There was no hope of help at home. That she foresaw clearly as she recalled her father’s words concerning his dream. She knew that he would oppose her bitterly. Nor would her mother aid her, deeply as she loved her, to go contrary to her father’s will. Neither would they allow her to journey to Vaucouleurs unattended. The maiden made a mental review of the villagers in search of one to whom she might appeal for assistance, but rejected them sadly as their images passed before her. Clearly she must bide her time.
“But I must go soon,” she mused. “It is the will of God.”
Just at this juncture, when she knew not to whom to go, Durand Lassois, a cousin by marriage whom she called uncle because he was so much older than she, came to Domremy on a visit. Jeanne hailed his advent with eagerness. He lived with his young wife, who was Isabeau’s niece, in Bury le Petit, a hamlet lying on the left bank of the Meuse in the green valley, nine miles from Domremy, but only three from Vaucouleurs. Here was the help that she needed, for Durand was fond of Jeanne, and would do her bidding as unquestioningly as a mastiff obeys the child whom he adores.
So when Jeanne, taking him aside, asked him to take her home with him for a visit to her cousin, his wife, he assented readily.
“Aveline will be glad for you to come, Jeanne,” he said. “She is not well, and a visit from you will cheer her up.”
Jacques D’Arc made some objections when the subject was broached, but Isabeau was pleased and over-ruled them.
“It is the very thing,” she exclaimed. “The child has been in need of a change this long while. Nay, now, Jacques, say naught against it. She shall go. I wonder that we did not think of sending her there ourselves.”
“It must be for only a week, then,” said Jacques.
“A week is better than nothing,” spoke Durand Lassois. “Have no fear for her, Jacques. She shall be well looked after.”