Silence and darkness settled down upon the little household, and, for a time at least, their sorrows were forgotten in the blessed oblivion of sleep.

III.  THE COMING OF THE GERMANS

When the Twins opened their eyes the next morning, the first thing they saw was the sun shining in at the eastern window of the kitchen, and Mother Meraut bending over the fire.  There was a smell of chocolate in the air, and on the table there were rolls and butter.  Pierre yawned and rubbed his eyes.  Pierrette sat up and tried to think what it was she was so unhappy about; sleep had, for the time being, swept the terrors of the night quite out of her mind.  In an instant more the fearful truth rolled over her like a wave, and she sank back upon the pillow with a little moan.

Her Mother heard and understood.  She too had waked from sleep to sorrow, but she only cried out cheerfully, “Bonjour, my sleepy heads!  Last night you did not want to go to your beds at all.  This morning you wish not to leave them!  Hop into your clothes as fast as you can, or we shall be late.”

“Late where?” asked Pierre.

“To my work at the Cathedral, to be sure,” answered Mother Meraut promptly.  “Where else?  Did you think the Germans would make me sit at home and cry for terror while my work waits?  Whoever rules in Rheims, the Cathedral still stands and must be kept clean.”

It was wonderful how the dismal world brightened to Pierre and Pierrette as they heard their Mother’s brave voice.  They flew out of bed at once and were dressed in a twinkling.

While they ate their breakfast, Pierre thought of a plan.  “We ought to take a lot of food with us to-day,” he said to his Mother.  “There’s no telling what may happen before night.  Maybe we can’t get home at all and shall have to sleep in the Cathedral.”

“Oh,” shuddered Pierrette, “among all those tombs?”

“There are worse places where one might sleep,” said the Mother.  “The dead are less to be feared than the living, and the Cathedral is the safest place in Rheims.”  She brought out a wicker basket and began to pack it with food as she talked.  First she put in two pots of jam.  “There,” said she, “that’s the jam Grandmother made from her gooseberries at the farm.”

She paused, struck by a new alarm.  Her father and mother lived in a tiny village far west of Rheims.  What if the Germans should succeed in getting so far as that?  What would become of them?  She shut her fears in her breast, saying nothing to the children, and went on filling the basket.  “Here is a bit of cheese left from last night.  I’ll put that in, and a pat of butter,” she said; “but we must stop at Madame Coudert’s for more bread.  You two little pigs have eaten every scrap there was in the house.”

“There are eggs left,” suggested Pierrette.

“So there are, ma mie,” said her Mother.  “We will boil them all and take them with us.  There’s a great deal of nourishment in eggs.”  She flew to get the saucepan, and while the eggs bubbled and boiled on the stove, she and the children set the little kitchen in order and got themselves ready for the street.