s, but does that tell you which road you have to take from here, here
in Paris?"

"No, but if you will tell me...."

They all were eager to give her this information, but it was all so
confused and contradictory that Grain-of-Salt cut the talk short.

"If you want to lose yourself in Paris, just listen to what they are
saying," he said. "Now, this is the way you must go," and he explained
to her which road she should take. "Now, when do you want to go?"

"At once; I promised my mother," said Perrine.

"You must obey her," said the Baroness, solemnly, "but not before I've
kissed you; you're a good girl."

The men shook hands with her.

She knew she must leave the cemetery, yet she hesitated and turned once
more towards the grave that she had just left, but the Baroness stopped
her.

"As you are obliged to go, go at once; it is best," she said.

"Yes, go," said Grain-of-Salt.

When she had climbed into the car on the belt line she took an old map
of France from her pocket which she had consulted many times alone since
they left Italy. From Paris to Amiens the road was easy; she had only to
take the Calais road; this was indicated on her map by a little black
line. From Amiens she would go to Boulogne, and as she had learned also
to calculate distances, she thought that to Maraucourt it ought to be
about one hundred and fifty-eight miles.

But could she do all those miles, regularly ... go on day after day? She
knew that to walk four or five miles by chance on one day was a very
different matter to taking a long, continuous journey like she was
contemplating. There would be bad days ... rainy days ... and how long
would her money last? She had only five francs thirty-five centimes
left. The train pulled up at the station at which she had to get out.
Now she had to turn to the right, and as the sun would not go down for
two or three hours she hoped to be far away from Paris by night, and
find a place in the open country where she could sleep.

Yet as far as her eyes could see there was nothing but houses and
factories, factories with great tall chimneys sending forth clouds of
thick, black smoke, and all along the road wagons, tramways and carts.
Again she saw a lot of trucks bearing the name that she had noticed
while waiting to pass through the Gates: "Maraucourt Factories, Vulfran
Paindavoine."

Would Paris ever end? Would she ever get out of this great city? She was
not afraid of the lonely fields, nor t