SHE had not walked far before she saw in the distance a black mass silhouetted against the dawning light to the grey sky. Chimneys, houses and steeples rose up in the coming dawn, leaving the rest of the landscape obscure in the shadows.

She reached the first straggling cottages of the village. Instinctively she trod more softly on the paved road. This was a useless precaution, for with the exception of the cats which ran about the streets, everyone slept, and her little footsteps only awoke a few dogs who barked at her behind closed gates.

She was famished; she was weak and faint with hunger.

What would become of her if she dropped unconscious? She was afraid she might soon. So that this would not happen, she thought it better to rest a minute, and as she was now passing before a barn full of hay, she went in quietly and threw herself down on the soft bed. The rest, the warmth, and also the sweet smell of the hay, soothed her and soon she slept.

When she awoke the sun was already high in the heavens and was casting its rays over the fields where men and women were busily at work.

The pangs of hunger were now more acute than ever. Her head whirled; she was so giddy that she could scarcely see where she went as she staggered on. She had just reached the top of a hill, and before her, close by, was the village with its shops. She would spend her last sou for a piece of bread! She had heard of people finding money on the road; perhaps she would find a coin tomorrow; anyhow, she must have a piece of bread now.

She looked carefully at the last sou she possessed. Poor little girl, she did not know the difference between real money and false, and although she thought this sou looked real, she was very nervous when she entered the first baker shop that she came across.

"Will you cut me a sou's worth of bread?" she asked, timidly.

The man behind the counter took from the basket a little penny roll and handed it to her. Instead of stretching out her hand, she hesitated.

"If you'll cut a piece for me," she said, "it doesn't matter if it is not today's bread."

The baker gave her a large piece of bread that had been on the counter for two or three days.

What did that matter? The great thing was that it was larger than the little penny roll. It was worth two rolls.

As soon as it was in her hand her mouth filled with water. But she would not eat it until she had got out of the village. This she did very quickly. As soon as she had passed the last house, she took her little knife from her pocket and made a cross on the piece of bread so as to be able to cut it into four equal parts. She took one piece, keeping the three others for the three following days, hoping that it might last her until she reached Amiens.

She had calculated this as she had hurried through the village, and it had seemed such an easy matter. But scarcely had she swallowed a mouthful of her little piece of bread than she felt that the strongest arguments had no power against hunger. She was famished! She must eat! The second piece followed the first, the third followed the second. Never had her will power been so weak. She was hungry; she must have it ... all ... all. Her only excuse was that the pieces were so tiny. When all four were put together, the whole only weighed a half a pound. And a whole pound would not have been enough for her in her ravenous condition. The day before she had only had a little cup of soup that Carp had given her. She devoured the fourth piece.

She went on her way. Although she had only just eaten her piece of bread, a terrible thought obsessed her. Where would she next get a mouthful? She now knew what torture she would have to go through ... the pangs of hunger were terrible to endure. Where should she get her next meal? She walked through two more villages. She was getting thirsty now, very thirsty. Her tongue was dry, her lips parched. She came to the last house in the village, but she did not dare ask for a glass of water. She had noticed that the people looked at her curiously, and even the dogs seemed to show their teeth at the ragged picture she presented.

She must walk on. The sun was very hot now, and her thirst became more intense as she tramped along the white road. There was not a tree along the road, and little clouds of dust rose around her every instant, making her lips more parched. Oh, for a drink of water! The palate of her mouth seemed hard, like a corn.

The fact that she was thirsty had not worried her at first. One did not have to go into a shop to buy water. Anybody could have it. When she saw a brook or a river she had only to make a cup of her hands and drink all she wanted. But she had walked miles in the dust and could see no sign of water. At last she picked up some little round stones and put them in her mouth. Her tongue seemed to be moister while she kept them there. She changed them from time to time, hoping that she would soon come to a brook.

Then suddenly the atmosphere changed, and although the heat was still suffocating, the sun was hidden. Thick black clouds filled the sky. A storm was coming on, there would be rain, and she would be able to hold her mouth up to it, or she could stoop down to the puddles that it made and drink!

The wind came up. A terrific swirl, carrying clouds of dust and leaves, swept over the country and battered down the crops, uprooting plants and shrubs in its mad fracas. Perrine could not withstand this whirlwind. As she was lifted off her feet, a deafening crash of thunder shook the earth. Throwing herself down in the ditch, she laid flat on her stomach, covering her mouth and her eyes with her two small hands. The thunder rolled heavily on.

A moment ago she had been mad with thirst and had prayed that the storm would break quickly; now she realized that the storm would not only bring thunder and rain, but lightning—terrible flashes of lightning that almost blinded her.

