“Nay, gentle King. There is no further need of me. You are crowned, and the towns will receive you joyfully. Whatever of fighting there is to be done the men-at-arms can do.”
“Dear Maid, have you forgot Paris? We are to march there from here, and who can lead the men-at-arms to the storming so well as you? You will inspire them, give them heart and courage, and frighten the enemy. We cannot do without you yet, Jeanne. We need you; the country needs you. Stay your departure for yet a little while we entreat––nay; we command it, Jeanne.”
Her King and her country needed her. That was enough for the girl whose every heart beat was for France. So sorrowfully she wended her way to The Zebra, the little inn where Jacques and Durand were stopping.
“Father,” she said sadly, as Jacques came forward to meet her, “I can not go home. I must continue with the army. It is the King’s command.”
“Not go back, my little one?” exclaimed her father, his face clouding. “Why, Isabeau will be sore disappointed. She thought you would come after your work was done.”
“And I too, father, but the noble King commands me to stay. He hath need of me, he says. And France needs me.” And, as she had done when she was a little child, Jeanne laid her head on her father’s shoulder and cried like the homesick girl that she was. Her father comforted her tenderly. His own disappointment was great.
“We went to see the King, Jeanne,” spoke Durand suddenly.
“He had us brought to him, and he was graciousness itself. I wonder not that you delight to serve him; so sweet and pitiful he is.”
“Oh, he is,” exclaimed the maiden. “For know, father, that he has exempted both Domremy and Greux from the taxes.”