The joy of the people of Rheims was short-lived. The Germans had
been driven out, it is true, but they had gone only a short
distance to the east, and there, upon the banks of the Aisne, had
securely entrenched themselves, venting their rage upon the City
by daily bombardments. From ten until two nearly every day the
inhabitants of the stricken City for the most part sat in their
cellars listening to the whistling of shells and the crash of
falling timbers and tiles. When the noise ceased, they returned
to the light and air once more and looked about to see the extent
of the damage done. Dur ing the rest of the day they went about
their routine as usual, hoping against hope that the French
Armies, which were now between Rheims and the enemy, would be
able not only to defend the City but to drive the Germans still
farther toward the Rhine.

When the Twins reached the Cathedral the morning after the return
of the French troops, they found their Father resting after an
operation which had removed from his leg a piece of shell, which
had nearly cost his life and would make him permanently lame.
Their Mother met them as they came in. She was pale but smiling.
"What a joy to see you!" she cried, as she pressed them to her
breast. "You may take one look at your Father and throw him a
kiss; then you must go back to Madame Coudert."

"Mayn't we stay with you and help take care of Father?" begged
Pierre.

"No," answered his Mother firmly, "the sights here are not for
young eyes. I can wait upon the nurses and keep things clean: My
place is here for the present, but tomorrow, if all goes well, we