Grand’mere kissed the Twins, and Grandpere hugged Mother Meraut, and then, because the tears were still running down their cheeks, Grandpere pointed to the overturned pail, and the water flowing in little wiggling streams through the dust.  “Come, dear hearts,” he cried, “are these your tears?  Weep no more, then, lest we have a flood after our fire!  This is a time to rejoice!  Wipe your eyes, my Antoinette, and tell us how you came here.  It is as if the sky had opened to let down three angels—­and where, then, is Jacques?”

By this time a group of people had gathered about them—­the little remnant of the old prosperous village of Fontanelle.  “Here we are, you see,” said Grandpere, “all that are left of us.  Every able-bodied young woman was driven away by the Germans to work in their fields—­while ours lie idle.  Every able-bodied man is in the army.  There are only twenty-seven of us left—­old women, children, and myself.  There you have our history.”

Mother Meraut shook each old friend by the hand, looked at all the babies and children, and proudly showed her Twins to them in return, before she said a word about the sorrows they had endured in Rheims, and the desperation which had at last driven them from their home.  The people listened without comment.  They had all suffered so much that there was no room left in their hearts for new grief, but when she told them of the boat and her lame husband they rejoiced with her that she had the happiness at least of a united family.  There was plenty of room in their hearts for joy!  “Come with us,” they said.  “We cannot be poorer.  Our cattle are driven away; we have no strong laborers to till our fields, no seeds to plant in them.  We live in one wing and the outhouses of the Chateau, but hope is not yet dead, and your hands are strong.  Your husband, too, can help, and we shall be at least no worse off for your being here.”

Grand’mere spoke.  “We live in the cow-stalls of the stable,” said she.  “It is not so bad; there is still hay in the loft, and there are other stalls not occupied.”

Mother Meraut crossed herself.  “If the Blessed Mother of Our Lord could live in a stable,” she said, “such shelter is surely good enough for us.”

Father Meraut, sitting patiently in the boat, was surprise, a little later as he looked anxiously toward the village, to see a crowd of people coming toward him, waving caps and hands in salutation.  Before the others ran Pierre and Pierrette, and when they reached him they poured forth a jumble of excited words, from which he was able to gather that Grandpere and Grand’mere were alive and well, and that there was a place for them to stay.  He got out of the boat to greet the people, and their willing hands took the bundles and helped hide the Ark in the bushes, and the whole company then started back to the Chateau, Grandpere lingering behind the others to keep pace with the slow progress of Father Meraut.