Mother Meraut to see it
standing so strangely safe in the midst of such desolation. "It
stands," she thought, "even as her pure spirit stood safe amidst the
flames of her martyrdom. But I cannot, like her, pray for my enemies
while I burn in the fires they have kindled."

There was yet another burden which she carried safely hidden in her
heart. She had not heard from her father and mother since the Battle of
the Marne. That the Germans had passed through the village where they
lived she knew, but what destruction they had wrought she could only
guess. It was impossible for her at that time to go to them; so she
waited in silence, hoping that some time good news might come. The slow
weeks lengthened into months, and at last Father Meraut was strong
enough to get about on a crutch like Father Varennes. It was a great
day when first he was able to hobble down the steps and out upon the
street, leaning on Mother Meraut's arm on one side, and his crutch upon
the other, with Pierre and Pierrette marching before him like a guard
of honor.

It was now cold weather; winter had set in, and life became more
difficult as food grew scarce and there was not enough fuel to heat the
houses. School should have begun in October, but school-buildings had
not been spared in the bombardment, and it was dangerous to permit
children to stay in them. At last, however, a new way was found to
cheat the enemy of its prey. Schools were opened in the great champagne
cellars of Rheims, and Pierre and Pierrette were among the first
scholars enrolled. Every day after that they hastened through the
streets before the usual hour of the bombardment, went down into one of
the great tunnels cut in chalk, and there, in rooms deep underground,
carried on their studies. It was a strange school, but it was safer
than their home, even though there was danger in going back and forth
in the streets. By spring the children of Rheims had lived so much in
cellars that they were as pale as potato-sprouts.

Mother Meraut watched her two with deepening anxiety. Then, one day in
the spring, a corner of their own roof was blown off by a shell. No one
was hurt, but when a few moments later a second explosion blew a cat
through the hole and dropped it into the soup, Mother Meraut's
endurance gave way.

It was the last straw! She put the cat out, yowling but unharmed, and
silently cleared away the debris. Then, when the bombardment was over,
she put on her bonnet and