They were twelve and made a pretty long procession on the pavement.

"I swear to you, we had nothing to do with it," Madame Lorilleux
explained to Monsieur Madinier. "We don't even know how they met, or,
we know only too well, but that's not for us to discuss. My husband even
had to buy the wedding ring. We were scarcely out of bed this morning
when he had to lend them ten francs. And, not a member of her family at
her wedding, what kind of bride is that? She says she has a sister in
Paris who works for a pork butcher. Why didn't she invite her?" She
stopped to point at Gervaise, who was limping awkwardly because of the
slope of the pavement. "Just look at her. Clump-clump."

"Clump-clump" ran through the wedding procession. Lorilleux laughed
under his breath, and said they ought to call her that, but Madame
Fauconnier stood up for Gervaise. They shouldn't make fun of her; she
was neat as a pin and did a good job when there was washing to be done.

When the wedding procession came out of the Faubourg Saint-Denis, they
had to cross the boulevard. The street had been transformed into a
morass of sticky mud by the storm. It had started to pour again and they
had opened the assorted umbrellas. The women picked their way carefully
through the mud, holding their skirts high as the men held the
sorry-looking umbrellas over their heads. The procession stretched out
the width of the street.

"It's a masquerade!" yelled two street urchins.

People turned to stare. These couples parading across the boulevard
added a splash of vivid color against the damp background. It was a
parade of a strange medley of styles showing fancy used clothing such as