He was of no good as an exhibition. But if La Hire had only come
in, that would have been another matter. Those two fenced often; I
saw them many times. True, Joan was easily his master, but it
made a good show for all that, for La Hire was a grand swordsman.
What a swift creature Joan was! You would see her standing erect
with her ankle-bones together and her foil arched over her head,
the hilt in one hand and the button in the other–the old general
opposite, bent forward, left hand reposing on his back, his foil
advanced, slightly wiggling and squirming, his watching eye
boring straight into hers–and all of a sudden she would give a
spring forward, and back again; and there she was, with the foil
arched over her head as before. La Hire had been hit, but all that
the spectator saw of it was a something like a thin flash of light in
the air, but nothing distinct, nothing definite.
We kept the drinkables moving, for that would please the Bailly
and the landlord; and old Laxart and D’Arc got to feeling quite
comfortable, but without being what you could call tipsy. They got
out the presents which they had been buying to carry
home–humble things and cheap, but they would be fine there, and
welcome. And they gave to Joan a present from PЉre Fronte and
one from her mother–the one a little leaden image of the Holy
Virgin, the other half a yard of blue silk ribbon; and she was as
pleased as a child; and touched, too, as one could see plainly
enough. Yes, she kissed those poor things over and over again, as
if they had been something costly and wonderful; and she pinned
the Virgin on her doublet, and sent for her helmet and tied the
ribbon on that; first one way, then another; then a new way, then
another new way; and with each effort perching the helmet on her
hand and holding it off this way and that, and canting her head to
one side and then the other, examining the effect, as a bird does
when it has got a new bug. And she said she could almost wish she
was going to the wars again; for then she would fight with the
better courage, as having always with her something which her
mother’s touch had blessed.
Old Laxart said he hoped she would go to the wars again, but
home first, for that all the people there were cruel anxious to see
her–and so he went on:
“They are proud of you, dear. Yes, prouder than any village ever
was of anybody before. And indeed it is right and rational; for it is
the first time a village has ever had anybody like you to be proud
of and call its own. And it is strange and beautiful how they try to
give your name to every creature that has a sex that is convenient.
It is but half a year since you began to be spoken of and left us, and
so it is surprising to see how many babies there are already in that
region that are named for you. First it was just Joan; then it was
Joan-Orleans; then Joan-Orleans-Beaugency-Patay; and now the
next ones will have a lot of towns and the Coronation added, of
course. Yes, and the animals the same. They know how you love
animals, and so they try to do you honor and show their love for
you by naming all those creatures after you; insomuch that if a
body should step out and call ”Joan of Arc–come!’ ‘there would be
a landslide of cats and all such things, each supposing it was the
one wanted, and all willing to take the benefit of the doubt,
anyway, for the sake of the food that might be on delivery. The
kitten you left behind–the last estray you fetched home–bears you
name, now, and belongs to PЉre Fronte, and is the pet nad pride of
the village; and people have come miles to look at it and pet it and
stare at it and wonder over it because it was Joan of Arc’s cat.