ay to the east and north are massed the hordes of the German
Army; they are coming toward Rheims as a thunder-cloud comes rolling
over the sky. Between us and them is our Army, but alas, their faces
are turned this way. They are retreating before the German hosts!
Already French troops are marching through Rheims; already the streets
are filled with people who are fleeing from their homes for fear of the
Boche. Unless God sends a miracle, our City is indeed doomed, for a
time at least, to wear the German yoke."

He paused, and the children burst into wild weeping. Mother Meraut
hushed them with comforting words. "Do not cry, my darlings," she said.
"God is not dead, and we shall yet live to see justice done and our
dear land restored to us. The soldiers now in the streets are all our
own brave defenders. We shall be able to go in safety, even though in
sorrow, to our homes."

"Come," said the Abbe, "there is no time to lose. Our Army will,
without doubt, make a stand on the plains west of the City, and it will
not be long before the Germans pass through. You must go to your homes
as fast as possible. Henri, you remain here with your Jean, that you
may meet any of the parents who come for their children. Tell them I
have gone with them myself and will deliver each child safely at his
own door."

"I can take cart of my own," said Mother Meraut. "You need have no fear
for us."

"Very well," said the Abbe, and, calling the rest of the children about
him, he marched them down the aisle and out into the street.

Mother Meraut followed with Pierre and Pierrette. At the door they
paused and stood for a moment under the great sculptured arches to
survey the scene before them. The great square before the Cathedral was
filled with people, some weeping, others standing about as if dazed by
sorrow. Between the silent crowds which lined the sidewalks passed the
soldiers, grim and with set faces, keeping time to the throbbing of the
drums as they marched. Above the scene, in the center of the square,
towered the beautiful statue of Jeanne d'Arc, mounted upon her charger
and lifting her sword toward the sky.

"Ah," murmured Mother Meraut to herself, "our blessed Maid still keeps
guard above the City!" She lifted her clasped hands toward the statue.
"Blessed Saint Jeanne," she prayed, "hear us in Paradise, and come once
more to save our beautiful France!"

Then, waving a farewell to the Verger and Jean, who had followed them
to