"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.

It was after nine o'clock when at last Mother Meraut took the
basket on her arm and gave Pierrette her knitting to carry, and
the three started down the steps.