Bebee stood still, crushed for a moment with the noise and the cruelty
and the sense of absolute desolation; she scarcely noticed that the
buckles had been stolen; she had only one thought--to get to Paris.
"Can I never go without money?" she asked at the wicket; the man there
glanced a moment, with a touch of pity, at the little wistful face.
"The least is twenty francs--surely you must know that?" he said, and
shut his grating with a clang.
Bebee turned away and went out of the great cruel, tumultuous place; her
heart ached and her brain was giddy, but the sturdy courage of her nature
rose to need.
"There is no way at all to go without money to Paris, I suppose?" she
asked of an old woman whom she knew a little, who sold nuts and little
pictures of saints and wooden playthings under the trees, in the avenue
hard by.
The old woman shook her head.
"Eh?--no, dear. There is nothing to be done anywhere in the world without
money. Look, I cannot get a litre of nuts to sell unless I pay
beforehand."
"Would it be far to walk?"
"Far! Holy Jesus! It is right away in the heart of France--over two
hundred miles, they say; straight out through the forest.
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