She shed no tears over this last catastrophe; an enormous weight seemed to have settled on her chest. She moved away with her child, afraid to think. She walked more rapidly, with no idea where she was going; she embraced her son convulsively; a sort of nervous contraction stiffened her limbs; she had almost lost consciousness of her sufferings. She descended Rue Montmartre to the boulevard, where the trees caught her eye, and her heart dilated. The poor child thought that she had reached the outskirts of that city where fate pursued her so pitilessly; she fancied that she was once more approaching her fields and her woods; and running wildly to the nearest tree, she stood close against it, touched it with rapture, and the tears came at last. She sat down beneath the foliage, the sight of which had given her fresh courage; she covered her child with her apron and determined to wait there for the dawn. The day came at last, but the dumb girl had not enjoyed one moment's rest; she thought of the future, and saw that she must needs appeal to public charity for herself and her son. If she had been alone, she would have preferred death; but for him she could endure everything. She had been so comfortable at the farm, surrounded by people who were attached to her and who loved her son, and now she was reduced to beg for bread! How bitterly she repented having left that peaceful abode! When she looked at her son, she reproached herself even more severely. "Poor little fellow!" she thought; "all your sufferings will be caused by me. But am I so guilty, after all, for longing to give you a father? Ah, me! if only I could find my way back there! if only I could return to those kind-hearted peasants who treated me like their own daughter! I feel that I must abandon all hope of finding Frédéric; but if my grief kills me, what will become of my son in this great city?" The poor mother wept as she gazed at little Frédéric, who was still asleep. Some peasants on their way to market offered her bread and fruit; a milkwoman gave her and the child some milk to drink; all hearts are not insensible to pity, and even the Parisians give freely to the poor; if they do not do it more frequently, it is only because they dread to make themselves melancholy by the contemplation of misfortune. During a large part of the day, Sister Anne continued to wander about the city in search of her protector's abode; she met many men who had Frédéric's figure and were dressed like him; she quickened her pace to overtake them; but when she was near enough to see their faces, recognized her error. Some looked at her in amazement, others with a sneer; whereupon she would turn away, shamefaced and broken-hearted. "O God!" she thought; "I shall never meet him again!"