“At the first, he told me, he broke into a great laugh, and bid the honest fellow box the girl’s ears well, and send her back to her mother.  But he added that the man had been to him once again, and had pleaded that at least he would see his niece before sending her away; and since by this time he was himself somewhat curious to see and to question this village maiden, who came with so strange a tale, he had told Laxart to bring her at noon that very day, and he desired that I and certain others should be there in the hall with him, to hear her story, and perhaps suggest some shrewd question which might help to test her good faith.”

“A good thought,” spoke Sir Guy, “for it is hard to believe in these dreamers of dreams.  I have met such myself—­they talk great swelling words, but the world wags on its way in spite of them.  They are no prophets; they are bags of wind.  They make a stir and a commotion for a brief while, and then they vanish to be heard of no more.”

“It may be so,” answered Bertrand, whose face was grave, and whose steadfast dark-blue eyes had taken a strange shining, “I can only speak of that which I did see and hear.  What the future may hold none can say.  God alone doth know that.”

“Then you saw this maid—­and heard her speech.  What looked she like?—­and what said she?”

“I will tell you all the tale.  We were gathered there in the great hall.  There were perhaps a score of us; the Seigneur at the head of the council table, the Abbe Perigord on his right, and the Count of La Roche on his left.  There were two priests also present, and the chiefest knights and gentlemen of the town.  We had all been laughing gaily at the thought of what a village maid of but seventeen summers—­or thereabouts—­would feel on being introduced into the presence of such a company.  We surmised that she would shrink into the very ground for shame.  One gentleman declared that it was cruel to ask her to face so many strangers of condition so much more exalted than her own; but De Baudricourt cried out, ’Why man, the wench is clamouring to be taken to the King at his Court!  If she cannot face a score of simple country nobles here, how can she present herself at Chinon?  Let her learn her place by a sharp lesson here; so may she understand that she had best return to her distaff and spindle and leave the crowning of Kings to other hands!’ And it was in the midst of the roar of laughter which greeted this speech that the door opened slowly—­and we saw the maid of whom we had been talking.”

“And she doubtless heard your mirth,” spoke I, and he bent his head in assent.