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.”
So without knowing that her prophecy had been fulfilled so soon the maiden passed on into the great hall. The audience chamber was crowded with curious
courtiers and the royal guard, and the place shone with the lustre of fifty flambeaux. At the end of the vaulted room was a chimney of white stone in which a noble fire blazed, reflected by the polished oak boards of the floor.
Veteran soldiers of the wars were there; counsellors, like the favorite La Trémouille, prelates, like the Archbishop of Reims, and trains of fair ladies with fine raiment and gay manners; all gathered to see the sorceress. A throng of men and women in velvet and cloth of gold, in crimson and azure such as she had never seen. A brilliant mob of vivid colors; a company of the noblest lords and ladies of France, their finery glowing in the flaring flames of many torches. The fans of the ladies fluttered; their high head-dresses, or hennins, towered above the head coverings of the men; a thousand unfamiliar hues and forms combined
to dazzle the eyes and disturb the composure of a peasant girl.
But Jeanne was neither disturbed nor dazzled. Eagerly she looked to see the King. She did not care for the courtiers gazing so intently at her––some with amusement, some smiling, some sneering, the most of them sceptical, but all of
them gazing at her with open curiosity; with surprise at her page’s attire, her man-at-arms shoes, and above all at her hair which, cut round like a page’s, flowed softly about her face. At this time no woman, of whatever rank, showed
the hair. It was worn covered always in obedience to Saint Paul’s command.
Jeanne saw the amusement, and wonder, and scepticism on the faces around her;
saw but heeded them not; moving forward the while with her eyes fixed ever on
the figure seated on the throne. Suddenly she stopped short with a stifled exclamation. The Count de Vendôme touched her arm gently.
“Kneel,” he whispered. “The King is before you.”
But Jeanne did not respond. She looked at him who was seated upon the throne,
but made no obeisance. Instead she knitted her brows in thoughtful manner, then turned deliberately round and glanced searchingly about among the courtiers. A
low murmur of astonishment ran through the room as all at once she moved quickly toward a group of courtiers, and pushing them aside knelt before a soberly clad young man hiding behind them.
“God give you good life, gentle Dauphin,” she said.
“But it is not I that am the King,” said he with smiling lips. “Yonder he sits upon the throne.”
“In God’s name, gentle Dauphin, say not so,” she said. “It is you and no other.”
Then rising from her knees she continued: “Fair Dauphin, I am Jeanne the Maid.
I am sent to you by the King of Heaven to tell you that you shall be anointed and
crowned at Reims, and shall be lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who is King of France.”
