of France--wounded at the Marne!" shouted the crowd, and if
he had been able to endure it, they would have borne him upon their
grateful shoulders. As it was, he was carried in no less grateful arms
clear to Madame Coudert's door, and there, lying upon an improvised
stretcher, and attended by his wife and children, he rested from his
journey, while Madame Coudert ran to prepare a cup of coffee for a
stimulant. From Madame Coudert's door they watched the further
destruction of the beautiful Cathedral which Mother Meraut had so often
called the "safest place in Rheims." As it burned, a wonderful thing
happened. High above the glowing roof there suddenly flamed the blue
fleur-de-lis of France!

"See! See!" cried Mother Meraut. "A Miracle! The Lily of France! Oh,
surely it is a sign sent by the Bon Dieu to keep us from despair!"

"It is only the gas from an exploding shell, bursting in blue flame,"
said her husband. "Yet--who knows?--it may also be a true promise that
France shall rise in beauty from its ruins."

VII. HOME AGAIN

The next day, they were able to move Father Meraut to his own home. In
spite of the excitement and strain, he seemed but little the worse for
his experience, and the happiness of being again with his family quite
offset the effect of his dangerous journey. Mother Meraut was a famous
nurse, and when he was safely installed in a bed in a corner of the
room which was their living-room and kitchen in one, she was able to
give him her best care. There he lay, following her with his eyes as
she made good things for him to eat or carried on the regular
activities of her home. Pierre and Pierrette sat beside his bed and
talked to him, or, better still, got him to tell them stories of the
things that had happened during his brief stay in the Army. Pierre
brought the little raveled-out dog, with which he was now on the
friendliest terms, to see him, and Madame Coudert also came to call now
and then, bringing a cake or some other dainty to the invalid.

If only the Germans had gone from their trenches on the Aisne, they and
every one else in Rheims would have been quite comfortable, but alas!
this was not to be. The Germans stayed where they were, and each day
sent a new rain of shells upon the unfortunate City. The inhabitants
grew accustomed to it, as one grows used to thundershowers in April.
"Hello! it's beginning to sprinkle," they would say when a shell burst,
spattering mud and dirt upon the p