“Just think of Jeanne being with soldiers,” exclaimed Jean. “Why, she would run at sight of a Godon.”
But there was no answering smile on the face of their father. According to his belief there was but one interpretation to be put upon such a dream. Many women rode with men-at-arms, but they were not good women. So now,
bringing his fist down upon the table with a resounding thwack, he roared:
“Rather than have such a thing happen, I would have you boys drown her in the river. And if you would not do it, I would do it myself.”
Jeanne turned pale. Instantly it was borne in upon her that her father must not know of her mission. She knew that if now she were to tell of the wonderful task that had been assigned to her she would not be believed, but that he would think ill of her.
At this juncture her mother spoke, chidingly:
“How you talk, Jacques. What a pother to make over a dream. Come now! eat your breakfast, and think no more of it.”
But Jacques only reiterated his words fiercely:
“I would drown her rather than have a daughter of mine among soldiers.”
Jeanne glanced at her brothers, but their countenances were grave enough now,
for they comprehended their father’s meaning. A sudden sense of aloofness, of being no longer part and parcel of her family, smote her. The tears came and overflowed her cheeks, for she was but a girl after all. To hide her grief she rose hastily, and ran to her own little room.
CHAPTER X
THE FIRST STEP
“On the subject of Jeanne’s sincerity I have raised
no doubts. It is impossible to suspect her of lying; she
firmly believed that she received her mission from her
Voices. ”
ANATOLE FRANCE. “Joan of Arc. ”
From this time forth Jeanne’s family could not fail to notice the change that marked her bearing and appearance. Her eyes glowed with the light of a steadfast purpose, and the serene thoughtfulness of her countenance was illumined by a brightness that was like the rosy flush of dawn stealing upon the pale coldness of the morning. She was still simple in manner, but her shrinking timidity had vanished, and in its stead had come decision and an air of authority.
She bore herself nobly, as became one who had been vested with the leadership
of a divine mission. Yet of this outward expression of authority she was unconscious. The thought that filled her to the exclusion of all else was how she was to proceed to accomplish her task. For there were three things that she had to do for the saving of her country:
First: She must go to Robert de Baudricourt at Vaucouleurs.
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Second: She must win back France from her enemies.
Third: She must lead the Dauphin to his anointing at Reims. How these things were to be brought to pass she did not know.
The walled town of Vaucouleurs lay some twelve miles to the northward of Domremy, and was the chief place of the district. Its captain, Robert de Baudricourt, was well known throughout the Valley of Colors. He was a blunt, practical man of the sword, who had married two rich widows in succession, and
who had been fighting since he could bear arms, in the reckless wars of the Lorraine Marches. He was brave as a lion, coarse, rough, domineering, an ideal
soldier of his time and country. Jacques D’Arc had had personal dealings with him in the Spring of the previous year when he had appeared before him to plead the cause of Domremy against one Guiot Poignant, and he had many tales to tell
of the rough Governor. How could she approach such a man?
There was no hope of help at home. That she foresaw clearly as she recalled her father’s words concerning his dream. She knew that he would oppose her bitterly. Nor would her mother aid her, deeply as she loved her, to go contrary to her father’s will. Neither would they allow her to journey to Vaucouleurs unattended. The maiden made a mental review of the villagers in search of one
to whom she might appeal for assistance, but rejected them sadly as their images passed before her. Clearly she must bide her time.
“But I must go soon,” she mused. “It is the will of God.”
Just at this juncture, when she knew not to whom to go, Durand Lassois, a cousin by marriage whom she called uncle because he was so much older than
she, came to Domremy on a visit. Jeanne hailed his advent with eagerness. He lived with his young wife, who was Isabeau’s niece, in Bury le Petit, a hamlet lying on the left bank of the Meuse in the green valley, nine miles from Domremy, but only three from Vaucouleurs. Here was the help that she needed,
for Durand was fond of Jeanne, and would do her bidding as unquestioningly as
a mastiff obeys the child whom he adores.
So when Jeanne, taking him aside, asked him to take her home with him for a visit to her cousin, his wife, he assented readily.
“Aveline will be glad for you to come, Jeanne,” he said. “She is not well, and a visit from you will cheer her up.”
Jacques D’Arc made some objections when the subject was broached, but Isabeau was pleased and over-ruled them.
“It is the very thing,” she exclaimed. “The child has been in need of a change this long while. Nay, now, Jacques, say naught against it. She shall go. I wonder that we did not think of sending her there ourselves.”
