were deep and rich and wonderful beyond anything merely earthly.  They spoke all the languages—­they had no need of words.  They produced all effects—­and just by a glance, just a single glance; a glance that could convict a liar of his lie and make him confess it; that could bring down a proud man’s pride and make him humble; that could put courage into a coward and strike dead the courage of the bravest; that could appease resentments and real hatreds; that could make the doubter believe and the hopeless hope again; that could purify the impure mind; that could persuade—­ah, there it is—­persuasion! that is the word; what or who is it that it couldn’t persuade?  The maniac of Domremy—­the fairy-banishing priest—­the reverend tribunal of Toul—­the doubting and superstitious Laxart—­the obstinate veteran of Vaucouleurs—­the characterless heir of France—­the sages and scholars of the Parliament and University of Poitiers—­the darling of Satan, La Hire—­the masterless Bastard of Orleans, accustomed to acknowledge no way as right and rational but his own—­these were the trophies of that great gift that made her the wonder and mystery that she was.

We mingled companionably with the great folk who flocked to the big house to make Joan’s acquaintance, and they made much of us and we lived in the clouds, so to speak.  But what we preferred even to this happiness was the quieter occasions, when the formal guests were gone and the family and a few dozen of its familiar friends were gathered together for a social good time.  It was then that we did our best, we five youngsters, with such fascinations as we had, and the chief object of them was Catherine.  None of us had ever been in love been in love before, and now we had the misfortune to all fall in love with the same person at the same time—­which was the first moment we saw her.  She was a merry heart, and full of life, and I still remember tenderly those few evenings that I was permitted to have my share of her dear society and of comradeship with that little company of charming people.

The Paladin made us all jealous the first night, for when he got fairly started on those battles of his he had everything to himself, and there was no use in anybody else’s trying to get any attention.  Those people had been living in the midst of real war for seven months; and to hear this windy giant lay out his imaginary campaigns and fairly swim in blood and spatter it all around, entertained them to the verge of the grave.  Catherine was like to die, for pure enjoyment.  She didn’t laugh loud—­we, of course, wished she would—­but kept in the shelter of a fan, and shook until there was danger that she would unhitch her ribs from her spine.  Then when the Paladin had got done with a battle and we began to feel thankful and hope for a change, she would speak up in a way that was so sweet and persuasive that it rankled in me, and ask him about some detail or other in the early part of his battle which she said had greatly interested her, and would he be so good as to describe that part again and with a little more particularity?—­which of course precipitated the whole battle on us, again, with a hundred lies added that had been overlooked before.