"Ah, now I am woman again," said the crooning voice.The unbuckled sword in its leather sheath was laid on the table beside the broken reliquary."Let us rest side by side, sister, for I long for maids' talk."But now Catherine started and recoiled.For on the blue tunic she had caught sight of an embroidered white dove bearing in its beak the scroll De par le Roy du ciel.It was a blazon the tale of which had gone through France.
"You are she!" she stammered."The witch of Lorraine!"The other looked wonderingly at her."I am Jeanne of Arc," she said simply.
"She whom they call the Pucelle.Do you shrink from me, sister?"Catherine's face was aflame.She remembered her lost lover, and the tears scarcely dry."Out upon you!" she cried."You are that false woman that corrupt men's hearts." And again her fingers sought the silver whistle.
Jeanne looked sadly upon her.Her merry eyes had grown grave.
"I pray you forbear.I do not heed the abuse of men, but a woman's taunts hurt me.They have spoken falsely of me, dear sister.I am no witch, but a poor girl who would fain do the commands of God."She sank on the settle with the relaxed limbs of utter fatigue."I was happy when they told me there was a lady here.I bade Louis and Raymond and the Sieur d'Aulon leave me undisturbed till morning, for I would fain rest.
Oh, but I am weary of councils! They are all blind.They will not hear the plain wishes of God....And I have so short a time! Only a year, and now half is gone!"The figure had lost all its buoyancy, and become that of a sad, overwrought girl.Catherine found her anger ebbing and pity stealing into her heart.
Could this tired child be the virago against whom she had sworn vengeance?
It had none of a woman's allure' no arts of the light-of-love.Its eyes were as simple as a boy's....She looked almost kindly at the drooping Maid.
But in a moment the languor seemed to pass from her.Her face lit up, as to the watcher in the darkness a window in a tower suddenly becomes a square of light.She sank on her knees, her head thrown back, her lips parted, the long eyelashes quiet on her cheeks.A sudden stillness seemed to fall on everything.Catherine held her breath, and listened to the beating of her heart.
Jeanne's lips moved, and then her eyes opened.She stood up again, her face entranced and her gaze still dwelling on some hidden world...Never had Catherine seen such happy radiance.
"My Brothers of Paradise spoke with me.They call me sometimes when I am sad.Their voices said to me, 'Daughter of God, go forward.We are at your side.'"Catherine trembled.She seemed on the edge of a world of which in all her cosseted life she had never dreamed, a world of beautiful and terrible things.There was rapture in it, and a great awe.She had forgotten her grievances in wonder.
"Do not shrink from me," said the voice which seemed to have won an unearthly sweetness."Let us sit together and tell our thoughts.You are very fair.Have you a lover?"The word brought the girl to earth."I had a lover, but this night Idismissed him.He fights in your company, and I see no need for this war."Jeanne's voice was puzzled."Can a man fight in a holier cause than to free his country?""The country..." But Catherine faltered.Her argument with Guy now seemed only pettishness.
"You are a great lady," said Jeanne, "and to such as you liberty may seem a little thing.You are so rich that you need never feel constraint.But to us poor folk freedom is life itself.It sweetens the hind's pottage, and gives the meanest an assurance of manhood....Likewise it is God's will.My Holy Ones have told me that sweet France shall be purged from bondage.They have bidden me see the King crowned and lead him to Paris....After that they have promised me rest."She laid an arm round Catherine's neck and looked into her eyes.
"You are hungry, sister mine," she said.
The girl started.For the eyes were no longer those of a boy, but of a mother--very wise, very tender.Her own mother had died so long ago that she scarcely remembered her.A rush of longing came over her for something she had never known.She wanted to lay her head on that young breast and weep.
"You are hungry--and yet I think you have been much smiled on by fortune.
You are very fair, and for most women to be beautiful is to be happy.But you are not content, and I am glad of it.There is a hunger that is divine...."She broke off, for the girl was sobbing.Crumpled on the floor, she bent her proud head to the Maid's lap "What must I do?" she cried piteously.
"The sight of you makes me feel my rottenness.I have been proud of worthless things and I have cherished that wicked pride that I might forget the doubts knocking on my heart.You say true, I am not content.I shall never be content, I am most malcontent with myself....Would to God that like you I had been born a peasant!"The tragic eyes looked up to find the Maid laughing--a kind, gentle merriment.Catherine flushed as Jeanne took her tear-stained face in her hands.
"You are foolish, little sister.I would I had been born to your station.
My task would have been easier had I been Yoland of Sicily or that daughter of the King of Scots from whom many looked for the succour of France.
