Folly, folly! There is no virtue in humble blood.I would I had been a queen! I love fine clothes and rich trappings and the great horse which d'Alencon gave me.God has made a brave world and I would that all His people could get the joy of it.I love it the more because I have only a little time in it.""But you are happy," said the girl, "and I want such happiness.""There is no happiness," said the Maid, "save in doing the will of God our Father.""But I do not know His will....I am resolved now.I will take the vows and become a religious, and then I shall find peace.I am weary of all this confusing world.""Foolish one," and Jeanne played with the little curls which strayed around Catherine's ear."You were not born for a nunnery.Not that way God calls you.""Show me His way," the girl implored."He shows His way privily to each heart, and His ways are many.For some the life of devout contemplation, but not for you, sister.Your blood is too fiery and your heart too passionate....You have a lover? Tell me his name.
Docilely Catherine whispered it, and Jeanne laughed merrily.
"Sir Guy! My most loyal champion.By my staff, you are the blessed maid.
There is no more joyous knight in all the fields of France.""I do not seek wedlock.Oh, it is well for you who are leading armies and doing the commands of God.Something tells me that in marriage I shall lose my soul."The girl was on her knees with her hands twined."Let me follow you," she cried."I will bring a stout company behind me.Let me ride with you to the freeing of France.I promise to be stalwart."The Maid shook her head gently.
"Then I take the vows." The obstinate little mouth had shut and there were no tears now in the eyes.
"Listen, child," and Jeanne took the suppliant hands in hers."It is true that God has called me to a holy task.He has sent His angels to guide me and they talk with me often.The Lady of Fierbois has given me a mystic sword.I think that in a little while this land will be free again....But I shall not see it, for God's promise is clear, and for me it does not give length of days.I did not seek this errand of mine.I resisted the command, till God was stern with me and I submitted with bitter tears.I shall die a maid, and can never know the blessedness of women.Often at night I weep to think that I shall never hold a babe next my heart."The face of Jeanne was suddenly strained with a great sadness.It was Catherine's turn to be the comforter.She sat herself beside her and drew her head to her breast.
"For you I see a happier fate--a true man's wife-- the mother of sons.
Bethink you of the blessedness.Every wife is like the Mother of God--she has the hope of bearing a saviour of mankind.She is the channel of the eternal purpose of Heaven.Could I change--could I change! What fortunate wife would envy a poor maid that dwells in the glare of battle?...Nay, I do not murmur.I do God's will and rejoice in it.But I am very lonely."For a little there was silence, an ecstatic silence.Something hard within Catherine melted and she felt a gush of pity.No longer self-pity, but compassion for another.Her heart grew suddenly warm.It was as if a window had been opened in a close room to let in air and landscape.
"I must rest, for there is much ado to-morrow.Will you sleep by me, for Ihave long been starved of a woman's comradeship?"In the great canopied bed the two girls lay till morning.Once in the darkness Catherine started and found her arms empty.Jeanne was kneeling by the window, her head thrown back and the moonlight on her upturned face.
When she woke in the dawn the Maid was already up, trussing the points of her breeches and struggling with her long boots.She was crooning the verse of a ballad:
"Serais je nonette' Crois que non--"
and looking with happy eyes at the cool morning light on the forest.
"Up, sleepy-head," she cried."Listen to the merry trampling of the horses.
I must start, if I would spare the poor things in the noon.Follow me with your prayers, for France rides with me.I love you, sweet sister; Be sure Iwill hasten to you when my work is done."So the Maid and her company rode off through the woods to Compiegne, and a brooding and silent Catherine took the north road to Picardy.
.....................
