noon
From the depths of this thicket of lights , the good priest murmurs the great infinite speech to us , blesses us , embraces us severally and altogether , like father and mother both . In the manorial pew , the foremost of all , one glimpses the Marquis of Monthyon , who has the air of an officer , and his mother-in-law , Baroness Grille , who is dressed like an ordinary lady . Emerging from church , the men go away ; the women swarm out more grudgingly and come to a standstill together ; then all the buzzing groups scatter . At noon the shops close . The fine ones do it unassisted ; the others close by the antics of some good man who exerts himself to carry and fit the shutters . Then there is a great void . After lunch I wander in the streets .