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.
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.