“Was God on the side of the English when they were prosperous in France?”

“I do not know if God hates the French, but I think that He allowed them to be chastised for their sins.”

It was a sufficiently naive way to account for a chastisement which had now strung out for ninety-six years.  But nobody found fault with it.  There was nobody there who would not punish a sinner ninety-six years if he could, nor anybody there who would ever dream of such a thing as the Lord’s being any shade less stringent than men.

“Have you ever embraced St. Marguerite and St. Catherine?”

“Yes, both of them.”

The evil face of Cauchon betrayed satisfaction when she said that.

“When you hung garlands upon L’Arbre Fee Bourlemont, did you do it in honor of your apparitions?”

“No.”

Satisfaction again.  No doubt Cauchon would take it for granted that she hung them there out of sinful love for the fairies.

“When the saints appeared to you did you bow, did you make reverence, did you kneel?”

“Yes; I did them the most honor and reverence that I could.”

A good point for Cauchon if he could eventually make it appear that these were no saints to whom she had done reverence, but devils in disguise.

Now there was the matter of Joan’s keeping her supernatural commerce a secret from her parents.  Much might be made of that.  In fact, particular emphasis had been given to it in a private remark written in the margin of the proces:  “She concealed her visions from her parents and from every one.”  Possibly this disloyalty to her parents might itself be the sign of the satanic source of her mission.

“Do you think it was right to go away to the wars without getting your parents’ leave?  It is written one must honor his father and his mother.”

“I have obeyed them in all things but that.  And for that I have begged their forgiveness in a letter and gotten it.”

“Ah, you asked their pardon?  So you knew you were guilty of sin in going without their leave!”

Joan was stirred.  Her eyes flashed, and she exclaimed: 

“I was commanded of God, and it was right to go!  If I had had a hundred fathers and mothers and been a king’s daughter to boot I would have gone.”

“Did you never ask your Voices if you might tell your parents?”

“They were willing that I should tell them, but I would not for anything have given my parents that pain.”

To the minds of the questioners this headstrong conduct savored of pride.  That sort of pride would move one to see sacrilegious adorations.

“Did not your Voices call you Daughter of God?”

Joan answered with simplicity, and unsuspiciously: 

“Yes; before the siege of Orleans and since, they have several times called me Daughter of God.”

Further indications of pride and vanity were sought.