Again the Maid of Arc is in the field. Again the standard of France is in her hand, and on she bears it from success to success. The enemy's forts are taken, the lines swept, the castle of the bridge recaptured, Orleans delivered, and her name united with it in everlasting memory.
Joy, hope, confidence returned to France, and men's hearts were opened to each other which had long been closed.
Gergeau, Beaugency, and many another small town was taken, and across a country delivered from his enemies, the King of France marched on to take his crown at Rheims.
CHAPTER L.
Flitting like shadows in a mist, came many a great event in the history of France about that time, hardly known or appreciated by any except those who were the immediate actors in them; but amid them all, with a heavy heart, and a dejected spirit, Jean Charost remained in exile at Briare. Why he had chosen that small town for the place of his retreat, he himself hardly knew; for although no human action is probably without its motive, some motives are so quick and lightning-like, that all traces of them are instantly lost even in the cloud from which they issue. It might be that he had been thinking deeply of the words of Juvenel de Royans, from the second night of the siege of Bourges till the moment when his sentence of banishment from the court was spoken, and that he had fully made up his mind to go thither sooner or later to converse with the Abbot Lomelini. No other inducement, indeed, could be imagined; for Briare was then, as now, a very dull small place, with its single street, and hardly defensible walls, and nothing to recommend it but the smiling banks of the Loire, and the fine old abbey at the highest point of the whole town. Dull enough it was, in truth, to Jean Charost, without one object of interest, one source of occupation. Filial love, too, had deprived him of the consolation of his mother's company. The journey from De Brecy to Briare he thought was too long, the difficulties and dangers in the way too numerous for her to encounter them without risk to her health or to her life, and he had persuaded her to remain, and keep the management of his estates in her own hands. Thus, with a few servants, he remained at the principal inn of the place, poorly lodged, and poorly fed, but heeding little the convenience or inconvenience of the body in the dull, heavy anguish of the heart. His spirit fretted sore within him; but yet he did not venture to resist the sentence of the king, unjust as it might be. It was a strange state that France was in at that period. Nobles would actually take arms against the royal authority at one moment, and submit to the most arbitrary decrees the next; and not only did De Brecy remain at Briare in obedience to the king's command, but Richmond, with all his impetuous spirit, lingered on at Parthenay for months.
For some days after his arrival at his place of exile, occupied with other thoughts, Jean Charost forgot Lomelini entirely; and when he did remember him, and recalled the words which De Royans had spoken, he asked himself, "Why should I seek for information which may probably confirm the king's claim to the disposal of her I love?"
Man's mind, however, abhors uncertainty. That thirst for knowledge which was kindled in Paradise is upon us still. We would rather know evil than know not. On the fourth day, toward eventide, he set out and walked up to the abbey, and paused in the gray light, looking at the gray gates. One of the brethren, gazing forth, asked him if he would come in and see the church, and then De Brecy inquired for the abbot, and if he were still brother Lomelini.
The monk replied in the affirmative, but said the abbot seldom received any one after sunset, unless he came on business of importance, or was an old friend.
"I am an old friend," replied Jean Charost. "Tell him Monsieur De Brecy is here. I will wait till you return."
He was speedily admitted, and Lomelini seemed really glad to see him. He had become an old man, indeed, with hair as white as silver, had grown somewhat bowed and corpulent, and was slightly querulous withal. He complained of many things--of man's ingratitude--the dullness of the place of his abode--the forgetfulness of friends--the perils of the land, and all those things easily borne by the robust spirit of youth, which age magnifies into intolerable burdens. Still, he seemed gratified with Jean Charost's visit, and besought him to stay and take a homely supper with him--poor monastic fare. But during the course of the evening, and the meal with which it concluded, the young nobleman found that his old acquaintance had lost none of that quiet subtlety which had distinguished him in other days, and that his taste for good things was in no degree diminished. It had increased, indeed. Like an old dog, eating had become his only pleasure. He had become both a glutton and an epicure.