But she might as well have tried to argue with a hurricane.  Pierre danced up and down with rage, as Pierrette braced herself, and firmly anchored him by his blouse.  “Leggo, leggo!” he shrieked.  “I’m going, I tell you!  I’m not afraid of any Germans alive.”

Just then, panting and breathless, Mother Meraut arrived upon the scene.  While Pierrette held on to his blouse, she attached herself to his left ear.  It had a very calming effect upon Pierre.  He stopped tugging to get away lest he lose his ear.

“Foolish boy,” said his Mother, “see how much trouble you give me!  You shall see the Germans, but you shall not run away from me.  If we should get separated, God only knows whether we should ever find each other again.”

The music had grown louder and louder, and was now very near.  “I’ll stay with you, if you’ll only go,” pleaded Pierre, “but you aren’t even moving.”

“Come, Pierrette,” said his Mother, “take hold of his left arm.  I will attend to his right; he might forget again.  What he really needs is a bit and bridle!”

The three moved up the street, Pierre chafing inwardly, but helpless in his Mother’s grasp, and at the next crossing the great spectacle burst upon them.  A whole regiment of cavalry was passing, singing at the top of their lungs, “Lieb’ Vaterland, macht ruhig sein.”  The sun glistened on their helmets, and the clanking of swords and the jingling of spurs kept time with the swelling chorus.  After the cavalry came soldiers on foot—­miles of them.

“Oh,” murmured Pierrette, clinging to her Mother, “it’s like a river of men!”

Her Mother did not answer.  Pierrette looked up into her face.  The tears were streaming down her cheeks, but her head was proudly erect.  She looked at the other French people about them.  There were tears on many cheeks, but not a head was bowed.  Pierre was glaring at the troops and muttering through his teeth:  “Just you wait till I grow up!  I’ll make you pay for this, you pirates!  I’ll—­”

“Hush!” whispered Pierrette.  “Suppose they should hear you!”

“I don’t care if they do!  I wish they would!” raged Pierre.  “I’m going—­”

But the German Army was destined not to suffer the consequences of Pierre’s wrath.  He did not even have a chance to tell Pierrette his plan for their destruction, for at this point his Mother, unable longer to endure the sight, dragged him forcibly from the scene.  “They shall not parade their colors before me,” she said firmly, “I will not stand still and look in silence upon my conquerors!  If I could but face them with a gun, that would be different!”

She led the children through a maze of small streets by a roundabout way to the Cathedral, and there they were met at the entrance by the Verger, who gazed at them with sad surprise.  “You’ve been out in the street during the bombardment,” he said reproachfully.  “It’s just like you, Antoinette.”