III
When she had exhausted her supplies she took refuge in the church. It was
at the end of the long street on the ridge and after she had rested she
could leave the village by its farther end, and by making a long detour
avoid the painful necessity of refusing alms.
There was no roof on the church; otherwise it would have been the general
refuge. Part of it including the steeple was some distance away and looked
as if it had been blown off. The rest had gone down with one of the walls.
It was a charred unlovely ruin. Saints and virgins sometimes defied the
worst that war could do, but all had succumbed here. The paneless windows
in the walls that still remained precariously erect framed pictures of a
quiet and lovely landscape. The stone walls were intact about the farms in
which moved a few old men and women in faded cotton frocks that looked like
soft pastels. The oaks were majestic and serene. The hills were lavender in
the distance. But the farm houses were in ruins and so was a chateau on
a hill. Alexina could see its black gaping walls through the grove of
chestnut trees withered by the fire.
She wandered about looking for a seat however humble but could find nothing
more inviting than piles of brick and twisted iron. She noticed an open
place in the floor and went over to it and peered down. There was a flight
of steps ending in cimmerian darkness.
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