"Thank you. I'll go and tell mama. If you'll stand beside Palikare for a minute, I'll go and tell her at once."
"Sure, I'll mind him for yer. I'll ask him to teach me Greek."
"And please don't let him eat that straw."
Perrine went inside the caravan and told her mother what the little clown had said.
"If that is so," said the sick woman, "we must not hesitate; we must go to Charonne. But can you find the way?"
"Yes, it's easy enough. Oh, mother," she added, as she was going out, "there are such a lot of wagons outside; they have printed on them 'Maraucourt Factories,' and beneath that the name, 'Vulfran Paindavoine.' There are all kinds of barrels and things in the carts. Such a number!"
"There is nothing remarkable in that, my child," said the woman.
"Yes, but it's strange to see so many wagons with the same name on them," replied the girl as she left the caravan.
Perrine found the donkey with his nose buried in the straw, which he was eating calmly.
"Why, you're letting him eat it!" she cried to the boy.
"He'd better not be with me," said the small boy, putting himself in a position to fight and throwing his head back.
But his prowess was not to be brought into action, for at this moment the custom officer began to search the cart of straw, and then gave permission for it to pass on through the Gates of Paris.
"Now it's your turn," said the boy, "and I'll have to leave you. Goodbye, Mademoiselle. If you ever want news of me ask for Double Fat. Everybody knows me."
The employés who guard the entrances of Paris are accustomed to strange sights, yet the man who went into Perrine's caravan looked surprised when he found a young woman lying on a mattress, and even more surprised when his hasty glance revealed to him the extreme poverty of her surroundings.
"Have you anything to declare?" he asked, continuing his investigations.
This was only too true; apart from the mattress, the two cane chairs, a little table, a tiny stove, a camera and a few photographic supplies, there was nothing in this wagon; no trunks, no baskets, no clothes....
Once through the Gates, Perrine, holding Palikare by the bridle, followed the stretch of grass along the embankment. In the brown, dirty grass she saw rough looking men lying on their backs or on their stomachs. She saw now the class of people who frequent this spot. From the very air of these men, with their bestial, criminal faces, she understood why it would be unsafe for them to be there at night. She could well believe that their knives would be in ready use.