carried her good name unsmirched to the end. I knew what I must
do now, if I would have her approval: go to Vaucouleurs, keep out
of her sight, and be ready when wanted.
I went the next afternoon, and took an obscure lodging; the next
day I called at the castle and paid my respects to the governor, who
invited me to dine with him at noon of the following day. He was
an ideal soldier of the time; tall, brawny, gray-headed, rough, full
of strange oaths acquired here and there and yonder in the wars
and treasured as if they were decorations. He had been used to the
camp all his life, and to his notion war was God’s best gift to man.
He had his steel cuirass on, and wore boots that came above his
knees, and was equipped with a huge sword; and when I looked at
this martial figure, and heard the marvelous oaths, and guessed
how little of poetry and sentiment might be looked for in this
quarter, I hoped the little peasant-girl would not get the privilege
of confronting this battery, but would have to content herself with
the dictated letter.
I came again to the castle the next day at noon, and was conducted
to the great dining-hall and seated by the side of the governor at a
small table which was raised a couple of steps higher than the
general table. At the small table sat several other guests besides
myself, and at the general table sat the chief officers of the
garrison. At the entrance door stood a guard of halberdiers, in
morion and breastplate.
As for talk, there was but one topic, of course–the desperate
situation of France. There was a rumor, some one said, that
Salisbury was making preparations to march against Orleans. It
raised a turmoil of excited conversation, and opinions fell thick
and fast. Some believed he would march at once, others that he
could not accomplish the investment before fall, others that the
siege would be long, and bravely contested; but upon one thing all
voices agreed: that Orleans must eventually fall, and with it
France. With that, the prolonged discussion ended, and there was
silence. Every man seemed to sink himself in his own thoughts,
and to forget where he was. This sudden and profound stillness,
where before had been so much animation, was impressive and
solemn. Now came a servant and whispered something to the
governor, who said:
“Would talk with me?”
“Yes, your Excellency.”
“H’m! A strange idea, certainly. Bring them in.”
It was Joan and her uncle Laxart. At the spectacle of the great
people the courage oozed out of the poor old peasant and he
stopped midway and would come no further, but remained there
with his red nightcap crushed in his hands and bowing humbly
here, there, and everywhere, stupefied with embarrassment and
fear. But Joan came steadily forward, erect and self-possessed, and
stood before the governor. She recognized me, but in no way
indicated it. There was a buzz of admiration, even the governor
contributing to it, for I heard him mutter, “By God’s grace, it is a
beautiful creature!” He inspected her critically a moment or two,
then said:
“Well, what is your errand, my child?”
“My message is to you, Robert de Baudricourt, governor of
Vaucouleurs, and it is this: that you will send and tell the Dauphin
to wait and not give battle to his enemies, for God will presently
send him help.”
This strange speech amazed the company, and many murmured,
“The poor young thing is demented.” The governor scowled, and
said:
“What nonsense is this? The King–or the Dauphin, as you call
him–needs no message of that sort. He will wait, give yourself no
uneasiness as to that. What further do you desire to say to me?”
“This. To beg that you will give me an escort of men-at-arms and
send me to the Dauphin.”
“What for?”
“That he may make me his general, for it is appointed that I shall
drive the English out of France, and set the crown upon his head.”
“What–you? Why, you are but a child!”
“Yet am I appointed to do it, nevertheless.”