"All things are possible to him that believeth. Strength will come. Perhaps Jeanne d'Arc herself will help you."
"She would never speak to a man like me. She is a great saint, very high in heaven."
"She was a farmer's lass, a peasant like yourself. She would speak to you, gladly and kindly, if you saw her, and in your own language, too. Trust her."
"But I do not know enough about her."
"Listen, Pierre. I have thought for you. I will appoint the first part of your penance. You shall take the risk of being recognized and caught. You shall go down to that village there and visit the places that belong to her—her basilica, her house, her church. Then you shall come back here and wait until you know—until you surely know what you must do. Will you promise this?"
Pierre had risen and looked up at the priest with tear-stained face. But his eyes were quieter. "Yes, Father, I can promise you this much faithfully."
"Now I must go my way. Farewell, my son. Peace in war be with you." He held out his hand.
Pierre took it reverently. "And with you, Father," he murmured.
