The French Twins | Page 5

with tears!"
The Verger nodded. "That is true," he said, "yet it is hard to smile in the
face of sorrow."
"But we must smile--though our hearts break--for France, and for our
children, lest they forget joy!" cried Mother Meraut. She smiled as she
spoke, though her lip trembled "I will you the truth, Henri, sometimes
when I think of what the Germans have already done in Belgium, and
may yet do in France, I feel my heart breaking in my bosom. And then
I say to myself, 'Courage, Antoinette! It is our business to live bravely

for the France that is to be when this madness is over. Our armies are
still between us and the Boche. It is not time to be afraid.'"
"And I tell you, they shall not pass," cried Father Varennes, striking his
crutch angrily upon the stone floor. "The brave soldiers of France will
not permit it! Oh, if I could but carry a gun instead of this!" He rattled
his crutch despairingly as he spoke.
Mother Meraut sighed. "Though I am a woman, I too wish I might fight
the invaders," she said, "but since I may not carry a gun, I will put all
the more energy into my broom and sweep the dirt from the Cathedral
as I would sweep the Germans back to the Rhine if I could."
"It is, indeed, the only way for women, children, and such as I," grieved
the Verger.
"Tut, tut," answered Mother Meraut cheerfully, "it isn't given us to
choose our service. If God had wanted us to fight he would have given
us power to do it."
The Verger shook his head. "I wish I were sure of that," he said, "for
there's going to be need for all the fighting blood in France if half one
hears is true. They say now that the Germans are already far over the
French border and that our Army is retreating before them. The roads
are more than ever crowded with refugees, and the word they bring is
that the Germans have already reached the valley of the Aisne."
"But that is at our very doors!" cried Mother Meraut. "It is absurd, that
rumor. Chicken hearts! They listen to nothing but their fears. As for me,
I will not believe it until I must. I will trust in the Army as I do in my
God and the holy Saints."
"Amen," responded the Verger devoutly.
At this moment the great western portal swung on its hinges, a patch of
light showed itself against the gloom of the interior of the Cathedral,
and the sound of footsteps and of fresh young voices mingled with the
tones of the organ.
"It's the children, bless their innocent hearts," said Mother Meraut. "I
hear the voices of my Pierre and Pierrette."
"And I of my Jean," said the Verger, starting hastily down the aisle.
"The little magpies forget they must be quiet in the House of God!" He
shook his finger at them and laid it warningly upon his lips. The noise
instantly subsided, and it was a silent and demure little company that
tiptoed up the aisle, bent the knee before the altar, and then filed past

Mother Meraut into the chapel which she had made so clean.
Pierre and Pierrette led the procession, and Mother Meraut beamed
with pride as they blew her a kiss in passing. They were children that
any mother might be proud of. Pierrette had black, curling hair and blue
eyes with long black lashes, and Pierre was a straight, tall, and
manly-looking boy. The Twins were nine years old.
Mother Meraut knew many of the children in the Confirmation Class,
for they were all schoolmates and companions of Pierre and Pierrette.
There was Paul, the sore of the inn-keeper, with Marie, his sister. There
was Victor, whose father rang the Cathedral chimes. There were David
and Genevieve, and Madeleine and Virginie and Etienne, and last of all
there was jean, the Verger's son--little Jean, the youngest in the class.
Mother Meraut nodded to them all as they passed.
Promptly on the first stroke of the hour the Abbe appeared in the north
transept of the Cathedral and made his way with quick, decided steps
toward the chapel. He was a young man with thick dark hair almost
concealed beneath his black three-cornered cap, and as he walked, his
long black soutane swung about him in vigorous folds. When he
appeared in the door of the chapel the class rose politely to greet him.
"Bonjour, my children," said the Abbe, and then, turning his back upon
them, bowed before the crucifix upon the chapel altar.
Mother Meraut and the Verger slipped quietly away to their work in
other portions of the church, and the examination