almost a moment all landmarks would be utterly obliterated, and the
four little travelers dismally perish.

Joe, however, only remembering France by what it is in the sunny
south, and having from his latter life in London very little idea of
what a snowstorm really meant, paid but slight heed to these
warnings; and having ascertained that Cecile by no means wished to
remain in the little wayside cottage, he declared himself ready to
encounter the perils of the way.

The old peasant bade the children good-by with tears in her eyes.
She even caught up Maurice in her arms, and said it was a direct
flying in the face of Providence to let so sweet an angel go forth to
meet "certain destruction." But as her vehement words were only
understood by one, and by that one very imperfectly, they had
unfortunately little result.

The cottage was small, close, and very uncomfortable, and the
children were glad to get on their way.

Soon after noon they reached the old town of Caen. They had walked
on for two or three miles by the side of the river Orne, and found
themselves in old Caen before they knew it. Following strictly
Cecile's line of action, the children had hitherto avoided all towns
--thus, had they but known it, making very little real progress. But
now, attracted by some washer-women who, bitter as the day was, were
busy washing their clothes in the running waters of the Orne, they
got into the picturesque town, and under the shadow of the old
Cathedral.