—Out of the window? at your age?
—The window was low and I fell on the ashes. I began to run madly, I don't know where. I protected my head with my arm! Look how wounded it is by a stone falling on me!
And she shows me her fore-arm. It has a long wound, a torn place which is beginning to heal.
—And where did you go?
—Where could I go? Old as I am? In the country towards Somma; there I spent the night. I said, this is the hour of my death! Let your will be done my Lord!
—And you have come back?
—I have come back. What could I do in another country? Who wants an old woman? If I have to die, I want to die here.
Here is a man of the people coming from a street. He bends over a mattress, tucks it up and lays it on a cart which is in a corner, where he has already layed other things.
—Have you found your things again? I ask him.