Elizabeth #709 Through the Paris Gates An old hag wearily drives her fatigued nag out of the

Paris gates. As her rickety, beat up cart clinks on the slippery stone; it carries a secret locked inside of it. Her worn out, patched up gray shawl drapes over her olive sweater and buttoned near the neckline. On her huge, bony white hands are knitted, olive, gloves. They are lying on top of her beige skirt. No stockings are worn to keep her long legs warm and black rubber boots peek out from beneath the skirt. In her right hand she grasps tightly the leather straps of the reins making sure not to let go. Straggling gray locks hang down from her white, dirty cap which is pulled down close by her forehead. When she is out of the gates, her snarls stop, her eyebrows come down, her eyes settle, her pale cheeks loosen up, her mouth relaxes, and her emotions are calm once again. Finally calm again, the tall figure slumps down. Sitting on the wooden frame of the cart, she concentrates on the stony road ahead of her. Large wooden barrels toss and turn in the carts bed. Towering oak trees line up in rows along the edge of stony road creating a grove of trees.