Through the main street of Abrudbanya rode two men, one of them wearing an overcoat with silver buttons over his Wallachian dress, and a tuft of heron's feathers in his cap, while at his side hung a curved sword, pistols protruded from his holsters, and a rifle lay across his saddle-bow. His face had nothing of the Wallachian peasant in its features or expression. The other horseman, however, who rode at some paces' distance in the rear, was manifestly of the peasant class.
The horses' hoofs awoke the echoes of the vacant street. Silence and desolation reigned supreme. Half-burned houses and smoke-blackened walls greeted the riders on every side. High up on the door-post of a church appeared the bloody imprint of a child's hand. How had it come there? Grass and weeds were growing in the marketplace, and a millstone covered the village well. Here and there a lean and hungry dog crept forth at the horsemen's approach, howled dismally, and then retreated among the ruins.
After this scene of devastation was passed, the highway led the riders along the bank of a stream, on both sides of which smelting works had been erected, as this region is rich in gold-producing ore; but nothing except charred ruins was now left of the buildings. At intervals a deserted mill was passed, its wheel still turning idly under the impulse of the tireless stream. Leaving this mining district behind, the two riders came to a settlement of a different sort, which had not been given over entirely to destruction. Only occasionally a house showed windows or doors lacking, while many were wholly unharmed. Among the latter was one building in whose front wall a well-preserved Roman gravestone was set, its carving in high relief being still clearly outlined. Here had once been entombed the ashes of Caius Longinis, a centurion of the third legion. _Sit sibi terra levis!_ One of the door-posts had in ancient times served as a milestone, and the broad bench before the house was made from the lid of a sarcophagus, bearing an inscription which informed the archæologist what saffron-haired Roman beauty had, centuries before, been laid to rest beneath it.
The riders drew rein before this house, and straightway an old woman of extraordinary ugliness stuck her head out of the little door. Among the Wallachians one meets with the comeliest young women and the ugliest old hags. Knock at any door, and it is sure to be opened by one of these ancient dames.