Not a human being at the doors, or at the windows.

The streets, silent and solitary.
You would imagine that the curse of heaven had fallen on the country, but for the large placards on the house-fronts, which prove that missionary fathers have passed through the place.

"_Viva Gesu! Viva Maria! Viva il sangue di Gesu! Viva il cor di Maria! Bestemmiatori, tacetevi per l'amor di Maria!_" These devotional sentences are like so many signboards of the public simplicity.
A quarter of an hour's walk brings you to the principal square.
Half-a-dozen civil officials are seated in a circle before a cafe, gaping at one another.

You join them.

They ask you for news of something that happened a dozen years ago.