urned from the gaping doorway and started toward the Chateau, which
lay half a mile beyond the village. Not a soul did they meet until they
arrived at the great gate which marked the entrance to the park, and
then they saw that the Chateau too had suffered. It had been partly
burned out, but as its walls were standing and one wing looked
habitable, their spirits rose a little. At the gate a child was
playing. They stopped. "Can you tell me, ma petite," said Mother
Meraut, her voice trembling, "whether there is any one here by the name
of Jamart?"

"Mais--oui," answered the child, surveying the strangers with
curiosity. "Voila!" She pointed a stubby finger toward the Chateau, and
there, just disappearing behind a corner of the wall, was the bent
figure of an old woman carrying a pail of water.

With a cry of joy, Mother Meraut sprang forward, and Pierre and
Pierrette for once in their lives, run as they would, could not keep up
with her. She fairly flew over the ground, and when the Twins at last
reached her side, the pail of water was spilled on the ground, and the
two women were weeping in each other's arms. An old man now came toward
them and the children flung themselves upon him. "Grandpere!
Grandpere!" they shouted, and then such another embracing as there was!

Grand'mere kissed the Twins, and Grandpere hugged Mother Meraut, and
then, because the tears were still running down their cheeks, Grandpere
pointed to the overturned pail, and the water flowing in little
wiggling streams through the dust. "Come, dear hearts," he cried, "are
these your tears? Weep no more, then, lest we have a flood after our
fire! This is a time to rejoice! Wipe your eyes, my Antoinette, and
tell us how you came here. It is as if the sky had opened to let down
three angels--and where, then, is Jacques?"

By this time a group of people had gathered about them--the little
remnant of the old prosperous village of Fontanelle. "Here we are, you
see," said Grandpere, "all that are left of us. Every able-bodied young
woman was driven away by the Germans to work in their fields--while
ours lie idle. Every able-bodied man is in the army. There are only
twenty-seven of us left--old women, children, and myself. There you
have our history."

Mother Meraut shook each old friend by the hand, looked at all the
babies and children, and proudly showed her Twins to them in return,
before she said a word about the sorrows they had endured in Rheims,
an