When they had finished supper, cleared it away, and put the
kitchen in order, Mother Meraut pointed to the clock. "Voila!"
she cried, "hours past your bedtime, and here you are still
flapping about like two young owls! To bed with you as fast as
you can go."

"But, Mother," began Pierre.

"Not a single 'but,'" answered his Mother, wagging her finger at
him. "Va!"

The children knew protest was useless, and in a few minutes they
were snugly tucked away. Long after they were both sound asleep,
their Mother sat with her head bowed upon the table, listening,
listening to the distant sound of marching feet. At last, worn
out with grief and anxiety, shat too undressed, said her rosary,
and, after a long look at her sleeping children, blew out the
candle and crept into bed beside Pierrette.

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