Canon Loyseleur (aside)—"The pyre frightens her. She is ours! (He joins his hands imploringly and points to the wicket where the face of John reappears.) Silence! Joan, my dear daughter, you will ruin us both!"
John (roughly, through the wicket)—"You are still making a noise and screaming! Must I come in and make you behave?"
Canon Loyseleur (brusquely)—"The irons of my poor mate have wounded her. Pain drew from her an involuntary cry."
John—"She has not yet reached the end! She will scream much louder on the pyre that awaits her, the miserable witch!"
Canon Loyseleur (seeming hardly able to contain his indignation)—"Jailer, have at least the charity of not insulting our distress. Have pity for the poor girl!"
John withdraws grumbling. Joan Darc, overwhelmed with terror, has fallen back upon the straw and represses her sobs. After the jailer's withdrawal she slightly regains courage, rises partly and the dialogue proceeds:
Joan Darc—"Pardon my weakness, Father. Oh, the mere thought of such a horrible death—the thought of mounting a pyre!" (She does not finish the sentence, and sobs violently.)
Canon Loyseleur—"By placing before you the frightful fate reserved to you, in case you are snared, I wished to put you upon your guard against your enemies."
Joan Darc (wiping her tears, and in an accent of profound gratitude)—"God will reward you, good Father, for the great pity you show me, a stranger to you."
Canon Loyseleur—"You are no stranger to me, Joan. I know you are one of the glories of France! The elect of the Lord! Now listen to the rest of what I have to say to you. I am in a hurry to complete my advice before I am dragged away from here. If, deceived by their perfidious suggestions, you should answer your judges that you believe you saw your saints appear before you, that you believe you heard their voices, instead of resolutely affirming that you saw them with your eyes and heard them with your ears, St. Catherine, St. Marguerite and the archangel St. Michael, sent to you by the Lord—"