And there would be torrents of rain and hail! Where could she go? Her dress would be soaked, and how could she dry it?

She clambered out of the ditch. In the distance she saw a wood. She thought that she might find a nook there where she could take shelter.

She had no time to lose. It was very dark. The claps of thunder became more frequent and louder, and the vivid lightning played fantastically on the black sky.

Would she be able to reach the wood before the storm broke? She ran as quickly as her panting breath would allow, now and again casting a look behind her at the black clouds which seemed to be sweeping down upon her.

She had seen terrible storms in the mountains when travelling with her father and mother, but they were with her then; now she was alone. Not a soul near her in this desolate country. Fortunately the wind was behind her; it blew her along, at times carrying her off her feet. If she could only keep up this pace; the storm had not caught up with her yet.

Holding her elbows against her little body and bending forward, she ran on ... but the storm also made greater strides.

At this moment came a crash, louder and heavier. The storm was just over her now and the ground around her was cleaved with blue flames. It was better to stop running now; far better be drenched than struck down by lightning.

Soon a few drops of rain fell. Fortunately she was nearing the wood, and now she could distinguish clearly the great trees. A little more courage. Many times her father had told her that if one kept one's courage in times of danger one stood a better chance of being saved. She kept on.

When at last she entered the forest it was all so black and dark she could scarcely make out anything. Then suddenly a flash of lightning dazzled her, and in the vivid glare she thought she saw a little cabin not far away to which led a bad road hollowed with deep ruts. Again the lightning flashed across the darkness, and she saw that she had not made a mistake. About fifty steps farther on there was a little hut made of faggots, that the woodcutters had built.

She made a final dash; then, at the end of her strength, worn out and breathless, she sank down on the underbrush that covered the floor.

She had not regained her breath when a terrible noise filled the forest. The crash, mingled with the splintering of wood, was so terrific that she thought her end had come. The trees bent their trunks, twisting and writhing, and the dead branches fell everywhere with a dull, crackling sound.

Could her hut withstand this fury? She crawled to the opening. She had no time to think—a blue flame, followed by a frightful crash, threw her over, blinded and dazed. When she came to herself, astonished to find that she was still alive, she looked out and saw that a giant oak that stood near the hut had been struck by lightning. In falling its length the trunk had been stripped of its bark from top to bottom, and two of the biggest branches were twisted round its roots.

She crept back, trembling, terrified at the thought that Death had been so near her, so near that its terrible breath had laid her low. As she stood there, pale and shaking, she heard an extraordinary rolling sound, more powerful than that of an express train. It was the rain and the hail which was beating down on the forest. The cabin cracked from top to bottom; the roof bent under the fury of the tempest, but it did not fall in. No house, however solid, could be to her what this little hut was at this moment, and she was mistress of it.

She grew calm; she would wait here until the storm had passed. A sense of well-being stole over her, and although the thunder continued to rumble and the rain came down in a deluge, and the wind whistled through the trees, and the unchained tempest went on its mad way through the air and on the earth, she felt safe in her little hut. Then she made a pillow for her head from the underbrush, and stretching herself out, she fell asleep.

When she awoke the thunder had stopped, but the rain was still falling in a fine drizzle. The forest, with its solitude and silence, did not terrify her. She was refreshed from her long sleep and she liked her little cabin so much that she thought she would spend the night there. She at least had a roof over her head and a dry bed.

She did not know how long she had slept, but that did not matter; she would know when night came.

She had not washed herself since she had left Paris, and the dust which had covered her from head to foot made her skin smart. Now she was alone, and there was plenty of water in the ditch outside and she would profit by it.

In her pocket she had, beside her map and her mother's certificate, a few little things tied up in a rag. There was a piece of soap, a small comb, a thimble, and a spool of thread, in which she had stuck two needles. She undid her packet; then taking off her vest, her shoes, and her stockings, she leaned over the ditch, in which the water flowed clear, and soaped her face, shoulders and feet. For a towel she had only the rag she had used to tie up her belongings, and it was neither big nor thick, but it was better than nothing.

This toilette did her almost as much good as her sleep. She combed her golden hair in two big braids and let them hang over her shoulders. If it were not for the little pain in her stomach, and the few torn places in her shoes, which had been the cause of her sore feet, she would have been quite at ease in mind and body.

She was hungry, but there was nothing she could do. She could not find a bit of nourishment in this cabin, and as it was still raining, she felt that she ought not to leave this shelter until the next day.

