dy to die. Ah, my children, it is one thing to kill
as a murderer kills; it is quite another to be willing to die that
others may live! Our Blessed Lord--"

The Abbe lifted his hand to make the sign of the Cross--but it was
stayed in mid-air. The sentence he had begun was never finished, for at
that moment the great bell in the Cathedral tower began to ring. It was
not the clock striking the hour; it was not the chimes calling the
people to prayer. Instead, it was the terrible sound of the alarm bell
ringing out a warning to the people of Rheims that the Germans were at
their doors.

Wide-eyed with terror, the children sprang from their seats, but the
Abbe, with hand uplifted, blocked the entrance and commanded them to
stay where they were.

"Let no one leave the Cathedral," he cried.

At this instant Mother Meraut appeared upon the threshold searching for
her children, and behind her, coming as fast as his lameness would
permit, came the Verger. The Abbe turned to them. "I leave these
children all in your care," he said. "Stay with them until I return."

And without another word he disappeared in the shadows.

Mother Meraut sat down on one of the chairs she had dusted so
carefully, and gathered the frightened children about her as a hen
gathers her chickens under her wing. "There, now," she said cheerfully,
as she wiped their tears upon the corner of her apron, "let's save our
tears until we really know what we have to cry for. There never yet was
misery that couldn't be made worse by crying, anyway. The boys will be
brave, of course, whatever happens. And the girls--surely they will
remember that it was a girl who once saved France, and meet misfortune
bravely, like our blessed Saint Jeanne d'Arc."

The Cathedral organ had ceased to fill the great edifice with sweet and
inspiring sounds. Instead, there now was only the muffled tread of
marching feet, the rumble of heavy wheels, and the low, ominous beating
of drums to break the stillness.

Mother Meraut and the children waited obediently in the chapel,
scarcely breathing in their suspense, while Father Varennes went
tap-tapping up and down the aisles eagerly watching for the Abbe to
reappear. At last he came. Mother Meraut, the Verger, and the children
all crowded about him, waiting breathlessly for him to speak.

The Abbe was pale, but his voice was firm. "I have been to the north
tower," he said, "and there I could see for miles in every direction.
Far aw