"Qui est la?—" asked a high-pitched, trembling female voice.
"I, Madame H. of Villiers."
"I don't know you—go your way."
"But we are refugees."
"I have nothing left. Allez-vous-en!"
That was categorical, to say the least. So on we went, past the charred ruins of one-time happy homes.
As we rounded a corner our lantern cast a dim glow on to the drawn shutters of a half-collapsed structure.
"Stop a moment," said Julie; "there's something written on those blinds."
I approached, and holding the light as close as possible I read the following sign, chalked in huge white letters:
"Attention. No Loitering. Looters will be shot on the spot!"