Sister Anne was overwhelmed; it was not the money simply that she regretted, for she did not realize its value; but the Comte de Montreville's address was in her purse, and the villain had carried that away with all that she possessed. What would become of her? how could she find her protector's house now?
During the day, the young woman still retained a little hope, trying to convince herself that the stranger would return; but night came, and he did not appear. Sister Anne strained her child to her breast, weeping bitterly; it was not for herself alone that she trembled, and her terror was all the more intense on that account. Already she imagined her child deprived of the sustenance he required; she shuddered as the whole horror of their situation dawned upon her, and she was sorry now that she had left the farm, for the thought that her son would suffer destroyed her courage.
She passed in her room the second day after her arrival in Paris; the villain who had robbed her had told her that the count was absent for two days, so she waited until the third day before trying to find him. She flattered herself that she could recognize the house in front of which the cab had stopped. The poor child thought that she could find her way in that immense city, where she had never been before! she did not know that the wretch who had deceived her had caused the cab to stop in front of a house which was not the count's.
The next day, she took her son in her arms, and, with the bundle that contained her effects, left the lodging-house, whose mistress made no attempt to keep her, because she had been paid for two days only. Sister Anne commended herself to Providence, and tried to revive her courage as she ventured forth into that city which was entirely unknown to her. Every minute the horses and carriages frightened her, and the cries of the street peddlers deafened her; the sight of all those people, going and coming in every direction, and often jostling and crowding her, so confused her that she had no idea where she was. The poor child went under a porte cochère and began to cry. The concierge asked her what the trouble was, but Sister Anne was unable to reply except with more tears; whereupon the concierge turned away in a pet, saying:
"What's the use of sympathizing with people who won't tell you what's the matter!"
After she had wept a long while, Sister Anne walked on; but she had been on her feet four hours and had made no progress; she saw nothing but endless streets, and shops; she had no idea in which direction she should go, and often walked a long distance only to find herself at the point she had started from. How was she to recognize that house of the count's? she began to think that it was impossible. She was sinking with fatigue, for she had had her child in her arms all the time; and soon hunger made itself felt, and added to the horror of her plight.
She sat down on a stone bench; the passers-by glanced at her, but went on; they would have stopped if, instead of a woman weeping over a child, they had seen a cat fighting with Polichinello.
Luckily, it was midsummer; the weather was beautiful, and the approach of night did not drive people indoors. The dumb girl entered a pastry-cook's shop and bought cakes for her child, offering a garment from her bundle in payment; but they gave it back, looking at her with compassion and surprise; for her appearance did not denote poverty, and they could not understand her having no money.
She tried to walk on, but the darkness increased her terror tenfold, and, despite the lamps in the streets, the clatter of the horses' feet seemed to her more terrifying than ever; she was in mortal dread of being run over with her son by the carriages which often surrounded her on every side; so she sat down again on a bench.
At this time she was on Rue Montmartre; several times during the day, she had walked through Rue de Provence and had passed Monsieur de Montreville's house; but the poor child did not know it. It was impossible now for her to find her lodging-house, and she was on the point of giving way to despair; but she pressed her son to her heart, and tried to recover her strength by covering him with kisses. The child smiled at her and played with her hair; he was at the age at which a child does not know what unhappiness is when he is in his mother's arms.