“So?” Sire Robert scanned the maid with new interest. “See you, my man,” he

said. “The girl is daft; clean daft. As witless an innocent as ever it has been my lot to behold. Whip her well, and send her home to her father.”

Whip her? Lassois turned a startled glance upon the Governor as though he had

not heard aright. Whip Jeanne, who was so good and sweet? The very idea was

profanation. Cowed and frightened he grasped the maiden’s arm.

“Come,” he whispered. “Let’s be going.”

But calmly, courageously Jeanne faced the Governor.

“I go, Sire Robert, but I shall come again. For it is you who are appointed by the will of Messire to send me with an escort of men-at-arms to the aid of the Dauphin. My Voices have said so.”

Mad though they deemed the maiden, the men-at-arms and their Captain were impressed by the girl’s gravity and noble bearing as she spoke. In silence, therefore, they permitted the pair to pass from the room.

CHAPTER XI

A TRYING TIME

“A Prophet is not without honour, save in his own

country, and in his own house. ”

ST. MATTHEW 13:57.

At the end of the week Lassois took Jeanne home. It was a return fraught with

unpleasantness.

The girl’s visit to Sire Robert and her claim that she would lead the Dauphin to his anointing had been discussed and made a matter of sport by the soldiers of

the garrison. From them it passed to the townspeople; from the townspeople to

the country, and thence to Domremy. The whole valley buzzed with talk of it.

Jacques heard the gossip in a passion of shame and anger. Therefore, when Lassois and his daughter entered the cottage he met them with scowling brow.

“What is this that I hear about your visiting Sire Robert de Baudricourt?” he demanded of Jeanne wrathfully. “Why did you go there? What business had you

with him?”

Jeanne faced him bravely.

“I had to go,” she told him calmly. “It was commanded. Sire Robert has b1e 0 e

9 n

appointed to give me men-at-arms to take me to the Dauphin that I may lead him

to his anointing. I am to save France, father. It is so commanded by Messire, the King of Heaven.”

Her father’s jaw dropped. He stood staring at her for a long moment, then turned to his wife with a groan.

“She is out of her senses, Isabeau,” he cried. “Our daughter’s wits are wandering. This comes of so much church going and prayer. I will have no more

of it.”

“Shame upon you, Jacques, for speaking against the church,” exclaimed Isabeau.

“Say rather it hath come from the tales of bloodshed she hath heard. Too many

have been told about the fireside. ’Tis talk, talk of the war all the time. I warned you of it.”

“Whatever be the cause I will have no more of it,” reiterated Jacques with vehemence. “Nay; nor will I have any more going to Vaucouleurs, nor talk of seeking the Dauphin. Do you hear, Jeanne?”

“Yes, father,” she answered quietly. “I grieve to go against your will, but I must do the work the Lord has appointed. Let me tell you––”

“Naught! You shall tell me naught,” cried Jacques almost beside himself with rage. “Go to your room, and stay there for the rest of the day. And hark ye all!”

including his wife and sons in a wide sweeping gesture, “wherever Jeanne goes

one of you must be with her. See to it. At any time she may go off with some roaming band of Free Lances. Rather than have that happen I would rather she

were dead.” He turned upon Lassois fiercely as Jeanne, weeping bitterly at his harsh words, obediently withdrew into her own little room.

“And you, Lassois! why did you not keep her from going to Vaucouleurs? You

knew that I would not like it. You knew also that it would cause talk. Why, why did you permit it?”

“Aye, I knew all that, Jacques,” responded Lassois, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. “But Jeanne really believed that she had received a divine command to go to Sire Robert. So believing, she would have gone to him in spite of all that I could have done. Therefore, was it not better that I should take her?”

“Durand speaks truly, Jacques,” spoke Isabeau. “The child is clearly daft. I have heard that such are always set in their fancies. What is past, is past. She has been to Vaucouleurs; therefore, it can not be undone. What remains to be done is to guard against any future wanderings.” The mother was as greatly distressed as the father, but out of sympathy for his woe she forced herself to speak of the occurrence with calmness.

“True,” muttered Jacques. “True. No doubt you could not do other than you did,

Durand; but I wonder that you did it.”

“Jeanne does not seem out of her senses to me,” observed Lassois. “There is a

saying, as you well know, that a maid from the Bois Chesnu shall redeem

France. It might be she as well as another. She is holy enough.”

“Pouf!” Jacques snapped his fingers derisively. “It is as Isabeau says: she has heard too much of the state of the realm, and of the wonderful Maid who is to

restore it. The country is full of the talk. It could not mean her. She is but a peasant girl, and when hath a villein’s daughter ever ridden a horse, or couched a lance? Let her keep to her station. Don’t let such wild talk addle your wits, too, Durand. Now tell me everything that occurred at Vaucouleurs. The village rings