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.
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