“Saw you that, Jean? Those rascals could do naught after she cried out. Truly the child is sent from God.”
“She is in very truth, Bertrand, but it needed not this to prove it. Witness how we have come these many leagues though threatened with dire perils without hap of any kind. ’Tis nothing short of miraculous.”
But Jeanne heard them wondering, and smiled at them.
“Marvel not,” she said. “God clears the way for me. I was born for this.”
And so they came to the green slopes of Fierbois, from which place they would proceed to Chinon, where the King lay.