He had no doubt that, seen in the sunshine and as it
was, it had been both picturesque and beautiful. But now it lay half in
ruins, under a sullen sky, and he beheld no sign of life. Just above him
within its grounds stood a large chateau, that had been riven through
and through by shells. The walls looked as if they were ready to fall
apart and John shivered a little. Farther on was a public building of
some kind, destroyed by fire, all save the walls which stood, blackened
and desolate, and now he saw that the cathedral too had been damaged.
A flake of snow, large and damp, settled on his hand. The clouds were
massing, directly over his head, and he feared another fall. It was
unfortunate, but nothing could drive him back, and finding a flight of
stone steps he ascended them and entered the village.
Chastel had looked somber from the plain below, where some of the
effect, John had thought, might be due to distance, but here it was a
silent ruin, tragic and terrible. Over this village, once so neat and
trim, as he could easily see, war had swept in its most hideous fashion.
Houses were riddled and the gray light showed through them from wall to
wall where the great shells had passed. A bronze statue standing in a
fountain in the center of the little place or square had been struck,
and it lay prone and shattered in the water.
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