to think, he thinks he does think, but this is an error. He didn’t see
the army. I noticed him, and he didn’t see it. He was troubled by
his old complaint.”
“What s his old complaint?” Catherine asked.
“Prudence,” I said, seeing my chance to help.
But it was not a fortunate remark, for the Paladin said:
“It probably isn’t your turn to criticize people’s prudence–you who
fall out of the saddle when a donkey brays.”
They all laughed, and I was ashamed of myself for my hasty
smartness. I said:
“It isn’t quite fair for you to say I fell out on account of the
donkey’s braying. It was emotion, just ordinary emotion.”
“Very well, if you want to call it that, I am not objecting. What
would you call it, Sir Bertrand?”
“Well, it–well, whatever it was, it was excusable, I think. All of
you have learned how to behave in hot hand-to-hand engagements,
and you don’t need to be ashamed of your record in that matter; but
to walk along in front of death, with one’s hands idle, and no noise,
no music, and nothing going on, is a very trying situation. If I were
you, De Conte, I would name the emotion; it’s nothing to be
ashamed of.”
It was as straight and sensible a speech as ever I heard, and I was
grateful for the opening it gave me; so I came out and said:
“It was fear–and thank you for the honest idea, too.”
“It was the cleanest and best way out,” said the old treasurer;
“you’ve done well, my lad.”
That made me comfortable, and when Miss Catherine said, “It’s
what I think, too,” I was grateful to myself for getting into that
scrape.
Sir Jean de Metz said:
“We were all in a body together when the donkey brayed, and it
was dismally still at the time. I don’t see how any young
campaigner could escape some little touch of that emotion.”
He looked about him with a pleasant expression of inquiry on his
good face, and as each pair of eyes in turn met his head they were
in nodded a confession. Even the Paladin delivered his nod. That
surprised everybody, and saved the Standard-Bearer’s credit. It was
clever of him; nobody believed he could tell the truth that way
without practice, or would tell that particular sort of a truth either
with or without practice. I suppose he judged it would favorably
impress the family. Then the old treasurer said:
“Passing the forts in that trying way required the same sort of
nerve that a person must have when ghosts are about him in the
dark, I should think. What does the Standard-Bearer think?”
“Well, I don’t quite know about that, sir. I’ve often thought I would
like to see a ghost if I–”
“Would you?” exclaimed the young lady. “We’ve got one! Would
you try that one? Will you?”
She was so eager and pretty that the Paladin said straight out that
he would; and then as none of the rest had bravery enough to
expose the fear that was in him, one volunteered after the other
with a prompt mouth and a sick heart till all were shipped for the
voyage; then the girl clapped her hands in glee, and the parents
were gratified, too, saying that the ghosts of their house had been a
dread and a misery to them and their forebears for generations, and
nobody had ever been found yet who was willing to confront them
and find out what their trouble was, so that the family could heal it
and content the poor specters and beguile them to tranquillity and
peace.
Chapter 18 Joan’s First Battle-Field
ABOUT NOON I was chatting with Madame Boucher; nothing
was going on, all was quiet, when Catherine Boucher suddenly
entered in great excitement, and said:
“Fly, sir, fly! The Maid was doing in her chair in my room, when
she sprang up and cried out, ‘French blood is flowing!–my arms,
give me my arms!’ Her giant was on guard at the door, and he
brought D’Aulon, who began to arm her, and I and the giant have
been warning the staff. Fly!–and stay by her; and if there really is a