Several among the company of judges went from the place
troubled and sorrowful, the others in another mood. In the court of
the castle we found the Earl of Warwick and fifty English waiting,
impatient for news. As soon as Cauchon saw them he
shouted–laughing–think of a man destroying a friendless poor girl
and then having the heart to laugh at it:
“Make yourselves comfortable–it’s all over with her!”
Chapter 23 The Time Is at Hand
THE YOUNG can sink into abysses of despondency, and it was so
with No‰l and me now; but the hopes of the young are quick to
rise again, and it was so with ours. We called back that vague
promise of the Voices, and said the one to the other that the
glorious release was to happen at “the last moment”–“that other
time was not the last moment, but this is; it will happen now; the
King will come, La Hire will come, and with them our veterans,
and behind them all France!” And so we were full of heart again,
and could already hear, in fancy, that stirring music the clash of
steel and the war-cries and the uproar of the onset, and in fancy see
our prisoner free, her chains gone, her sword in her hand.
But this dream was to pass also, and come to nothing. Late at
night, when Manchon came in, he said:
“I am come from the dungeon, and I have a message for you from
that poor child.”
A message to me! If he had been noticing I think he would have
discovered me–discovered that my indifference concerning the
prisoner was a pretense; for I was caught off my guard, and was so
moved and so exalted to be so honored by her that I must have
shown my feeling in my face and manner.
“A message for me, your reverence?”
“Yes. It is something she wishes done. She said she had noticed the
young man who helps me, and that he had a good face; and did I
think he would do a kindness for her? I said I knew you would, and
asked her what it was, and she said a letter–would you write a
letter to her mother?
And I said you would. But I said I would do it myself, and gladly;
but she said no, that my labors were heavy, and she thought the
young man would not mind the doing of this service for one not
able to do it for herself, she not knowing how to write. Then I
would have sent for you, and at that the sadness vanished out of
her face. Why, it was as if she was going to see a friend, poor
friendless thing. But I was not permitted. I did my best, but the
orders remain as strict as ever, the doors are closed against all but
officials; as before, none but officials may speak to her. So I went
back and told her, and she sighed, and was sad again. Now this is
what she begs you to write to her mother. It is partly a strange
message, and to me means nothing, but she said her mother would
understand. You will ‘convey her adoring love to her family and
her village friends, and say there will be no rescue, for that this
night–and it is the third time in the twelvemonth, and is final–she
has seen the Vision of the Tree.'”
“How strange!”
“Yes, it is strange, but that is what she said; and said her parents
would understand. And for a little time she was lost in dreams and
thinkings, and her lips moved, and I caught in her muttering these
lines, which she said over two or three times, and they seemed to
bring peace and contentment to her. I set them down, thinking they
might have some connection with her letter and be useful; but it
was not so; they were a mere memory, floating idly in a tired
mind, and they have no meaning, at least no relevancy.”
I took the piece of paper, and found what I knew I should find:
And when in exile wand’ring, we Shall fainting yearn for glimpse