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 the silence of the country at night, nor the mysterious shadows, but of Paris, the crowd, the lights. She was now on the outskirts of the city. Before leaving it (although she had no appetite), she thought she would buy a piece of bread so that she would have something to eat before going to sleep. She went into a baker shop. "I want some bread, please," she said. "Have you any money?" demanded the woman, who did not seem to put much confidence in Perrine's appearance. "Yes, and I want one pound, please. Here is five francs. Will you give me the change?" Before cutting the bread the woman took up the five franc piece and examined it. "What! that!" she exclaimed, making it ring on the marble slab. "It's a five franc piece," said Perrine. "Who told you to try and pass that off on me?" asked the woman, angrily. "No one, and I am asking you for a pound of bread for my supper." "Well, then, you won't get any bread, and you'd better get out of here as quickly as you can before I have you arrested." "Arrested! Why?" she stammered in surprise. "Because you're a thief!" "Oh!..."