sheltering them in the Presbytère for a time, he sent them with one of
his _vicaires_ out of the town. Then--to continue his narrative:

"I went to the southern portal of the cathedral, and stood there
trembling at every burst of shrapnel that struck the belfry and the
roof, and running out into the open, at each pause, to be sure that the
church was still there. When the firing ceased, I went back to the
Presbytère.

"Presently, furious sounds of blows from the _place_. I went out. I saw
some enemy cyclists, armed with fragments of stone, breaking in one of
the cathedral doors, another, with a hatchet, attacking the belfry door.
At the sight of me, they rushed at me with their revolvers, demanding
that I should take them to the top of the belfry. 'You have a machine
gun there!' 'Nothing of the sort, monsieur. See for yourselves.' I
unlocked the door, and just as I put my foot on the first step, the
fusillade in the town began. The soldiers started. 'You are our
prisoner!' cried their chief, turning to me, as though to seize me.

"'I know it. You have me in your hands.' I went up before them, as
quickly as my age allowed. They searched everywhere, and, of course,
found nothing. They ran down and disappeared."

But that was not the end of the Abbé's trouble. He was presently sent
for to the German Headquarters, at the Hotel du Grand Cerf, where the
table spread for thirty people, by the order of M. Odent, was still
waiting for its guests. The conversation here between the Curé and the
officer of high rank who spoke to him is worth repeating. From the tenor
of it, the presumption is that the officer was a Catholic--probably
a Bavarian.