“Victor, has He not said, who can best say it, ’I will never leave you nor forsake you’?”

“But, Jacqueline, I love you.”

Having said these words, the face of the young man emerged wholly from the eclipse of the former shadow.

“What is this?” said the brave peasant from Domremy, manifestly doubting whether she had heard aright; and her clear pure eyes were gazing full on Victor Le Roy, actually looking for an explanation of his words.

“I love you, Jacqueline,” he repeated.  “And I do not involve you in danger, oh, my friend!  Only let me have it to believe that my life is dear to Jacqueline, and I shall not be afraid then to lose it, if that testimony be required of me.  Shall we not stand side by side, soldiers of Christ, stronger in each other than in all the world beside?  Shall it not be so, Jacqueline?  True heart, answer me!  And if you will not love me, at least say, say you are my friend, you trust me.  I will hold your safety sacred.”

“I am your friend, Victor.”

“Say my wife, Jacqueline.  I honored you, that you came from Domremy. 
You are my very dream of Joan,—­as brave and as true as beautiful. 
Jacqueline, it is not all for the Truth’s sake, but for my love’s sake. 
Is not our work one, moreover?  Are we not one in heart and purpose,
Jacqueline?  You are alone; let me protect you.”

He needed no other answer than he had while his eyes constantly sought hers.  Her calm look, the dignity and strength of her composure, assured him of all he longed to learn,—­assured him that their hearts, even as their purposes and faith, were one.”

“But speak one word,” he urged.

The word she spoke was, “I can be true to you, Victor.”

Won hardly by a word:  too easily, you think?  She loved the youth, my friends, and she loved the Truth for which he dared not say that he could sacrifice himself.

“We are one, then,” said Victor Le Roy.  “It concerned me above all things to prove that, Jacqueline.  So you shall have no more to do with these harvest-fields and vineyards henceforth, except to eat of the fruits, if God will.  You have borne all the burden and heat of labor you shall ever bear.  I can say that, with God’s blessing.  We shall sit under our own vine.  Death in one direction has prepared for life in another.  I inherit what my uncle can make use of no longer.  We shall look out on our own fields, our harvests; for I think this city will keep us no longer than may he needful.  We will go away into Picardy, and I will show you where our Joan was a prisoner; and we will go back to Domremy, and walk in the places she loved, and pray God to bless us by that fountain, and in the grave-yard where your father and mother sleep.  Oh, Jacqueline, is it not all blessed and all fair?”

She could hardly comprehend all the brightness of this vision which Victor Le Roy would fain bring before her.  The paths he pointed out to her were new and strange; but she could trust him, could believe that together they might walk without stumbling.