fore us
into battle on her white charger, carrying in her hand the very banner
which you see there upon the altar. I do not know whether or not it is
true, but certainly the victory was with us, and I for my part find it
easy to be lieve that our blessed Saint Jeanne has not forgotten
France." He raised himself a little on his elbow and pointed to a place
not far distant in the nave. "There," he said, "is the very spot upon
which she knelt while her king was being crowned here in our Cathedral
after she had driven our enemies from French soil and had given him his
throne! The happiest moments of her life were here! What place should
be revisited by her pure spirit if not Rheims? My children, I wish you
every day to pray that she may come again to deliver France!" Exhausted
by emotion and by the effort he had made, he sank back upon the straw
and closed his eyes.
Pierrette took his hand. "Dear papa," she said, "every day we will pray
to her as you say, and give thanks to the Bon Dieu that your life has
been spared to us. If only your poor leg--" she stopped, overcome by
tears.
Her Father opened his eyes and smiled. "Ah, little one, what is a leg
more or less;--or a life either for that matter,--when our France is in
danger?" he said. "Is it not so, Pierre?"
Pierre gulped. "France can have all of my legs!" he cried, in a burst
of patriotism. "And when I'm big enough, I'm going to dig a hole in the
ground and put in millions of tons of dynamite and blow up the whole of
Germany! That's what I'm going to do!"
His Father's eyes twinkled. "It seems a long while to wait," he said,
"because now you are only nine, you see."
Just then their Mother came toward the little group. "Magpies!" she
cried, "it seems that you are talking my patient to death. Run along
now to Madame Coudert." At the Cathedral entrance she kissed them, and
then stood for a moment to watch them as they hurried down the street
out of sight.
VI. THE BURNING OF THE CATHEDRAL
On the evening of the 18th of September, Mother Meraut was late in
leaving the Cathedral, and it was nearly dark when she reached Madame
Coudert's door. Pierrette sat on the steps waiting for her, with
Fifine, the cat, in her arms. Madame Coudert was knitting, as usual,
and Pierre was trying to teach the little raveled-out dog to stand on
his hind legs. As their Mother appeared, the children sprang to meet
her.
"How is Father?" cried Pierrette. It was always the first
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