There were bells clanging, lights flashing, and crowds pushing and
shouting, as she ran up--a little gray figure, with the lantern-spark
glimmering like any tiny glow-worm astray in a gas-lit city.
"To Paris?" she asked, entreatingly, going where she saw others going, to
a little grated wicket in a wall.
"Twenty-seven francs--quick!" they demanded of her. Bebee gave a great
cry, and stood still, trembling and trying not to sob aloud. She had
never thought of money; she had forgotten that youth and strength and
love and willing feet and piteous prayers,--all went for nothing as this
world is made.
A hope flashed on her and a glad thought. She loosed the silver buckles,
and held them out.
"Would you take these? They are worth much more."
There was a derisive laughter; some one bade her with an oath begone;
rough shoulders jostled her away. She stretched her arms out piteously.
"Take me--oh, pray take me! I will go with the sheep, with the
cattle--only, only take me!"
But in the rush and roar none heeded her; some thief snatched the silver
buckles from her hand, and made off with them and was lost in the throng;
a great iron beast rushed by her, snorting flame and bellowing smoke;
there was a roll like thunder, and all was dark; the night express had
passed on its way to Paris.
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