No shells were falling in Nivelle as they left the car on the outskirts of the town and entered the long main street. That was all of Nivelle, a long, treeless main street from which branched a few alleys.
Smouldering débris of what had been houses illuminated the street. There were no other lights. Nothing stirred except a gaunt cat flitting like a shadow along the gutter. There was not a sound save the faint stirring of the cinders over which pale flames played fitfully.
Abandoned trenches ditched the little town in every direction; temporary shelters made of boughs, sheds, and broken-down wagons stood along the street. Otherwise, all impedimenta, materials, and stores had appar[pg 240]ently been removed by the retreating columns. There was little wreckage except the burning débris of the few shell-struck houses—a few rags, a few piles of firewood, a bundle of straw and hay here and there.
High, mounting toward the stars, the ancient tower with its gilded hippogriff dominated the place—a vast, vague shape brooding over the single mile-long street and grimy alleys branching from it.
Nobody guarded the portal; the ancient doors stood wide open; pitch darkness reigned within.
"Do you know the way?" whispered the airman.
"Yes. Take hold of my hand."
He dared not use his flash. Carrying bundle and bombsack under one arm, he sought for her hand and encountered it. Cool, slim fingers closed over his.
After a few moments' stealthy advance, she whispered:
"Here are the stairs. Be careful; they twist."