“Whenever the troops discovered a house still intact, they broke in the door as if fearful of missing any chance of plunder. If they found anything more valuable than what they already possessed, they threw away the treasures previously collected to make room for the new booty, and when their carts could hold no more they brought away loads of plunder upon their shoulders. “Sometimes when their road was barred by fire, they were forced to turn back and roam about the strange city, seeking an outlet from the labyrinth of flame. Notwithstanding their danger, the greed of the plunderers conquered their dread of the flames. Covered with blood, they made their way over dead bodies to any spot where they expected to find treasure, heedless of the burning ruins which were falling about them. Nothing but the unbearable heat eventually drove them away, and compelled them to seek shelter in the camp.” The earth was so hot that it was impossible to touch it. Boots were no protection; the ground scorched the feet even through leather soles. Eye-witnesses assert that molten lead and copper were flowing in streams along the streets. Strangers were astonished to observe that the inhabitants looked upon their burning houses without a trace of emotion. Their religious faith must undoubtedly have sustained them, for they placed _ikons_ before the houses they abandoned, after quietly making the sign of the cross, without lamentation, or weeping, or wringing of hands. A lady who determined to leave Moscow with her friends, called upon one of her acquaintances, an old woman named Poliakoff, to urge her to accompany them. “I found her,” she said, “near the _ikons_, lighting her lamp. She was dressed as if for a holiday, all in white, with a white kerchief about her head. ‘What is the matter, Babouchka (granny)?’ I asked. ‘Do you not know that your house is on fire? Let us pack up your traps and clothes as quickly as possible, and with God’s help we may escape; we came to take you with us.’ But she only replied—‘Thank you, my pigeons, for remembering me. For my part, I have spent all my life in this house, and I will not leave it alive. When it was set on fire I put on my wedding chemise and my burial garment. I shall begin to pray. And it is thus that death will find me.’ We tried to reason with her; why should she become a martyr when the good God pointed out a way of escape? ‘I shall not burn,’ she rejoined, ‘I shall be suffocated before the flames can reach me. Go; there is still time. The smoke is already filling the room, and I have my prayers to make. Let us say good-bye, and then go. God bless you.’ “Weeping, we embraced her. With tears in her eyes, she blessed us all. ‘Forgive me,’ she said, ‘a wretched sinner, if ever I have done you any injury, and when you see any of my family, give them my last greeting.’ We bowed before her as before one who was dead. The room was already full of smoke.”