“I can take cart of my own,” said Mother Meraut.  “You need have no fear for us.”

“Very well,” said the Abbe, and, calling the rest of the children about him, he marched them down the aisle and out into the street.

Mother Meraut followed with Pierre and Pierrette.  At the door they paused and stood for a moment under the great sculptured arches to survey the scene before them.  The great square before the Cathedral was filled with people, some weeping, others standing about as if dazed by sorrow.  Between the silent crowds which lined the sidewalks passed the soldiers, grim and with set faces, keeping time to the throbbing of the drums as they marched.  Above the scene, in the center of the square, towered the beautiful statue of Jeanne d’Arc, mounted upon her charger and lifting her sword toward the sky.

“Ah,” murmured Mother Meraut to herself, “our blessed Maid still keeps guard above the City!” She lifted her clasped hands toward the statue.  “Blessed Saint Jeanne,” she prayed, “hear us in Paradise, and come once more to save our beautiful France!”

Then, waving a farewell to the Verger and Jean, who had followed them to the door, she took her children by the hand and plunged with them into the sad and silent crowd.

II.  ON THE WAY HOME

For some time after leaving the Cathedral, Mother Meraut and the Twins lingered in the streets, forgetful of everything but the retreating Army and the coming invasion.  Everywhere there were crowds surging to and fro.  Some were hastening to close their places of business and put up their shutters before the Germans should arrive.  Some were hurrying through the streets carrying babies and bundles.  Others were wheeling their few belongings upon barrows or in baby-carriages.  Still others flew by on bicycles with packages of clothing fastened to the handle-bars; and there were many automobiles loaded to the brim with household goods and fleeing families.

Doors were flung open and left swinging on their hinges as people escaped, scarcely looking behind them as they fled.  These were refugees from Rheims itself.  There were many others wearily plodding through the City, people who had come from Belgium and the border towns of France.  Some who had come from farms drove pitiful cattle before them, and some journeyed in farm wagons, with babies and old people, chickens, dogs, and household goods mixed in a heap upon beds of straw.  In all the City there was not a cheerful sight, and everywhere, above all other sounds, were heard the rumble of wheels, the sharp clap-clap of horses’ hoofs upon the pavement, and the steady beat of marching feet.

At last, weary and heartsick, the three wanderers turned into a side street and stepped into a little shop where food was sold.  “We must have some supper,” said Mother Meraut to the Twins, “Germans or no Germans!  One cannot carry a stout heart above an empty stomach!  And if it is to be our last meal in French Rheims, let us at least make it a good one!” Though there was a catch in her voice, she smiled almost gaily as she spoke.  “Who knows?” she went on.  “Perhaps after to-morrow we shall be able to get nothing but sauerkraut and sausage!”