A whirring of stiff wings beat the air above him,
flying off with the croakings of wrath. He explored every nook and
corner, even approaching the place where the troopers had erected their
barricade. The carts were still by the roadside.
He then retraced his steps, calling out before the least injured
houses, and putting his head through the doors and windows that were
unobstructed or but half consumed. Was nobody left in Villeblanche? He
descried among the ruins something advancing on all fours, a species of
reptile that stopped its crawling with movements of hesitation and fear,
ready to retreat or slip into its hole under the ruins. Suddenly the
creature stopped and stood up. It was a man, an old man. Other human
larvae were coming forth conjured by his shouts--poor beings who hours
ago had given up the standing position which would have attracted
the bullets of the enemy, and had been enviously imitating the lower
organisms, squirming through the dirt as fast as they could scurry into
the bosom of the earth. They were mostly women and children, all filthy
and black, with snarled hair, the fierceness of animal appetite in their
eyes--the faintness of the weak animal in their hanging jaws. They
were all living hidden in the ruins of their homes. Fear had made them
temporarily forget their hunger, but finding that the enemy had gone,
they were suddenly assailed by all necessitous demands, intensified by
hours of anguish.
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