went out. She came back an hour later, to
find the Twins sitting, one on each side of their Father, holding his
hands, and all three the picture of despair. Mother Meraut stood before
them, her eyes flashing, her cheeks burning a deep red, and this is
what she said: "I will not live like this another day. Life in Rheims
is no longer possible. I will not stay here to be killed by inches. I
have made arrangements to get a little row-boat, and to-morrow morning
we will take such things as we can carry and leave this place. Whatever
may happen to us elsewhere, it cannot be worse than what is happening
here, and it may possibly be better."

Her husband and children looked at her in amazement. She did not ask
their opinion about the matter, but promptly began the necessary
preparations and told them what to do. Clothing was brought to Father
Meraut to be packed in compact bundles and tied up with string. Then
blankets were made into another bundle; a third held a frying-pan, a
coffee-pot, and a kettle, with a few knives, forks, and spoons, while a
fourth contained food. The Twins were sent to say good-by to Madame
Coudert, and to give her a key to the door, and then all the rest of
their household goods were packed away as carefully as time permitted,
in the cellar.

Mother Meraut put the Twins to bed early, but she herself remained at
work most of the night; yet when morning came and the children woke,
she was up and neatly dressed, and had their breakfast ready. She did
not linger over their sad departure, nor did she shed a tear as they
left the little house which had been their happy home. Instead, she
locked the door after them with a snap, put the key in her pocket, and
walked down the steps with the grim determination of a soldier going
into battle, carrying a big bundle under each arm.

VIII. REFUGEES

The Twins and their Father followed the resolute figure of Mother
Meraut down the street, not knowing at all where she was leading them,
but with implicit confidence that she knew what she was about. She was
carrying the heaviest bundles, and the Twins carried the rest between
them, packed in a clothes-basket. On her other arm Pierrette bore her
dearly loved Jacqueline. Father Meraut could carry nothing but such
small articles as could be put in his pockets, but it was joy enough
that he could carry himself, and it was quite wonderful to see how
speedily he got over the ground with his crutch.

Not far from th