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.
"God 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, "God 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 space.
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.
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