It was vexatious to see what a to-do the whole town, and next the whole country, made over the news.  Joan of Arc ennobled by the King!  People went dizzy with wonder and delight over it.  You cannot imagine how she was gaped at, stared at, envied.  Why, one would have supposed that some great and fortunate thing had happened to her.  But we did not think any great things of it.  To our minds no mere human hand could add a glory to Joan of Arc.  To us she was the sun soaring in the heavens, and her new nobility a candle atop of it; to us it was swallowed up and lost in her own light.  And she was as indifferent to it and as unconscious of it as the other sun would have been.

But it was different with her brothers.  They were proud and happy in their new dignity, which was quite natural.  And Joan was glad it had been conferred, when she saw how pleased they were.  It was a clever thought in the King to outflank her scruples by marching on them under shelter of her love for her family and her kin.

Jean and Pierre sported their coats-of-arms right away; and their society was courted by everybody, the nobles and commons alike.  The Standard-Bearer said, with some touch of bitterness, that he could see that they just felt good to be alive, they were so soaked with the comfort of their glory; and didn’t like to sleep at all, because when they were asleep they didn’t know they were noble, and so sleep was a clean loss of time.  And then he said: 

“They can’t take precedence of me in military functions and state ceremonies, but when it comes to civil ones and society affairs I judge they’ll cuddle coolly in behind you and the knights, and Noel and I will have to walk behind them—­hey?”

“Yes,” I said, “I think you are right.”

“I was just afraid of it—­just afraid of it,” said the Standard-Bearer, with a sigh.  “Afraid of it?  I’m talking like a fool; of course I knew it.  Yes, I was talking like a fool.”

Noel Rainguesson said, musingly: 

“Yes, I noticed something natural about the tone of it.”

We others laughed.

“Oh, you did, did you?  You think you are very clever, don’t you?  I’ll take and wring your neck for you one of these days, Noel Rainguesson.”

The Sieur de Metz said: 

“Paladin, your fears haven’t reached the top notch.  They are away below the grand possibilities.  Didn’t it occur to you that in civil and society functions they will take precedence of all the rest of the personal staff—­every one of us?”

“Oh, come!”

“You’ll find it’s so.  Look at their escutcheon.  Its chiefest feature is the lilies of France.  It’s royal, man, royal—­do you understand the size of that?  The lilies are there by authority of the King—­do you understand the size of that?  Though not in detail and in entirety, they do nevertheless substantially quarter the arms of France in their coat.  Imagine it! consider it! measure the magnitude of it!  We walk in front of those boys?  Bless you, we’ve done that for the last time.  In my opinion there isn’t a lay lord in this whole region that can walk in front of them, except the Duke d’Alencon, prince of the blood.”