child of his shall be old enough to–”
“That man is to reign over us–the Butcher? It is lies! all lies!” cried
the Paladin. “Besides, look you–what becomes of our Dauphin?
What says the treaty about him?”
“Nothing. It takes away his throne and makes him an outcast.”
Then everybody shouted at once and said the news was a lie; and
all began to get cheerful again, saying, “Our King would have to
sign the treaty to make it good; and that he would not do, seeing
how it serves his own son.”
But the Sunflower said: “I will ask you this: Would the Queen sign
a treaty disinheriting her son?”
“That viper? Certainly. Nobody is talking of her. Nobody expects
better of her. There is no villainy she will stick at, if it feed her
spite; and she hates her son. Her signing it is of no consequence.
The King must sign.”
“I will ask you another thing. What is the King’s condition? Mad,
isn’t he?”
“Yes, and his people love him all the more for it. It brings him near
to them by his sufferings; and pitying him makes them love him.”
“You say right, Jacques d’Arc. Well, what would you of one that is
mad? Does he know what he does? No. Does he do what others
make him do? Yes. Now, then, I tell you he has signed the treaty.”
“Who made him do it?”
“You know, without my telling. The Queen.”
Then there was another uproar–everybody talking at once, and all
heaping execrations upon the Queen’s head. Finally Jacques d’Arc
said:
“But many reports come that are not true. Nothing so shameful as
this has ever come before, nothing that cuts so deep, nothing that
has dragged France so low; therefore there is hope that this tale is
but another idle rumor. Where did you get it?”
The color went out of his sister Joan’s face. She dreaded the
answer; and her instinct was right.
“The cur‚ of Maxey brought it.”
There was a general gasp. We knew him, you see, for a trusty man.
“Did he believe it?”
The hearts almost stopped beating. Then came the answer:
“He did. And that is not all. He said he knew it to be true.”
Some of the girls began to sob; the boys were struck silent. The
distress in Joan’s face was like that which one sees in the face of a
dumb animal that has received a mortal hurt. The animal bears it,
making no complaint; she bore it also, saying no word. Her brother
Jacques put his hand on her head and caressed her hair to indicate
his sympathy, and she gathered the hand to her lips and kissed it
for thanks, not saying anything. Presently the reaction came, and
the boys began to talk. No‰l Rainguesson said:
“Oh, are we never going to be men! We do grow along so slowly,
and France never needed soldiers as she needs them now, to wipe
out this black insult.”
“I hate youth!” said Pierre Morel, called the Dragon-fly because his
eyes stuck out so. “You’ve always got to wait, and wait, and
wait–and here are the great wars wasting away for a hundred
years, and you never get a chance. If I could only be a soldier
now!”
“As for me, I’m not going to wait much longer,” said the Paladin;
“and when I do start you’ll hear from me, I promise you that. There
are some who, in storming a castle, prefer to be in the rear; but as
for me, give me the front or none; I will have none in front of me
but the officers.”
Even the girls got the war spirit, and Marie Dupont said:
“I would I were a man; I would start this minute!” and looked very
proud of herself, and glanced about for applause.
“So would I,” said C‚cile Letellier, sniffing the air like a war-horse
that smells the battle; “I warrant you I would not turn back from
the field though all England were in front of me.”
“Pooh!” said the Paladin; “girls can brag, but that’s all they are
good for. Let a thousand of them come face to face with a handful