“To bring him out of suffering he has never been made to endure, as surely as God lives.  As if the Almighty judged men so!  I shall send back no more money to Father La Croix.  It is not his prayer, nor my earnings, that will have to do with the eternity of John Gabrie.—­Do you hear me, Elsie?”

“I seem to, Jacqueline.”

“Have I any cause for wretched looks, then?  I am in sight of better fortune than I ever hoped for in this world.”

“Then don’t look so fearful.  It is enough to scare one.  You are not a girl to choose to be a fright,—­unless this dreadful city has changed you altogether from what you were.  You would frighten the Domremy children with such a face as that; they used not to fear Jacqueline.”

“I shall soon be sailing on a smoother sea.  As it is, do not speak of my looks.  That is too foolish.”

“But, oh, I feel as if I must hold you,—­hold you!—­you are leaving me!”

“Come on, Elsie!” exclaimed Jacqueline, as though she almost hoped this of her dear companion.

“But where?” asked Elsie, not so tenderly.

“Where God leads.  I cannot tell.”

“I do not understand.”

“You would not think the Truth worth buying at the price of your life?”

“My life?”

“Or such a price as he pays who—­has been branded to-day?”

“It was not the truth to your mother,—­or to mine.  It was not the truth to any one we ever knew, till we came here to Meaux.”

“It is true to my heart, Elsie.  It is true to my conscience.  I know that I can live for it.  And it may be”—­

“Hush!—­do not!  Oh, I wish that I could get you back to Domremy!  What is going to come of this?  Jacqueline, let us go home.  Come, let us start to-night.  We shall have the moon all night to walk by.  There is nothing in Meaux for us.  Oh, if we had never come away!  It would have been better for you to work there for—­what you wanted,—­for what you came here to do.”

“No, let God’s Truth triumph!  What am I?  Less than that rush!  But if His breath is upon me, I will be moved by it,—­I am not a stone.”

Then they walked on in silence.  Elsie had used her utmost of persuasion, but Jacqueline not her utmost of resistance.  Her companion knew this, felt her weakness in such a contest, and was silent.

On to town they went together.  They walked together through the streets, passing constantly knots of people who stood about the corners and among the shops, discussing what had taken place that day.  They crossed the square where the noonday sun had shone on crowds of people, men and women, gathered from the four quarters of the town and the neighboring country, assembled to witness the branding of a heretic.  They entered their court-yard together,—­ascended the stairway leading to their lodging.  But they were two,—­not one.