regarding these sublime men, who are the very pillars of the
French state, supporting it with their strength and preserving it at
daily cost of their blood. As for me, I could count myself honored
past all deserving if I might be allowed but the privilege of looking
upon them once–at a distance, I mean, for it would not become
one of my degree to approach them too near.”
The Paladin was disconcerted for a moment, seeing by the faces
around him that Joan had put into words what the others felt, then
he pulled his complacency together and fell to fault-finding again.
Joan’s brother Jean said:
“If you don’t like what our generals do, why don’t you go to the
great wars yourself and better their work? You are always talking
about going to the wars, but you don’t go.”
“Look you,” said the Paladin, “it is easy to say that. Now I will tell
you why I remain chafing here in a bloodless tranquillity which my
reputation teaches you is repulsive to my nature. I do not go
because I am not a gentleman. That is the whole reason. What can
one private soldier do in a contest like this? Nothing. He is not
permitted to rise from the ranks. If I were a gentleman would I
remain here? Not one moment. I can save France–ah, you may
laugh, but I know what is in me, I know what is hid under this
peasant cap. I can save France, and I stand ready to do it, but not
under these present conditions. If they want me, let them send for
me; otherwise, let them take the consequences; I shall not budge
but as an officer.”
“Alas, poor France–France is lost!” said Pierre d’Arc.
“Since you sniff so at others, why don’t you go to the wars yourself,
Pierre d’Arc?”
“Oh, I haven’t been sent for, either. I am no more a gentleman than
you. Yet I will go; I promise to go. I promise to go as a private
under your orders–when you are sent for.”
They all laughed, and the Dragon-fly said:
“So soon? Then you need to begin to get ready; you might be
called for in five years–who knows? Yes, in my opinion you’ll
march for the wars in five years.”
“He will go sooner,” said Joan. She said it in a low voice and
musingly, but several heard it.
“How do you know that, Joan?” said the Dragon-fly, with a
surprised look. But Jean d’Arc broke in and said:
“I want to go myself, but as I am rather young yet, I also will wait,
and march when the Paladin is sent for.”
“No,” said Joan, “he will go with Pierre.”
She said it as one who talks to himself aloud without knowing it,
and none heard it but me. I glanced at her and saw that her
knitting-needles were idle in her hands, and that her face had a
dreamy and absent look in it. There were fleeting movements of
her lips as if she might be occasionally saying parts of sentences to
herself. But there was no sound, for I was the nearest person to her
and I heard nothing. But I set my ears open, for those two speeches
had affected me uncannily, I being superstitious and easily
troubled by any little thing of a strange and unusual sort.
No‰l Rainguesson said:
“There is one way to let France have a chance for her salvation.
We’ve got one gentleman in the commune, at any rate. Why can’t
the Scholar change name and condition with the Paladin? Then he
can be an officer. France will send for him then, and he will sweep
these English and Burgundian armies into the sea like flies.”
I was the Scholar. That was my nickname, because I could read
and write. There was a chorus of approval, and the Sunflower said:
“That is the very thing–it settles every difficulty. The Sieur de
Conte will easily agree to that. Yes, he will march at the back of
Captain Paladin and die early, covered with common-soldier
glory.”
“He will march with Jean and Pierre, and live till these wars are