“I will go with you, my sister.”
“No, Pierre, you cannot.”
“And why not?”
“Is it not enough for me to bring sorrow to our parents? Would you add to that sorrow by secretly going away also?”
“You are right. I ought not to go. You are obeying the decree of Heaven, but I cannot offer that plea. But I know of some one who might go with you.”
“Who?”
“Uncle Laxart. He also loves you, and he will not have to ask permission of any one.”
“But will he go?”
“I will speak to him about it.”
The next day (in the year 1429)—it was the day of the Three Holy Kings—Joan crossed the snow-covered valley to the Fairy Tree, sprinkled crumbs for the birds as usual, and listened to their grateful songs. Soon afterwards she was lost in deep reverie in the chapel at the cross-roads, and while in this state her enraptured eyes beheld her saints, Catherine and Margaret, in the clouds.