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 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.
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