The big event filled us young people with talk, too.  We let it flow in a steady stream while we tended the flocks.  We were beginning to feel pretty important now, for I was eighteen and the other youths were from one to four years older—­young men, in fact.  One day the Paladin was arrogantly criticizing the patriot generals of France and said: 

“Look at Dunois, Bastard of Orleans—­call him a general!  Just put me in his place once—­never mind what I would do, it is not for me to say, I have no stomach for talk, my way is to act and let others do the talking—­but just put me in his place once, that’s all!  And look at Saintrailles—­pooh! and that blustering La Hire, now what a general that is!”

It shocked everybody to hear these great names so flippantly handled, for to us these renowned soldiers were almost gods.  In their far-off splendor they rose upon our imaginations dim and huge, shadowy and awful, and it was a fearful thing to hear them spoken of as if they were mere men, and their acts open to comment and criticism.  The color rose in Joan’s face, and she said: 

“I know not how any can be so hardy as to use such words regarding these sublime men, who are the very pillars of the French state, supporting it with their strength and preserving it at daily cost of their blood.  As for me, I could count myself honored past all deserving if I might be allowed but the privilege of looking upon them once—­at a distance, I mean, for it would not become one of my degree to approach them too near.”

The Paladin was disconcerted for a moment, seeing by the faces around him that Joan had put into words what the others felt, then he pulled his complacency together and fell to fault-finding again.  Joan’s brother Jean said: 

“If you don’t like what our generals do, why don’t you go to the great wars yourself and better their work?  You are always talking about going to the wars, but you don’t go.”

“Look you,” said the Paladin, “it is easy to say that.  Now I will tell you why I remain chafing here in a bloodless tranquillity which my reputation teaches you is repulsive to my nature.  I do not go because I am not a gentleman.  That is the whole reason.  What can one private soldier do in a contest like this?  Nothing.  He is not permitted to rise from the ranks.  If I were a gentleman would I remain here?  Not one moment.  I can save France—­ah, you may laugh, but I know what is in me, I know what is hid under this peasant cap.  I can save France, and I stand ready to do it, but not under these present conditions.  If they want me, let them send for me; otherwise, let them take the consequences; I shall not budge but as an officer.”

“Alas, poor France—­France is lost!” said Pierre d’Arc.

“Since you sniff so at others, why don’t you go to the wars yourself, Pierre d’Arc?”

“Oh, I haven’t been sent for, either.  I am no more a gentleman than you.  Yet I will go; I promise to go.  I promise to go as a private under your orders—­when you are sent for.”