“Beyond doubt she is a daughter of God,” said de Laval.
“Beyond doubt. But I would hear more of her.”
Her tone was ominously soft, and the young man was deceived by it. He launched into a fervid panegyric of Jeanne of Arc. He told of her doings at Orleans, when her standard became the oriflamme of France, and her voice was more stirring than trumpets; of her gentleness and her wisdom. He told of his first meeting with her, when she welcomed him in her chamber. “She sent for wine and said that soon she would drink it with me in Paris. I saw her mount a plunging black horse, herself all in white armour, but unhelmeted. Her eyes were those of a great captain, and yet merciful and mild like God's Mother. The sight of her made the heart sing like a May morning. No man could fear death in her company. They tell how...”
But he got no farther. The girl's face was pale with fury, and she tore at her gold neck-chain till it snapped.
“Enough of your maid!” she cried. “Maid, forsooth! The shame of her has gone throughout the land. She is no maid, but a witch, a light-of-love, a blasphemer. By the Rood, Sir Guy, you choose this instant between me and your foul peasant. A daughter of Beaumanoir does not share her lover with a crack-brained virago.”
The young man had also gone pale beneath his sunburn. “I will not listen,” he cried. “You blaspheme a holy angel.”
“But listen you shall,” and her voice quivered with passion. She marched up to him and faced him, her slim figure as stiff as a spear. “This very hour you break this mad allegiance and conduct me home to Beaumanoir. Or, by the Sorrows of Mary, you and I will never meet again.”
De Laval did not speak, but stood gazing sadly at the angry loveliness before him. His own face had grown as stubborn as hers.
“You do not know what you ask,” he said at length. “You would have me forswear my God, and my King, and my manhood.”
“A fig for such manhood,” she cried with ringing scorn. “If that is a man's devotion, I will end my days in a nunnery. I will have none of it, I tell you. Choose, my fine lover choose—between me and your peasant.”