though Joan said that if they chose to take the risk they might
depart. They preferred to stay with us. We modified our pace now,
and moved cautiously, and the new men were warned to keep their
sorrows to themselves and not get the command into danger with
their curses and lamentations.
Toward dawn we rode deep into a forest, and soon all but the
sentries were sound asleep in spite of the cold ground and the
frosty air.
I woke at noon out of such a solid and stupefying sleep that at first
my wits were all astray, and I did not know where I was nor what
had been happening. Then my senses cleared, and I remembered.
As I lay there thinking over the strange events of the past month or
two the thought came into my mind, greatly surprising me, that
one of Joan’s prophecies had failed; for where were No‰l and the
Paladin, who were to join us at the eleventh hour? By this time,
you see, I had gotten used to expecting everything Joan said to
come true. So, being disturbed and troubled by these thoughts, I
opened my eyes. Well, there stood the Paladin leaning against a
tree and looking down on me! How often that happens; you think
of a person, or speak of a person, and there he stands before you,
and you not dreaming he is near. It looks as if his being near is
really the thing that makes you think of him, and not just an
accident, as people imagine. Well, be that as it may, there was the
Paladin, anyway, looking down in my face and waiting for me to
wake. I was ever so glad to see him, and jumped up and shook him
by the hand, and led him a little way from the camp–he limping
like a cripple–and told him to sit down, and said:
“Now, where have you dropped down from? And how did you
happen to light in this place? And what do the soldier-clothes
mean? Tell me all about it.”
He answered:
“I marched with you last night.”
“No!” (To myself I said, “The prophecy has not all failed–half of it
has come true.”)
“Yes, I did. I hurried up from Domremy to join, and was within a
half a minute of being too late. In fact, I was too late, but I begged
so hard that the governor was touched by my brave devotion to my
country’s cause–those are the words he used–and so he yielded,
and allowed me to come.”
I thought to myself, this is a lie, he is one of those six the governor
recruited by force at the last moment; I know it, for Joan’s
prophecy said he would join at the eleventh hour, but not by his
own desire. Then I said aloud:
“I am glad you came; it is a noble cause, and one should not sit at
home in times like these.”
“Sit at home! I could no more do it than the thunderstone could
stay hid in the clouds when the storm calls it.”
“That is the right talk. It sounds like you.”
That pleased him.
“I’m glad you know me. Some don’t. But they will, presently. They
will know me well enough before I get done with this war.”
“That is what I think. I believe that wherever danger confronts you
you will make yourself conspicuous.”
He was charmed with this speech, and it swelled him up like a
bladder. He said:
“If I know myself–and I think I do–my performances in this
campaign will give you occasion more than once to remember
those words.”
“I were a fool to doubt it. That I know.”
“I shall not be at my best, being but a common soldier; still, the
country will hear of me. If I were where I belong; if I were in the
place of La Hire, or Saintrailles, or the Bastard of Orleans–well, I
say nothing. I am not of the talking kind, like No‰l Rainguesson
and his sort, I thank God. But it will be something, I take it–a
novelty in this world, I should say–to raise the fame of a private