"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!..."
"You want to pass counterfeit money on me. You vagabond ... you thief! Be off! No, wait; I'll get a policeman."
Perrine knew that she was not a thief, whether the money was real or false, but vagabond she was. She had no home, no parents. What would she answer the policeman? They would arrest her for being a vagabond.
She put this question to herself very quickly, but although her fear was great, she thought of her money.
"If you don't wish to sell me the bread, at least you can give me back my money," she said, holding out her hand.
"So that you can pass it on someone else, eh? I'll keep your money. If you want it, go and fetch the police," cried the woman, furiously. "Be off, you thief."