony. All the victims of the monster were there--Bédoré and Sister, the hosiers of the Rue Gaillon, Vanpouille Brothers, the furriers, Deslignières the toyman, and Piot and Rivoire the furniture dealers; even Mademoiselle Tatin, the dealer in under-linen, and Quinette the glover, though long since cleared off by bankruptcy, had made it a duty to come, the one from Batignolles, the other from the Bastille, where they had been obliged to take situations. And whilst waiting for the hearse, which was late, all these people, clad in black and tramping in the mud, cast glances of hatred towards The Ladies' Paradise, whose bright windows and gay displays seemed an insult in face of The Old Elbeuf, which, with its funeral trappings and glimmering candles, lent an air of mourning to the other side of the street. The faces of a few inquisitive salesmen appeared at the plate-glass windows of the Paradise; but the colossus itself preserved the indifference of a machine going at full speed, unconscious of the deaths it may cause on the road. Denise looked round for her brother Jean, and at last perceived him standing before Bourras's shop; whereupon she crossed over and asked him to walk with his uncle, and assist him should he be unable to get along. For the last few weeks Jean had been very grave, as if tormented by some worry. That morning, buttoned up in his black frock-coat, for he was now a full-grown man, earning his twenty francs a day, he seemed so dignified and sad that his sister was surprised, having had no idea that he loved their cousin so much. Desirous of sparing Pépé a needless grief, she had left him with Madame Gras, intending to fetch him in the afternoon to see his uncle and aunt. However, the hearse had still not arrived, and Denise, greatly affected, stood watching the candles burn, when she was startled by a well-known voice behind her. It was that of Bourras who had called a chestnut-seller occupying a little box, against a wine shop opposite, in order to say to him: "Here! Vigouroux, just keep a look-out on my place, will you? You see I've taken the door handle away. If any one comes, tell them to call again. But don't let that disturb you, no one will come."