“Was that all he promised?” spoke Sir Guy with a short laugh.  “I trow the maiden dreamer would not thank him for that word!  A deliverer of princes to be bidden to go home and be a good girl!  What said she to that counsel?”

“Ay, well you may ask,” spoke Bertrand with subdued emotion.  “Just such a question sprang to my lips as I heard my kinsman’s answer.  I looked to see her face fall, to see sparks of anger flash from her eyes, or a great disappointment cloud the serene beauty of her countenance.  But instead of this a wonderful smile lighted it, and her sweet and resonant voice sounded clear through the hall.

“’Ah, now Seigneur, I know you for a good and true man!  You speak as did my voices when first I heard them.  “Jeanne, sois bonne et sage enfant; va souvent a l’eglise”; that was their first message to me, when I was but a child; and now you say the same to me—­be a good girl.  Thus I know that your heart is right, and that when my Lord’s time is come you will send me with His message to the Dauphin.’

“And so saying she bent again in a modest reverence before us.  Yet let me tell you that as she did so, every man of us sprang to his feet by an impulse which each one felt, yet none could explain.  As one man we rose, and bowed before her, as she retired from the hail with the simple, stately grace of a young queen.  Not till the door had closed behind her did we bethink us that it was to a humble peasant girl we had paid unconscious homage.  We who had thought she would well-nigh sink to the dust at sight of us, had been made to feel that we were in the presence of royalty!”

“Tu Dieu! but that is a strange story!” quoth Sir Guy with knitted brows.  “For many a long day I have heard nought so strange!  What think you of it yourself, good Bertrand?  For by my troth you speak like a man convinced that a miracle may even yet be wrought for France at the hand of this maid.”

“And if I do, is that so strange?  Cannot it be that the good God may still speak through His saints to the sons of men, and may raise up a deliverer for us, even as He did in the days of old for His chosen people?  Is His arm shortened at all?  And is it meet that we Christian knights should trust Him less than did the Jews of old?”

Sir Guy made no reply, but fell into thought, and then asked a sudden question: 

“Who is this peasant maid of whom you speak?  And where is she now?  Is she still abiding content at home, awaiting the time appointed by her visions?”

“I trow that she is,” answered Bertrand.  “I did hear that she went home without delay, as quietly as she had come.  Her name is Jeanne d’Arc.  She dwells in the village of Domremy over yonder.  Her father is an honest prud’homme of the place.  She has brothers and a sister.  She is known in the village as a pious and gentle maid, ever ready to tend the sick, hold vigil for the dead, take charge of an ailing child, or do any such simple service for the neighbours.  She is beloved of all, full of piety and good works, constant in attendance at church, regular in her confession and at mass.  So much have I heard from her kinsman Laxart, though for mine own part I have not seen her again.”