17
At sunset they stood on a hill outside the town and looked across at it lying up its own hillside, its buildings peaking against the sky. They counted the rich green copper cupolas and sighed and exulted over the whole picture, the coloured sky, the coloured town, the shimmering of the trees.
Making their way along the outskirts of the town towards the station in the fading light they met a little troop of men and women coming quietly along the roadway. They were all dressed in black. They looked at the girls with strange mild eyes and filled Miriam with fear.
Presently the girls crossed a little high bridge over a stream, and from the crest of the bridge beyond a high-walled garden a terraced building came into sight. It was dotted with women dressed in black. One of the figures rose and waved a handkerchief. “Wave, children,” said Fräulein’s trembling voice, “wave”—and the girls collected in a little group on the crest of the bridge and waved with raised arms.
“Ghastly, isn’t it?” said Gertrude, glancing at Miriam as they moved on. Miriam was cold with apprehension. “Are they mad?” she whispered.