“Oh, but how was I to know it was coming?” cried Mother Meraut.  “We left home before it began!”

“It would have been just the same if you had known,” scolded the Verger.  “Germans or devils—­it would make no difference to you!  You have no fear in you.”

“You misjudge me,” cried Mother Meraut; “but what good would it do to sit and quake in my own house?  There is no safety anywhere, and here at least there is work to do.”

“You can go about your work as usual with the noise of guns ringing in your ears and the Germans marching through Rheims?” exclaimed the Verger.

“Why not?” answered Mother Meraut, with spirit.  “I guess our soldiers don’t knock off work every time a gun goes off or a few Germans come in sight!  It would be a shame if we could not follow their example!” `

“Antoinette, you are a wonderful woman.  I have always said so,” declared the Verger solemnly.  “You are as brave as a man!”

“Pooh!” said Mother Meraut, mockingly.  “As if the men, bless their hearts, were so much braver than women, anyway!  Oh, la! la! the conceit of you!” She wagged a derisive finger at the Verger, and, calling the children, went to get her scrubbing-pail and brushes.

All day long, while distant guns roared, she went about her daily tasks, keeping one spot of order and cleanliness in the midst of the confusion, disorder, and destruction of the invaded city.  The Twins were busy, too; their Mother saw to that.  They dusted chairs and placed them in rows; and at noon they found a corner where the light falling through one of the beautiful stained-glass windows made a spot of cheerful color in the gloom, and there they ate part of the lunch which they had packed in the wicker basket.  During all the excitement of the morning they had not forgotten the lunch!

When the day’s work was done, they ventured out upon the streets in the gathering dusk.  They found them full of German soldiers, drinking, swaggering, singing, and they saw many strange and terrifying sights in the havoc wrought by the first bombardment.  As they passed the door of Madame Coudert’s shop, they peeped in and saw her sitting stolidly behind the counter, knitting.

“Oh,” said Pierrette, “doesn’t it seem like a year since we were here this morning?”

Mother Meraut called out a cheerful greeting to Madame Coudert.  “Still in your place, I see,” she said.

“Like the Pyramids,” came the calm answer; and, cheered by her fortitude, they hurried on their way to the little house in the Rue Charly.

Mother Meraut sighed with relief as she unlocked the door.  “Everything just as we left it,” she said.  “We at least shall have one more night in our own home.”  Then she drew the children into the shelter of the dear, familiar roof and locked the door from the inside.

IV.  THE RETURN OF THE FRENCH