the man flat. What his idea of straightening up was, was his own
secret.
We followed the veteran to headquarters, listening, observing,
admiring–yes, devouring, you may say, the pet hero of the boys of
France from our cradles up to that happy day, and their idol and
ours. I called to mind how Joan had once rebuked the Paladin,
there in the pastures of Domremy, for uttering lightly those mighty
names, La Hire and the Bastard of Orleans, and how she said that
if she could but be permitted to stand afar off and let her eyes rest
once upon those great men, she would hold it a privilege. They
were to her and the other girls just what they were to the boys.
Well, here was one of them at last–and what was his errand? It
was hard to realize it, and yet it was true; he was coming to
uncover his head before her and take her orders.
While he was quieting a considerable group of his brigands in his
soothing way, near headquarters, we stepped on ahead and got a
glimpse of Joan’s military family, the great chiefs of the army, for
they had all arrived now. There they were, six officers of wide
renown, handsome men in beautiful armor, but the Lord High
Admiral of France was the handsomest of them all and had the
most gallant bearing.
When La Hire entered, one could see the surprise in his face at
Joan’s beauty and extreme youth, and one could see, too, by Joan’s
glad smile, that it made her happy to get sight of this hero of her
childhood at last. La Hire bowed low, with his helmet in his
gauntleted hand, and made a bluff but handsome little speech with
hardly an oath in it, and one could see that those two took to each
other on the spot.
The visit of ceremony was soon over, and the others went away;
but La Hire stayed, and he and Joan sat there, and he sipped her
wine, and they talked and laughed together like old friends. And
presently she gave him some instructions, in his quality as master
of the camp, which made his breath stand still. For, to begin with,
she said that all those loose women must pack out of the place at
once, she wouldn’t allow one of them to remain. Next, the rough
carousing must stop, drinking must be brought within proper and
strictly defined limits, and discipline must take the place of
disorder. And finally she cloiimaxed the list of surprises with
this–which nearly lifted him out of his armor:
“Every man who joins my standard must confess before the priest
and absolve himself from sin; and all accepted recruits must be
present at divine service twice a day.”
La Hire could not say a word for a good part of a minute, then he
said, in deep dejection:
“Oh, sweet child, they were littered in hell, these poor darlings of
mine! Attend mass? Why, dear heart, they’ll see us both damned
first!”
And he went on, pouring out a most pathetic stream of arguments
and blasphemy, which broke Joan all up, and made her laugh as
she had not laughed since she played in the Domremy pastures. It
was good to hear.
But she stuck to her point; so the soldier yielded, and said all right,
if such were the orders he must obey, and would do the best that
was in him; then he refreshed himself with a lurid explosion of
oaths, and said that if any man in the camp refused to renounce sin
and lead a pious life, he would knock his head off. That started
Joan off again; she was really having a good time, you see. But she
would not consent to that form of conversions. She said they must
be voluntary.
La Hire said that that was all right, he wasn’t going to kill the
voluntary ones, but only the others.
No matter, none of them must be killed–Joan couldn’t have it. She
said that to give a man a chance to volunteer, on pain of death if he
didn’t, left him more or less trammeled, and she wanted him to be