For a brief time despair gripped her, for it was foreign to her nature and training to protest against those in authority over her, and should the judge sustain Colin it would mean the end of her mission. And then her soul rose up against it.
“I will not be forced into this marriage,” she decided suddenly. “I will go to Toul, and tell messire, the bishop, the truth of the matter. I will go.”
“Go, Daughter of God, and fear naught,” came the sweet tones of “Her Voices.”
“Fear naught, for we will aid thee.”
Before the morning broke Jeanne rose to prepare for her journey. She knew that
at this time the great gates of the archway leading into the courtyard of the inn would be closed, but there was a door, a small one used privately by La Rousse, that opened directly into the street. It was at the back of the inn, and unobserved Jeanne reached it, and passed out. It was ten leagues from Neufchâteau to Toul, and thirty miles was a long journey for a young girl to undertake alone and on
foot. Also the distance lay back through the district over which Antoine de Vergy’s men had swept with fire and sword. Roving bands of armed men might
be encountered, but Jeanne’s gentle nature had attained the courage of desperation. She feared the marriage more than aught else, and were the action
not protested there would be no evading it. So, upheld by the knowledge that her saints were with her, and an innocence that was heroic, she made the journey. In perfect safety she came at last in the dusk of the evening to Toul in Lorraine, footsore and weary, but with a heart serene and peaceful.
There were many churches in the old town, and, as was her custom, she at once
sought a chapel and prostrated herself before the image of the Virgin Mother.
Her orisons ended, she went forth in search of food and lodging. Jeanne being a peasant girl had not the wherewithal to pay her way, and so could not go to an
inn. But when the condition of the land was such that townspeople themselves might become refugees should their towns be overcome by an enemy its denizens welcomed wayfarers warmly. So Jeanne soon found shelter with
humble folk, and, as she was never idle wherever she might be, she gladdened the heart of the dame by helping about the house and spinning. And the next morning she went to the law courts.
Colin was already in the chapel, where the bishop was sitting. His self-satisfied expression gave place to one of surprise at sight of Jeanne, for he had supposed that she would not appear to contest the action. There were many of the Domremy people present also, brought hither as Colin’s witnesses.
Colin declared that Jeanne had been betrothed to him since childhood, and the maiden was much amazed when the villagers affirmed after him that they knew
such an engagement existed. After they had spoken the bishop turned to the girl kindly and said:
“And where is thy counsel, my child?”
“I have none, messire.” Jeanne raised her grave eyes to the kind ones bent upon her. Eyes that were alight with purity and truthfulness. “I need none. I have but to speak the truth; have I not?”
“That is all; but––” The judge paused and regarded the slender maiden
attentively. She was unlike a peasant maid, both in bearing and appearance.
Winning and beautiful in the fresh bloom of young maidenhood, she had not the
manner of a maiden who would plight her word, and then disregard it. “Proceed,
advocate,” he said suddenly. “Let her take the oath. Swear, my child, with both hands upon the Gospels, that you will answer true to the questions that will be asked you.”
And kneeling before him Jeanne laid her small hands upon the missal, and said
simply:
“I swear, messire.”
Then she answered concerning her name, her country, her parents, her godfathers and godmothers.
“And now, my child, tell me about this promise of marriage to Colin de Greux,”
spoke the bishop.
“Messire, I never promised to marry him,” she answered earnestly. “I have plighted my faith to no man.”
“Have you witnesses to prove this?”
“There are my friends and neighbors, messire. They will answer for this.”
The judge leaned forward quickly.
“They have spoken against you, child. Didst not hear them say that they knew of your engagement to Colin?”
“Yes, messire; but I would question them.”
“Say on,” he said. “It is your right.”
So, one by one, they were recalled to the stand while Jeanne asked of each three questions:
Had he seen her at any of the dances or merry-makings with Colin?
Had he seen her at church, or any public place with Colin?
