The French Twins Part 3

Pierre seized a pink frosted cake, and ran with it to a Captain.

Pierrette gave a sugar roll to the first soldier she could reach; other hands helped. Mother Meraut ran into the shop and brought out more cakes. Shop-keepers all along the way followed Madame Coudert's example, and soon people everywhere were bringing offerings of candy, chocolate, and cigars to the soldiers, and the streets suddenly blossomed with blue, white, and red flags. At the corner, near Madame Coudert's shop, Pierre had the joy of seeing the German officer who had tried to catch him surrender to the Captain who had taken the pink cake. Oh, what a moment that was for Pierre! He sprang into the gutter as the German pa.s.sed and savagely jumped up and down upon the fragments of the green poster! It was a matter for bitter regret to him long after that the German did not seem to notice him.

The whole morning pa.s.sed in such joy and excitement that it was nearly noon when at last Mother Meraut, beaming with happiness, and accompanied by a radiant Pierre and Pierrette, entered the Cathedral.

They were astonished to find it no longer the silent and dim sanctuary to which they were accustomed. The Abbe' was there, and the Verger, looking quite distracted, was directing a group of men in moving the praying-chairs from the western end of the Cathedral, and the s.p.a.ce where they had been was already covered with heaps of straw. Under the great choir at the western end there were piles of broken gla.s.s. Part of the wonderful rose window had been shattered by a sh.e.l.l, and lay in a million fragments on the stone floor.

Mother Meraut clasped her hands in dismay. "What does it all mean?" she demanded of the Verger, as he went tap-tapping by after the workmen.

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Gather up every fragment of gla.s.s," said the Verger briefly, "and put them in a safe place. The wounded are on the way, and are to be housed in the Cathedral. We must be ready for them. There is no time to lose."

As Mother Meraut flew to carry out his directions, the Abbe' beckoned to the children. "Can you be trusted to do an errand for me?" he said.

"Yes, Your Reverence," answered Pierre.

"Very well," said the Abbe. "I want you to get for the towers two Red Cross flags. They must be the largest size, and we must have them soon.

The wounded may arrive at any moment now, and the Red Cross will protect the Cathedral from sh.e.l.l-fire, for not even Germans would destroy a hospital." He gave them careful directions, and a note for the shop-keeper. "Now run along, both of you," he said. "Tell your Mother where you are going, and that I sent you."

In two minutes the Twins were on their way, but it was more than an hour before they got back. First, the shop-keeper was out, and when he got back it took him some time to find large enough flags. At last, however, they returned, each carrying one done up in a paper parcel.

"Here are the flags," Pierre announced proudly to the Verger, who met them at the entrance.

"Yes," said Father Varennes, "here they are, and here you are. Come in, your Mother wants to see you." The children followed him through the door, and although they had been told that the wounded were to be brought to the Cathedral, they were not prepared for the sight that met their eyes as they entered. On the heaps of straw lay tossing moaning men, in the gray uniforms of the German army.

Pierrette seized Pierre's hand. "Oh," she shuddered, "I didn't think they'd be Germans!"

"They aren't--all of them," said the Verger, a little huskily. "Some of them are French. The Church shelters them all."

Doctors in white ap.r.o.ns were already in attendance upon the wounded, and nurses with red crosses on the sleeves of their white uniforms flitted silently back and forth on errands of mercy. The two children, clinging to each other and gazing fearfully about them, followed the Verger down the aisle. As they pa.s.sed a heap of straw upon which a wounded German lay, something bright rolled from it to them and dropped at Pierrette's feet. Pierre sprang to pick it up. It was a German helmet. Across the front of it were letters. Pierre spelled them--"Gott mit uns." "What does that mean?" he asked the Verger.

"G.o.d with us," snorted Father Varennes. "I suppose the poor wretches actually believe He is."

The Abbe' was waiting for them in the aisle, and he took from them the flags and the helmet. He had heard the Verger's reply, and guessed what the question must have been. "My boy," he said, laying his hand gently upon Pierre's head for an instant, "G.o.d is not far from any of his children. It is they who, through sin, separate themselves from Him!

