people of Rheims that the Germans were at their doors.

Wide-eyed with terror, the children sprang from their seats, but
the Abbe, with hand uplifted, blocked the entrance and commanded
them to stay where they were.

"Let no one leave the Cathedral," he cried.

At this instant Mother Meraut appeared upon the threshold
searching for her children, and behind her, coming as fast as his
lameness would permit, came the Verger. The Abbe turned to them.
"I leave these children all in your care," he said. "Stay with
them until I return."

And without another word he disappeared in the shadows.

Mother Meraut sat down on one of the chairs she had dusted so
carefully, and gathered the frightened children about her as a
hen gathers her chickens under her wing. "There, now," she said
cheerfully, as she wiped their tears upon the corner of her
apron, "let's save our tears until we really know what we have to
cry for. There never yet was misery that couldn't be made worse
by crying, anyway. The boys will be brave, of course, whatever
happens. And the girls--surely they will remember that it was a
girl who once saved France, and meet misfortune bravely, like our
blessed Saint Jeanne d'Arc."

The Cathedral organ had ceased to fill the great edifice with
sweet and inspiring sounds. Instead, there now was only the
muffled tread of marching feet, the rumble of heavy wheels, and