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To him, and to none other, will I tell it.”

“Maiden,” said the senior bishop earnestly, “the King hath many counsellors who are wise and learned men. It is their opinion that he ought not to see you until he learns the nature of your mission. If you in truth have aught that is good for him to hear, it were best to tell it us. That is, if you desire admission to his presence.”

“Is not the Dauphin master of his presence? Is it not his to say who shall, or who shall not be admitted to him?” demanded the maiden in such open eyed wonder

that the prelate looked confused.

“Certainly,” he said hastily. “But he sends certain of his friends to see if those

who seek admission are worthy to enter his presence. Be advised, my child, and tell us why you wish to see him.”

For a long moment Jeanne stood looking at him as though she saw him not; then

suddenly her face became transfigured with joy, for the Light shone beside her, and she bowed her head. The Voice that she waited for came instantly:

“Tell of thy mission, Daughter of God,” it said. “But of that which concerns the Dauphin speak not. Rise, and answer boldly. We will aid thee.”

The maiden raised her head, and said gently:

“I have leave from ‘My Voices,’ messire, to tell you that I have two commands

laid upon me by the King of Heaven. One, to raise the siege of Orléans; the other, to lead the Dauphin to Reims that he may be crowned and anointed there.”

The bishops heard her with amazement. They had not seen the Light, nor heard

the Voice, but they saw that the maiden had received a communication of some

kind, either from inward communion, or some celestial visitor. The senior bishop’s tones showed his wonder.

“Those are marvellous commands, my child. What sign can you give us that you

can perform them?”

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“I have not come to give signs,” cried Jeanne, her impatience flaring forth at this. “Give me men-at-arms, and let me show the work I am appointed to do.”

“Then will you relate how the commands were given to you?” questioned the bishop.

Briefly, because Jeanne never liked to talk much of her visions, the maiden told something concerning the matter. The whole of it she did not tell. Then followed questions pertaining to her manner of life, her devotion, her habits about taking the sacraments of communion and confession, and so on. To all of these she made answer freely, with such modest mien that the ecclesiastics finally withdrew, charmed by her simplicity and earnestness.

And now the delay was ended; for, as evening fell, there came the Count de Vendôme, a gracious nobleman richly attired, to escort her to the King. De Poulengy and De Metz rejoiced that there would be no further delay. Being personal attendants of Jeanne’s they were to accompany her to the castle. Count de Vendôme eyed the simple page attire of the maiden soberly. She was clad like the varlet of some lord of no great estate, in black cap with a little silver brooch, a grey doublet, and black and grey hose, trussed up with many points; the sword that Robert de Baudricourt had given her hung by her side. At first sight she might well have passed for a boy, she was so slender and carried herself so erectly. There was admiration in the nobleman’s glance as he surveyed her gracious figure, but his words were grave:

“Will you attend the audience in that garb, Pucelle?” he asked.

And Jeanne, remembering how De Metz with a like expression of countena1n

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had asked a similar question when she wore her woman’s dress, laughed cheerily.

“This and none other, messire. For in this garb shall I do that which is commanded.”

So led by the nobleman and followed by the two knights the maiden started for

the castle. Up a broad winding path they wended their way to the rocky ridge of hill along which the great walls of the castle, interrupted and strengthened by huge towers, stretched. It was old and great and strong, having been builded when the Romans were lords of the land, and was a favorite seat of English kings before it passed into the hands of the French. From the high drawbridge above the moat, which was twenty feet deep, there was a wide prospect over the

town and the valley of the Vienne. Soldiers idled and diced just within the gate,

though the dice were scarce discernible in the fast falling darkness. They ceased the play as Jeanne and her attendants came upon the drawbridge, and a murmur

ran from lip to lip, for by this time all in Chinon knew of her.

“La Pucelle! La Pucelle! The inspired Maid from Vaucouleurs comes to see the

King.”

At this soldiers and sentinels turned to gaze curiously at the girl. Suddenly one started from among his fellows, and came very close to her, peering impudently

into her face.

“By all the saints, ’tis a pretty wench!” he cried. “May God send more such witches to Chinon. I––”

But angrily Jean de Metz swept him out of the way.

“Jarnedieu!” cried the soldier wrathfully, using the common oath of his class.

“Oh, dost thou jarnedieu?” cried Jeanne mournfully. “Thou who art so near death?”

Like one turned to stone the man stood, and then, as some of his comrades began to gibe at him, he came to himself and turned upon them in a rage.

“Think you that I heed what a mad woman says?” he shouted. “Nay; I defy her

and her prophecies.” With this he uttered a loud laugh, and leaned back heavily against the low wooden pales of the bridge’s side, which were crazy and old.

There was a crash; and down and down he whirled. The deep waters of the moat

closed over him.

The soldiers looked grave and affrighted, and turned awed looks upon the maiden and her companions, who were just ascending the broad steps which gave entrance to the great hall of the King’s château, where the audience was to be held. Jeanne, being ahead with the Count de Vendôme, had not seen what had

occurred, but she turned as the crash of the wooden pales sounded.

“What hath happened?” she questioned.

“Naught,” cried De Metz hastily, fearing that should he tell her it would disturb her calm, and he was timorous concerning the ordeal before the Maid. “The King should keep his bridge in better repair, for but now some of its wooden palings snapped in two.”

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