“Indeed!” was my reply to this characteristic answer, made in the most matter-of-fact tone. “Well, now, let us push on for the house of Madame Savilia de Franchi.”
We accordingly resumed our journey, and entered the village about ten minutes afterwards.
I now remarked what I had not noticed from the hill, namely, that every house was fortified similarly to Madame Savilia’s. Not so completely, perhaps, for that the poverty of the inhabitants could not attain to, but purely and simply with oaken planks, by which the windows were protected, loop-holes only being left for rifle barrels; some apertures were simply bricked up.
I asked my guide what he called these loop-holes, and he said they were known as archères—a reply which convinced me that they were used anterior to the invention of firearms.
As we advanced through the streets we were able the more fully to comprehend the profound character of the solitude and sadness of the place.
Many houses appeared to have sustained a siege, and the marks of the bullets dotted the walls.
From time to time as we proceeded we caught sight of a curious eye flashing upon us from an embrasure; but it was impossible to distinguish whether the spectator were a man or a woman.
We at length reached the house which I had indicated to my guide, and which was evidently the most considerable in the village.
As we approached it more nearly, one thing struck me, and that was, fortified to all outward appearance as it was, it was not so in reality, for there were neither oaken planks, bricks, nor loop-holes, but simple squares of glass, protected at night by wooden shutters.