But never mind theology now. Your Mother is waiting for you. I will take you to her."

The Twins thought it strange that the Abbe' should himself guide them to their Mother. They followed his broad back and swinging black soutane to the farthest corner of the hospital s.p.a.ce. There, beside a mound of straw upon which was stretched a wounded soldier in French uniform, knelt their Mother, and the Twins, looking down, met the eyes of their own Father gazing up at them.

"Gently! my dears, gently!" cautioned their Mother, as the children fell upon their knees beside her in an agony of tears. "Don't cry! he is wounded, to be sure, but he will get well, though he can never again fight for France. We shall see him every day, and by and by he will be at home again with us."

Too stunned for speech, the Twins only kissed the blood-stained hands, and then their Mother led them away. Under the western arches she kissed them good-by. "Go now to Madame Coudert," she said, "and tell her your Father is here, and that I shall stay in the Cathedral. Ask her to take care of you for the night. In the morning, if it is quiet, come again to me."

Dazed, happy, grieved, the children obeyed. They found Madame Coudert beaming above her empty counter. "Bless you," she cried, when they gave her their Mother's message, "of course you can stay! There are no pink cakes for Pierre, but who cares for cakes now that the French are once more in Rheims! And to think you have your Father back again! Surely this is a happy day for you, even though he came back with a wound!"

V. AT MADAME COUDERT'S

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 sh.e.l.ls 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 sh.e.l.l, 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 will sleep once more in our own little home, if it is still standing. In the mean time, be good children, and mind Madame Coudert. Now run along before the sh.e.l.ls begin to fall."

The Twins obediently trotted away, and regained the little shop just as the clock struck ten. The day seemed long to them, for their thoughts were with their parents, but Madame Coudert was so cheerful herself; and kept them so busy they had no time to mope. Pierrette helped make the little cakes, and Pierre sc.r.a.ped the remains of the icing from the mixing-bowl and ate it lest any be wasted. In some ways Pierre was a very thrifty boy. Then, too, Madame Coudert allowed them to stand behind the counter and help wait upon the customers. Moreover, there was Fifine, the cat, for Pierrette to play with, and the little raveled-out dog lived only two doors below; so they did not lack for entertainment.

The next evening their Mother called for them, as she had promised to do, and they once more had supper and slept beneath their own roof. For three days they followed this routine, going with their Mother to Madame Coudert's, where they spent the day, returning at night. On the fourth day they were again allowed to visit the Cathedral and to see their Father. "It will do him good to be with his children," the doctor had said, and so, while Mother Meraut attended to her duties, Pierre and Pierrette sat on each side of the straw bed where he lay, proud and responsible to be left in charge of the patient.

Pierre was bursting with curiosity to know about the Battle of the Marne. Not another boy of his acquaintance had a wounded father, and though his opportunities for seeing his friends had been few, he had already done a good deal of boasting; and was pointed out by other boys on the street as a person of special distinction. "Tell me about the battle, Father," he begged.

His Father lifted his tired eyes to a statue of Jeanne d'Arc, which was in plain sight from where he lay. "Well, my boy," he said after a pause, "there is much I should not wish you to know, but this I will tell you. On the day the battle turned, the watchword of the Army was Jeanne d'Arc. Our soldiers sprang to the attack with her name upon their lips, and some have sworn to me that they saw her ride before us into battle on her white charger, carrying in her hand the very banner which you see there upon the altar. I do not know whether or not it is true, but certainly the victory was with us, and I for my part find it easy to be lieve that our blessed Saint Jeanne has not forgotten France." He raised himself a little on his elbow and pointed to a place not far distant in the nave. "There," he said, "is the very spot upon which she knelt while her king was being crowned here in our Cathedral after she had driven our enemies from French soil and had given him his throne! The happiest moments of her life were here! What place should be revisited by her pure spirit if not Rheims? My children, I wish you every day to pray that she may come again to deliver France!" Exhausted by emotion and by the effort he had made, he sank back upon the straw and closed his eyes.

