Well, that was best.  It was my own mood.  We were company for each other.  He nursed me patiently through the dull long weeks, and at last, in January, I was strong enough to go about again.  Then he said: 

“Shall we go now?”

“Yes.”

There was no need to explain.  Our hearts were in Rouen; we would carry our bodies there.  All that we cared for in this life was shut up in that fortress.  We could not help her, but it would be some solace to us to be near her, to breathe the air that she breathed, and look daily upon the stone walls that hid her.  What if we should be made prisoners there?  Well, we could but do our best, and let luck and fate decide what should happen.

And so we started.  We could not realize the change which had come upon the country.  We seemed able to choose our own route and go whenever we pleased, unchallenged and unmolested.  When Joan of Arc was in the field there was a sort of panic of fear everywhere; but now that she was out of the way, fear had vanished.  Nobody was troubled about you or afraid of you, nobody was curious about you or your business, everybody was indifferent.

We presently saw that we could take to the Seine, and not weary ourselves out with land travel.

So we did it, and were carried in a boat to within a league of Rouen.  Then we got ashore; not on the hilly side, but on the other, where it is as level as a floor.  Nobody could enter or leave the city without explaining himself.  It was because they feared attempts at a rescue of Joan.

We had no trouble.  We stopped in the plain with a family of peasants and stayed a week, helping them with their work for board and lodging, and making friends of them.  We got clothes like theirs, and wore them.  When we had worked our way through their reserves and gotten their confidence, we found that they secretly harbored French hearts in their bodies.  Then we came out frankly and told them everything, and found them ready to do anything they could to help us.

Our plan was soon made, and was quite simple.  It was to help them drive a flock of sheep to the market of the city.  One morning early we made the venture in a melancholy drizzle of rain, and passed through the frowning gates unmolested.  Our friends had friends living over a humble wine shop in a quaint tall building situated in one of the narrow lanes that run down from the cathedral to the river, and with these they bestowed us; and the next day they smuggled our own proper clothing and other belongings to us.  The family that lodged us—­the Pieroons—­were French in sympathy, and we needed to have no secrets from them.