Her destiny called, and she followed the summons. All earthly ties must be subservient to her great purpose. Suffering France must be relieved, and it was her mission to give the aid.
Her time had come.
Therefore her good-byes to her parents, brothers, and little sister were very tender. She dared not speak of her mission, and if her loved ones noticed the tenderness of farewells that so short an absence did not seem to warrant they knew not the reason for them. So Jeanne passed from her father’s house, and climbed into the cart.
Mengette, whose home was near by, was at the window as Lassois’ cart passed.
Jeanne waved to her, crying:
“Good-by, Mengette. God bless thee.”
All through the village she saw faces of friends and neighbors at the windows, or on their doorsteps, and bade them farewell. But as she drew near the home of Hauviette, and Lassois stopped for her to call to her friend, Jeanne shook her head.
“I can not speak to her, uncle,” she said chokingly. “I dare not. My heart would fail me, for I love her too dearly to say good-by.”
At Greux as they passed through she saw Colin in one of the narrow streets.
Jeanne leaned out of the cart to call to him.
“Good-by, Colin,” she said. “God give you good fortune.”
“Where are you going?” spoke the youth shamefacedly. He had avoided Jeanne since the meeting at Toul.
“I go to Vaucouleurs,” she dared to say. “Good-by.”
“To Vaucouleurs?” repeated Lassois, turning to look at her as they left Colin behind. “But Aveline, Jeanne?”
“Did you think that I would leave her while she has need of me, Uncle Durand?”
asked the maiden reproachfully.
“No, Jeanne; I knew that you would not. ’Twas a second only that I doubted.”
Durand swung his goad over the oxen’s backs as he spoke, and the beasts swung
into a trot.
But Jeanne turned for a last look at the valley she was leaving forever. Long she gazed at the red roofs of the village; at the ice bound river with its rushes rimed with frost; at the forest, bare and leafless; at the snow covered hills, and white shrouded meadows; at all the familiar objects hallowed by association. Gazed until her tear-blinded eyes would permit her to look no more.
And so down the Valley of Colors for the last time passed Jeanne D’Arc.
CHAPTER XIV
VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS
“Yet the true Poetry––herself, like thee,
Childlike; herself, like thee, a shepherd maid––
Gives thee her birthright of Divinity,
And lifts unto the stars thy starry shade.
Thy brows receive the aureole of her sky;
The Heart created thee––thou canst not die. ”
SCHILLER, “The Maid of Orléans. ”
Jeanne stayed at her uncle’s house with Aveline until the latter was quite well.
Then, there being nothing further to hinder, she asked Lassois to take her to Vaucouleurs.
“Jacques won’t like it, Jeanne,” feebly remonstrated Durand, knowing full well
that notwithstanding the fact he would do as his niece wished. “He didn’t before, you know; and neither did Isabeau.”
“I must go, Uncle Durand. Though I had a hundred fathers, or a hundred mothers, though I were the daughter of a King, I still should go. It is commanded.”
Durand made no further objection, though he knew that both Jacques a 14 n
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Isabeau would censure him for yielding to her. He saw that Jeanne was not to be turned from her purpose, so made ready for the journey. Perhaps, like Jacques, he relied on the common sense of the Sire Robert to send the girl home, for he
was cheerful enough when presently they were on their way to Vaucouleurs.
“You will return with me, Jeanne? This visit is for the day only, is it not?”
“No, uncle. I shall stay in Vaucouleurs until the Sire Captain gives me men-at-
arms to take me to the Dauphin.”
“And if he does not? What then?”
“He will in time, Uncle Durand. My Voices have said so,” responded the maiden
confidently.
