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She could not make heads or tails of this new place. The language sounded awfully familiar to French, and so at least Elizabeth could communicate with the people, but they were not French. The Duchess had even wandered into a shop and asked for a map to confirm she really was in 'France,' but when she pointed to the location of where France ought to be the shopkeeper had looked at her oddly and said, "Terre d'Ange." 

Now, sitting on the edge of a fountain, stomach rumbling with hunger, she felt utterly helpless. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried to find food that day, she had even offered payment, but the shopkeepers looked at her coin (what little she carried, for she was a Duchess) with little recognition. What currency did they use if not the pound? Francs? Napoleons? She watched as the sun began to set and the city that had been lively during the day, grew more lively with the coming night. The garb of the people reminded her of books she had read about the medieval period, and wondered if perhaps by some god forsaken stroke of ill fortune she had been set back in time. Or perhaps she had lost her mind. 

Wearily she rested her head in her hands and closed her eyes in order that she might be able to think a little easier through the growing pain at her temples. Perhaps she might off her services to some tavern owner with the promise that she would be given a good meal and a place to rest. Who knew if they would accept the aid of a woman who so clearly didn't work for a living, but she couldn't go on like this. 

With a sigh she stood up and made to speak to someone in hopes they might direct her to the nearest tavern. 

        "Madame, I was wondering if you could tell me what the name of this place is? I took a wrong turn and I've lost my way."