“And yet your question seems to imply that you do.”
“Not at all, Pierre. I know very well that you love me, but you must tell me so over and over again. I know very well you do not mock me, but even that does not satisfy me. I must have the assurance from your own lips.”
“I know very well, Joan, that you are a favorite with your saints, that they manifest themselves to you in the clouds, and that you talk with them as you talk with us.”
“Yes; you believe me when I tell you these things. But when I tell the others—”
“Oh, my sister, they do not know you as I do. I know that you never speak an untruth.”
“And yet my actions now must be deceitful. Alas! Pierre, that is what distresses me.”
“But remember, little sister, that you are obeying the celestial ones, that it is the fatherland which calls you.”
“And still it grieves me, my brother. I go about here just as usual. Father, mother, and all the others think that I shall always go on this way, and I let them think so, and purposely strengthen this belief while I am preparing to leave them secretly. Oh, Pierre, they will never forgive me.”
“Why should you distress yourself with such thoughts, my sister? You know that you must undertake this mission. And it is right you should, for the will of Heaven is superior to the human will. When father and mother and the others hear what Heaven has accomplished through you, do you not think they will forgive you?”
“Your words have done me good, my brother,” cried Joan, her clear, brilliant eyes shining with happiness. “Would that I could always have you by my side and hear your voice! If you were near I would fear no one whom I may encounter.”