out with grief and
anxiety, she too undressed, said her rosary, and, after a long look at
her sleeping children, blew out the candle and crept into bed beside
Pierrette.

Silence and darkness settled down upon the little household, and, for a
time at least, their sorrows were forgotten in the blessed oblivion of
sleep.

III. THE COMING OF THE GERMANS

When the Twins opened their eyes the next morning, the first thing they
saw was the sun shining in at the eastern window of the kitchen, and
Mother Meraut bending over the fire. There was a smell of chocolate in
the air, and on the table there were rolls and butter. Pierre yawned
and rubbed his eyes. Pierrette sat up and tried to think what it was
she was so unhappy about; sleep had, for the time being, swept the
terrors of the night quite out of her mind. In an instant more the
fearful truth rolled over her like a wave, and she sank back upon the
pillow with a little moan.

Her Mother heard and understood. She too had waked from sleep to
sorrow, but she only cried out cheerfully, "Bonjour, my sleepy heads!
Last night you did not want to go to your beds at all. This morning you
wish not to leave them! Hop into your clothes as fast as you can, or we
shall be late."

"Late where?" asked Pierre.

"To my work at the Cathedral, to be sure," answered Mother Meraut
promptly. "Where else? Did you think the Germans would make me sit at
home and cry for terror while my work waits? Whoever rules in Rheims,
the Cathedral still stands and must be kept clean."

It was wonderful how the dismal world brightened to Pierre and
Pierrette as they heard their Mother's brave voice. They flew out of
bed at once and were dressed in a twinkling.

While they ate their breakfast, Pierre thought of a plan. "We ought to
take a lot of food with us to-day," he said to his Mother. "There's no
telling what may happen before night. Maybe we can't get home at all
and shall have to sleep in the Cathedral."

"Oh," shuddered Pierrette, "among all those tombs?"

"There are worse places where one might sleep," said the Mother. "The
dead are less to be feared than the living, and the Cathedral is the
safest place in Rheims." She brought out a wicker basket and began to
pack it with food as she talked. First she put in two pots of jam.
"There," said she, "that's the jam Grandmother made from her
gooseberries at the farm."

She paused, struck by a new alarm. Her father and mother lived in a
tiny