Pierrette took his hand. "Dear papa," she said, "every day we will pray to her as you say, and give thanks to the Bon Dieu that your life has been spared to us. If only your poor leg--" she stopped, overcome by tears.

Her Father opened his eyes and smiled. "Ah, little one, what is a leg more or less;--or a life either for that matter,--when our France is in danger?" he said. "Is it not so, Pierre?"

Pierre gulped. "France can have all of my legs!" he cried, in a burst of patriotism. "And when I'm big enough, I'm going to dig a hole in the ground and put in millions of tons of dynamite and blow up the whole of Germany! That's what I'm going to do!"

His Father's eyes twinkled. "It seems a long while to wait," he said, "because now you are only nine, you see."

Just then their Mother came toward the little group. "Magpies!" she cried, "it seems that you are talking my patient to death. Run along now to Madame Coudert." At the Cathedral entrance she kissed them, and then stood for a moment to watch them as they hurried down the street out of sight.

VI. THE BURNING OF THE CATHEDRAL

On the evening of the 18th of September, Mother Meraut was late in leaving the Cathedral, and it was nearly dark when she reached Madame Coudert's door. Pierrette sat on the steps waiting for her, with Fifine, the cat, in her arms. Madame Coudert was knitting, as usual, and Pierre was trying to teach the little raveled-out dog to stand on his hind legs. As their Mother appeared, the children sprang to meet her.

"How is Father?" cried Pierrette. It was always the first question when they saw her.

"Better," answered her Mother. "In another week or two the doctor thinks he can be moved."

She was about to enter the shop to speak to Madame Coudert, when the air was suddenly rent by a fearful roar of sound. She clasped her children in her arms. "It's like thunder," she said, patting them soothingly; "if you hear the roar you know at once that you aren't killed. Come, we must hurry to the cellar." But before she could take a single step in that direction there was another terrible explosion.

"Look, oh look!" screamed Pierre, pointing to the Cathedral towers, which were visible from where they stood; "they are sh.e.l.ling the Cathedral!"

For an instant they stood as if rooted to the spot. Was it possible the Germans would sh.e.l.l the place where their own wounded lay--a place protected by the cross? They saw the scaffolding about one of the towers burst suddenly into flames. In another moment the fire had caught and devoured the Red Cross flag itself and then sprang like a thing possessed to the roof. An instant more, and that too was burning.

"Father!" screamed Pierre, and before any one could stop him or even say a word, the boy was far up the street, running like a deer toward the Cathedral. Pierrette was but a few steps behind him.

When she saw her children rus.h.i.+ng madly into such danger, Mother Meraut's exhausted body gave way beneath the demands of her spirit. If Madame Coudert had not caught her, she would have sunk down upon the step. It was only for an instant, but in that instant the children had pa.s.sed out of sight. Not stopping even to close her door, Madame Coudert seized Mother Meraut's hand, and together the two women ran after them. But they could not hope to rival the speed of fleet young feet, and when they reached the Cathedral square the flames were already roaring upward into the very sky. The streets were crowded by this time, and their best speed brought them to the square ten minutes after the children had reached the burning Cathedral, and, heedless of danger, had dashed in and to the corner where their helpless Father lay.

The place was swarming with doctors and nurses working frantically to move the wounded. The Abbe' was there, and the Archbishop also. Already the straw had caught fire in several places from falling brands. "Out through the north transept," shouted the Abbe.

Pierre and Pierrette knew well what they had come to do. For them there was but one person in the Cathedral, and that person was their Father.

They had but one purpose--to get him out. Young as they were, they were already well used to danger, and it scarcely occurred to them that they were risking their lives. Certainly they were not afraid. When they reached their Father's side, they found him vainly struggling to rise.

"Here we are, Father," shouted Pierre: "Lean on us!" He flew to one side; Pierrette was already struggling to lift him on the other. As his bed was the one farthest from the spot where the fire first appeared, the doctors and nurses had sought to rescue those in greatest danger, and so the children for the time being were alone in their effort to save him.