The sun was blotted out and a constant rain of debris fell on the campsite. “It feels like the end of the world,” said Thérèse. But when they awoke next morning Master Giraud whispered, “The wind has dropped,” and everyone was filled with hope because it was the wind that had been spreading the flames. A dense black cloud of smoke rose high in the air and hung over the city. “Will we go home now?” asked Anne. “No, no, ma petite! There are still fires to be put out,” explained her mother. They stayed another two nights in the field, but on Friday people began to return to the city, the Girauds among them. Soon after they passed through Aldersgate, Sam was startled to feel heat coming up through the soles of his shoes. “My shoes are burning!” he exclaimed. They came to Goldsmiths’ Hall, which was now a burned-out shell, the roof gone, only the walls still standing. And as they walked down Foster Lane, shuffling through hot ash, they saw the ruins of many homes. The street was full of rubble, and smoke was pouring skywards.
