she was, and also to bring news of her parents; for Jeanne had sent them a letter praying for their forgiveness and blessing. As she could neither read nor write the Curé had written it for her, and he had added details of the life she was living, her good deeds, her saintly ways, and aught else that he thought would set their minds at rest concerning her. Now she listened eagerly as Durand told her how the letter had been received.
“Jacques has heard a great deal about you from the people, Jeanne. Know you not that the whole countryside is talking of you? He has known all along how you were living, and what you were doing. He is still not reconciled to your leaving home, but he said that so long as you lived a good life you had his blessing and forgiveness. Isabeau wept when she heard the letter, but she sends love, and prays you to make short work of the matter that you may soon be home
again.”
“Would that I might, Uncle Durand,” groaned the girl. “But there seems naught
but hindrance and delay. I should like to be at home with mother; if my work were done I could be. The time is so short. I can not, I must not wait longer.” She bowed her head and wept. Presently she dashed away the tears and turned to Durand as though an idea had come to her: “Uncle Durand,” she cried, “Will you
take me into France?”
“You mean to walk there, Jeanne?” he asked amazed. “’Tis said to be all of a hundred and fifty leagues to where the Dauphin bides at Chinon.”
“Even so, I must go. If Sire Robert will not give me men-at-arms I must go without them. Will you go with me?”
“Yes,” he assented readily. Had Jeanne not been so preoccupied she would have
seen the smile that lurked in his eyes. Lassois was a hard-headed, practical man, and he knew that the plan was not feasible. He hoped that his niece would see it too, so he added: “I will get Alain to go with us. ’Tis a dangerous journey even with men-at-arms for escort. When do we start?”
“At once,” cried the maiden eagerly. “The sooner the better. When the siege is raised, and the Dauphin crowned, I can go back home. And I will not leave them
again. Go! get Alain, and let us start.”
Lassois left her, and Jeanne made her preparations quickly. Procuring a man’s jerkin, hose and doublet, she arrayed herself in them, and when Lassois returned with Alain, a friend of his who lived in Vaucouleurs, the three set forth. They had proceeded a league on the road to France when they came to the shrine of
Saint Nicholas, and this Jeanne entered as was her wont, and prostrated herself in prayer. When she arose the impatience, the restlessness were gone. She faced her companions with contrition.
“I was wrong,” she said with deep humility. “It is not meet that I go to the Dauphin in this manner. We must go back.”
Durand’s countenance expanded into a broad grin.
“Said I not so, Alain?” he cried, nudging his friend. “I said that she would soon see that it was not fitting that she should go thus. I said that soon we would turn back.”
Alain laughed also as Jeanne gazed at her uncle in astonishment.
“How did you know, uncle?”
“Why see, ma mie; the King would not receive you should you go to him thus
humbly; but if you come from the Sire Captain with proper escort ’twill be easy to get his ear.”
“I see,” sighed Jeanne. “I was wrong. We will go back.”
She waited with more grace after this, and presently there came a day when her
patience was rewarded. The messenger from the King rode into Vaucouleurs bearing a letter to the Governor which gave consent to send the young prophetess to him. Sire Robert sent at once for the maiden.
“You were right,” he said. “There was a disaster as you said near Orléans. The
Battle of Herrings was lost at Rouvray. Colet de Vienne, the King’s messenger,
tells me that Charles will receive you. Therefore, get you ready, for now you shall start for Chinon in a few days.”
Overjoyed Jeanne hastened back to her friends to tell the glad news. The impossible had happened. That which the peasant maid had demanded was granted. She was to be taken to the King, and in the time fixed by herself.
The sweetness, the simplicity, the sturdy purpose of the maiden had won all hearts in the little walled town. Knowledge of her mission had deepened the interest felt in her, so now, as she was in very truth to begin her journey, they took upon themselves the expense of her outfit. A complete suit of masculine apparel was bought, a jerkin, a cloth doublet, hose laced to the coat, gaiters, spurs, a whole equipment of war, while Sire Robert gave her a horse. And Jeanne, with one girlish sigh at the sacrifice, took off her coif, let down her long dark locks, and gave a last look at them; then Catherine cut them round, page fashion, the maiden set on a cap, and was ready.
Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy were to accompany her, as well as the
King’s messenger, Colet de Vienne, and the bowman, Richard, with two lancers,
servants of the men-at-arms. These men proposed further waiting, as certain soldiers of Lorraine were infesting the country, but the maiden was not afraid, and said:
“In God’s name, take me to the gentle Dauphin, and fear not any hindrance or trouble we may meet. There hath been too much delay.”
At length, however, everything was in readiness, and on the twenty-third of February, the little company assembled before the gate, La Porte de France, with friends to watch the departure. Among them were the kind Lassois, Catherine and Henri le Royer, Jean Colin, canon of Saint Nicholas, to whom Jeanne had confessed at times.
The women trembled and wept as they looked at the girl, so fair in her young loveliness, and feared for her the perils of the journey. One of them cried:
“How can you set forth on such a journey when there are men-at-arms on every
hand?”
But Jeanne turned a happy face toward them, and answered out of the serene peace of her heart:
“I do not fear men-at-arms. My way has been made plain before me. If there be
men-at-arms my Lord God will make a way for me to go to my Lord Dauphin.
