village far west of Rheims. What if the Germans should succeed in
getting so far as that? What would become of them? She shut her fears
in her breast, saying nothing to the children, and went on filling the
basket. "Here is a bit of cheese left from last night. I'll put that
in, and a pat of butter," she said; "but we must stop at Madame
Coudert's for more bread. You two little pigs have eaten every scrap
there was in the house."

"There are eggs left," suggested Pierrette.

"So there are, ma mie," said her Mother. "We will boil them all and
take them with us. There's a great deal of nourishment in eggs." She
flew to get the saucepan, and while the eggs bubbled and boiled on the
stove, she and the children set the little kitchen in order and got
themselves ready for the street.

It was after nine o'clock when at last Mother Meraut took the basket on
her arm and gave Pierrette her knitting to carry, and the three started
down the steps.

"Everything looks just the same as it did yesterday," said Pierrette as
they walked down the street. "There's that little raveled-out dog that
always barks at Pierre, and there's Madame Coudert's cat asleep on the
railing, just as she always is."

"Yes," said Mother Meraut, with a sigh, "the cats and dogs are the
same, it is only the people who are different!"

They entered the shop and exchanged greetings with Madame Coudert. They
had bought a long loaf of bread, and Mother Meraut was just opening her
purse to pay for it, when suddenly a shot rang out. It was followed by
the rattle of falling tiles. Another and another came, and soon there
was a perfect rain of shot and shell.

"It is the Germans knocking at the door of Rheims before they enter,"
remarked Madame Coudert with grim humor. "I did not expect so much
politeness!"

Mother Meraut did not reply. For once her cheerful tongue found nothing
comforting to say. Pierre clung to her arm, and Pierrette put her
fingers in her ears and hid her face against her Mother's breast.

For some time the deafening sounds continued. From the window they
could see people running for shelter in every direction. A man came
dashing down the street; dodging falling tiles as he ran, and burst
into Madame Coudert's shop. He had just come from the Rue Colbert and
had news to tell. "The Boches have sent an emissary to the Mayor to
demand huge supplies of provisions from the City, and a great sum of
money besides," he told them, as he gasped for