Then when night came her hunger became more intense, till finally she began to cut some twigs and nibble on them, but they were hard and bitter, and after chewing on them for a few minutes she threw them away. She tried the leaves; they went down easier.

While she ate her meal and darned her stockings, night came on. Soon all was dark and silent. She could hear no other sound than that of the raindrops falling from the branches.

Although she had made up her mind to spend the night there, she experienced a feeling of fright at being all alone in this black forest. True, she had spent a part of the day in the same place, running no other danger than that of being struck, but the woods in the daytime are not like the woods at night, with the solemn silence and the mysterious shadows, which make one conjure up the vision of so many weird things.

What was in the woods? she wondered. Wolves, perhaps!

At this thought she became wide awake, and jumping up, she found a big stick, which she cut to a point with her knife; then she strewed branches and fagots all around her, piling them high. She could at least defend herself behind her rampart.

Reassured, she laid down again, and it was not long before she was asleep.

The song of a bird awoke her. She recognized at once the sweet, shrill notes of a blackbird. Day was breaking. She began to shake, for she was chilled to the bone. The dampness of the night had made her clothes as wet as though she had been through a shower.

She jumped to her feet and shook herself violently like a dog. She felt that she ought to move about, but she did not want to go on her way yet, for it was not yet light enough for her to study the sky to see if it were going to rain again. To pass the time, and still more with the wish to be on the move, she arranged the fagots which she had disturbed the night before. Then she combed her hair and washed herself in the ditch, which was full of water.

When she had finished the sun had risen, and the sky gleamed blue through the branches of the trees. There was not the slightest cloud to be seen. She must go.

Although she had darned her stockings well which had worn away through the holes in her shoes, the continual tramp, tramp, tramp, made her little feet ache. After a time, however, she stepped out with a regular step on the road, which had been softened by the rain, and the rays from the beautiful sun fell upon her back and warmed her.

Never had she seen such a lovely morning. The storm, which had washed the roads and the fields, had given new life to the plants. Surely this was a good omen. She was full of hope.

Her imagination began to soar on wings. She hoped that somebody had had a hole in their pockets and had lost some money, and that she could find it on the road. She hoped she might find something, not a purse full, because she would have to try to find the owner, but just a little coin, one penny, or perhaps ten cents. She even thought that she might find some work to do, something that could bring her in a few cents.

She needed so little to be able to live for three or four days.

She trudged along with her eyes fixed on the ground, but neither a copper nor a silver coin did she see, and neither did she meet anybody who could give her work.

Oh, for something to eat! She was famished. Again and again she had to sit down by the wayside, she was so weak from lack of food.

She wondered if she found nothing would she have to sit down by the road and die.

Finally she came to a field and saw four young girls picking peas. A peasant woman seemed to be in charge.

Gathering courage, she crossed over the road and walked towards the woman. But the woman stopped her before she could reach her.

"What cher want?" she shouted.

"I want to know if I can help, too," answered Perrine.

"We don't want no one!"

"You can give me just what you wish."

"Where d'ye come from?"

"From Paris."

One of the girls raised her head and cast her an angry look.

"The galavanter!" she cried, "she comes from Paris to try to get our job."

"I told yer we don't want nobody," said the woman again.

There was nothing to do but to go on her way, which she did with a heavy heart.

"Look out! A cop's comin'!" cried one of the girls.

Perrine turned her head quickly, and they all burst out laughing, amused at the joke.

She had not gone far before she had to stop. She could not see the road for the tears which filled her eyes. What had she done to those girls that they should be so mean to her?

Evidently it was as difficult for tramps to get work as it was for them to find pennies. She did not dare ask again for a job. She dragged her feet along, only hurrying when she was passing through the villages so that she could escape the stares.

She was almost prostrated when she reached a wood. It was mid-day and the sun was scorching; there was not a breath of air. She was exhausted and dripping with perspiration. Then her heart seemed to stop and she fell to the ground, unable to move or think.

A wagon coming up behind her passed by.

"This heat'll kill one," shouted the driver.

In a half conscious state she caught his words. They came to her like in a dream; it was as though sentence had been passed upon her.

So she was to die? She had thought so herself, but now a messenger of Death was saying so.

Well, she would die. She could keep up no longer. Her father was dead, and her mother was dead, now she was going to die. A cruel thought flitted through her dull brain. She wondered why she could not have died with them rather than in a ditch like a poor animal.

She tried to make a last effort to get to the wood where she could find a spot to lie down for her last sleep, somewhere away from the road. She managed to drag herself into the wood, and there she found a little grassy spot where violets were growing. She laid down under a large tree, her head on her arm, just as she did at night when she went to sleep.