“Gentle King,” she answered, and her low full voice thrilled through the hall to its farthermost end in the deep hush which had fallen upon it, “there is one grace and gift that I would right gladly ask of you.  Here in this city of Rheims are assembled a few of mine own people from Domremy; my father, my uncle, and with them some others whom I have known and loved from childhood.  I would ask this thing of you, noble King.  Give me at your royal pleasure a deed, duly signed and sealed by your royal hand, exempting the village of Domremy, where I was born, from all taxes such as are levied elsewhere throughout the realm.  Let me have this deed to give to those who have come to see me here, and thus when I return with them to my beloved childhood’s home, I shall be witness to the joy and gladness which such a kingly boon will convey.  Grant me this—­only this, gentle King, and you will grant me all my heart desires!”

The King spoke aside a few words to one of those who stood about him, and this person silently bowed and quitted the hail; then he turned once more to the Maid, standing before him still with a happy and almost childlike smile playing over her lips.

“The thing shall be done, Jeanne,” he said; “and it shall be done right soon.  The first deed to which I set my hand as King shall be the one which shall for ever exempt Domremy from all taxation.  You shall give it to your father this very day, to take home with him when he goes.  But as for those other words of yours—­what did you mean by them?  How can you witness the joy of a distant village, when you will be leading forward the armies of France to fresh victories?”

He gazed searchingly into her face as he spoke; and she looked back at him with a sudden shrinking in her beautiful eyes.

“Sire,” she faltered—­and anything like uncertainty in that voice was something new to us—­“of what victories do you speak?  I have done my part.  I have accomplished that which my Lord has set me to do.  My task ends here.  My mission has been fulfilled.  I have no command from Him to go forward.  I pray you let me return home to my mother and my friends.”

“Nay, Jeanne, your friends are here,” spoke the King gravely, “and your country is your mother.  Would you neglect to hear her cry to you in the hour of her need?  Her voice it was that called you forth from your obscurity; she calls you yet.  Will you cease to hear and to obey?”

The trouble and perplexity deepened in the eyes of the Maid.

“My voices have not bidden me to go forward,” she faltered.

“Have they bidden you to go back—­to do no more for France?”

“No,” she answered, throwing back her head, her eyes kindling once again with ardour; “they have not bidden me return, or I would have done it without wavering.  They tell me nothing, save to be of a good heart and courage.  They promise to be with me—­my saints, whom I love.  But they give me no commands.  I see not the path before me, as I have seen it hitherto.  That is why I say, let me go home.  My work is done; I have no mission more.  Shall I take upon me that which my Lord puts not upon me—­whether it be honour or toil or pain?”