At this moment a French Captain came by.  The men sprang to their feet, clicked their heels together, and saluted.  Father Meraut stiffened into military position and saluted also.  The officer returned the salute, then stopped and spoke to him.  “You are a soldier of France, I see,” he said.  “Where did you get your wound?”

“With Joffre, at the Marne, mon Capitaine,” answered Father Meraut, proudly.  And then he told the Captain of his being brought wounded to the Cathedral in Rheims, of its bombardment and burning, and of his rescue by Pierre and Pierrette.

The Captain turned to the Americans and said to them in English:  “We have here three heroes of France instead of one!  These children have lived under constant fire since last September, and they rescued their wounded father from the burning Cathedral of Rheims at the risk of their own lives.”  The Americans saluted Father Meraut, then they saluted Pierre and Pierrette, while Mother Meraut stood by, beaming with pride.

“We will ask them to dine with us as our guests,” said the Captain, and, turning to Father Meraut, he spoke again in French.  “This is the Foreign Legion,” he said.  “It is made up of friends of France, brave men of different countries who came voluntarily to fight with us against the Boche.  Here they receive special training under French officers before going to the front.  These Americans have only just come.  They do not know much French, but they wish you to dine with them.”

Ah, what a day that was for Pierre and Pierrette!  Their story was passed about from one to another, and, instead of being homeless, wandering refugees, they found themselves suddenly treated as distinguished guests, by real soldiers.  Pierre swelled with pride, and if he had only been able to speak their language, how glad he would have been to tell the Americans about the return of the French to Rheims, the green poster, Madame Coudert, and many other things!  Alas, he could only eat his soup and gaze about him at all the activities that were going on in camp.  When at last it was time for them to go, it was with the greatest difficulty that Pierre could be torn away from his new-found friends.

“Come again, old pal,” said the tall man, slapping Pierre cordially on the back as he said good-by.  “Come again and see your Uncle Sam!  Come and bring your family!”

Pierre grinned, although he did not understand a word, shook hands, and ran down the river-bank to join his parents and Pierrette, who were already climbing into the boat.

“Jim” and “Uncle Sam” looked after them as the Ark swung out into the stream.  “Au revoir,” shouted Pierre, waving his hand.  “Vive la France!” And back came the reply like an echo, “You bet your life, vive la France!”

X. FONTANELLE