The whole morning passed in such joy and excitement that it was nearly noon when at last Mother Meraut, beaming with happiness, and accompanied by a radiant Pierre and Pierrette, entered the Cathedral.  They were astonished to find it no longer the silent and dim sanctuary to which they were accustomed.  The Abbe’ was there, and the Verger, looking quite distracted, was directing a group of men in moving the praying-chairs from the western end of the Cathedral, and the space where they had been was already covered with heaps of straw.  Under the great choir at the western end there were piles of broken glass.  Part of the wonderful rose window had been shattered by a shell, and lay in a million fragments on the stone floor.

Mother Meraut clasped her hands in dismay.  “What does it all mean?” she demanded of the Verger, as he went tap-tapping by after the workmen.  “What do you wish me to do?”

“Gather up every fragment of glass,” said the Verger briefly, “and put them in a safe place.  The wounded are on the way, and are to be housed in the Cathedral.  We must be ready for them.  There is no time to lose.”

As Mother Meraut flew to carry out his directions, the Abbe’ beckoned to the children.  “Can you be trusted to do an errand for me?” he said.

“Yes, Your Reverence,” answered Pierre.

“Very well,” said the Abbe.  “I want you to get for the towers two Red Cross flags.  They must be the largest size, and we must have them soon.  The wounded may arrive at any moment now, and the Red Cross will protect the Cathedral from shell-fire, for not even Germans would destroy a hospital.”  He gave them careful directions, and a note for the shop-keeper.  “Now run along, both of you,” he said.  “Tell your Mother where you are going, and that I sent you.”

In two minutes the Twins were on their way, but it was more than an hour before they got back.  First, the shop-keeper was out, and when he got back it took him some time to find large enough flags.  At last, however, they returned, each carrying one done up in a paper parcel.

“Here are the flags,” Pierre announced proudly to the Verger, who met them at the entrance.

“Yes,” said Father Varennes, “here they are, and here you are.  Come in, your Mother wants to see you.”  The children followed him through the door, and although they had been told that the wounded were to be brought to the Cathedral, they were not prepared for the sight that met their eyes as they entered.  On the heaps of straw lay tossing moaning men, in the gray uniforms of the German army.

Pierrette seized Pierre’s hand.  “Oh,” she shuddered, “I didn’t think they’d be Germans!”

“They aren’t—­all of them,” said the Verger, a little huskily.  “Some of them are French.  The Church shelters them all.”