the low, ominous beating of drums to break the stillness.

Mother Meraut and the children waited obediently in the chapel,
scarcely breathing in their suspense, while Father Varennes went
tap-tapping up and down the aisles eagerly watching for the Abbe
to reappear. At last he came. Mother Meraut, the Verger, and the
children all crowded about him, waiting breathlessly for him to
speak.

The Abbe was pale, but his voice was firm. "I have been to the
north tower," he said, "and there I could see for miles in every
direction. Far away to the east and north are massed the hordes
of the German Army; they are coming toward Rheims as a thunder-
cloud comes rolling over the sky. Between us and them is our
Army, but alas, their faces are turned this way. They are
retreating before the German hosts! Already French troops are
marching through Rheims; already the streets are filled with
people who are fleeing from their homes for fear of the Boche.
Unless God sends a miracle, our City is indeed doomed, for a time
at least, to wear the German yoke."

He paused, and the children burst into wild weeping. Mother
Meraut hushed them with comforting words. "Do not cry, my
darlings," she said. "God is not dead, and we shall yet live to
see justice done and our dear land restored to us. The soldiers
now in the streets are all our own brave defenders. We shall be
able to go in safety, even though in sorrow, to our homes."

"Come," said the Abbe, "there is no time to lose. Our Army will,
without doubt, make a stand on the plains west of the City, and