The joy of the people of Rheims was short-lived.  The Germans had been driven out, it is true, but they had gone only a short distance to the east, and there, upon the banks of the Aisne, had securely entrenched themselves, venting their rage upon the City by daily bombardments.  From ten until two nearly every day the inhabitants of the stricken City for the most part sat in their cellars listening to the whistling of shells and the crash of falling timbers and tiles.  When the noise ceased, they returned to the light and air once more and looked about to see the extent of the damage done.  Dur ing the rest of the day they went about their routine as usual, hoping against hope that the French Armies, which were now between Rheims and the enemy, would be able not only to defend the City but to drive the Germans still farther toward the Rhine.

When the Twins reached the Cathedral the morning after the return of the French troops, they found their Father resting after an operation which had removed from his leg a piece of shell, which had nearly cost his life and would make him permanently lame.  Their Mother met them as they came in.  She was pale but smiling.  “What a joy to see you!” she cried, as she pressed them to her breast.  “You may take one look at your Father and throw him a kiss; then you must go back to Madame Coudert.”

“Mayn’t we stay with you and help take care of Father?” begged Pierre.

“No,” answered his Mother firmly, “the sights here are not for young eyes.  I can wait upon the nurses and keep things clean:  My place is here for the present, but tomorrow, if all goes well, we will sleep once more in our own little home, if it is still standing.  In the mean time, be good children, and mind Madame Coudert.  Now run along before the shells begin to fall.”

The Twins obediently trotted away, and regained the little shop just as the clock struck ten.  The day seemed long to them, for their thoughts were with their parents, but Madame Coudert was so cheerful herself; and kept them so busy they had no time to mope.  Pierrette helped make the little cakes, and Pierre scraped the remains of the icing from the mixing-bowl and ate it lest any be wasted.  In some ways Pierre was a very thrifty boy.  Then, too, Madame Coudert allowed them to stand behind the counter and help wait upon the customers.  Moreover, there was Fifine, the cat, for Pierrette to play with, and the little raveled-out dog lived only two doors below; so they did not lack for entertainment.

The next evening their Mother called for them, as she had promised to do, and they once more had supper and slept beneath their own roof.  For three days they followed this routine, going with their Mother to Madame Coudert’s, where they spent the day, returning at night.  On the fourth day they were again allowed to visit the Cathedral and to see their Father.  “It will do him good to be with his children,” the doctor had said, and so, while Mother Meraut attended to her duties, Pierre and Pierrette sat on each side of the straw bed where he lay, proud and responsible to be left in charge of the patient.