At the threshold they paused, and the tears which
Mother Meraut had resolutely refused to shed when she had said
good-by to her own home in Rheims fell freely as she gazed upon
the ruins of the home of her parents. The house was empty, the
windows were gone, the door was wrenched from its hinges, and the
roof was open to the sky. The whole village was in much the same
condition. Every house was empty, the street deserted.
Neither Mother Meraut nor the Twins said a word. With heavy
hearts they turned from the gaping doorway and started toward the
Chateau, which lay half a mile beyond the village. Not a soul did
they meet until they arrived at the great gate which marked the
entrance to the park, and then they saw that the Chateau too had
suffered. It had been partly burned out, but as its walls were
standing and one wing looked habitable, their spirits rose a
little. At the gate a child was playing. They stopped. "Can you
tell me, ma petite," said Mother Meraut, her voice trembling,
"whether there is any one here by the name of Jamart?"
"Mais--oui," answered the child, surveying the strangers with
curiosity. "Voila!" She pointed a stubby finger toward the
Chateau, and there, just disappearing behind a corner of the
wall, was the bent figure of an old woman carrying a pail of
water.
With a cry of joy, Mother Meraut sprang forward, and Pierre and
Pierrette for once in their lives, run as they would, could not
keep up with her.
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