A gasp of amazement came from Sire Robert. He did not speak, but, leaning forward, he regarded the maiden keenly. With perfect calm and self-possession she continued:
“Before mid Lent my Lord will grant him aid. But in very deed the realm belongs not to the Dauphin. Nathless it is Messire’s will that the Dauphin should be King, and receive the kingdom in trust. Notwithstanding his enemies the Dauphin shall be King; and it is I who shall lead him to his anointing.”
A moment of silence followed this startling announcement. Across the faces of the men-at-arms stole expressions of pity, then a murmur of compassion ran through the room as Sire Robert asked:
“Who is Messire?”
And Jeanne answered, “He is the King of Heaven.”
Now it happened that just before Lassois and Jeanne entered the hall the Governor and his men had been discussing the state of affairs in the country. It was noised about that the English were preparing for a new attack in force on the Dauphin’s territories south of the Loire. It was rumored also that the little wedge of loyal territory in which Vaucouleurs lay was to be the object of special attack by the Burgundians. That a young peasant girl, accompanied by a rustic, should calmly inform him that she should straighten out the difficulties of distressed France appealed to Robert as a huge joke. So, at her answer, he gave way to a great shout of laughter in which his men, as in duty bound, joined. Sire Robert had no sentiment, but was possessed of a coarse humour. Again and again the rafters rang with his merriment. When the 107 hilarity had somewhat subsided he beckoned Lassois to draw near.
“Come hither, rustic,” he said. “Is this thy daughter?”
“No,” replied Durand tremblingly. “She is the daughter of Jacques D’Arc.”
“So?” Sire Robert scanned the maid with new interest. “See you, my man,” he said. “The girl is daft; clean daft. As witless an innocent as ever it has been my lot to behold. Whip her well, and send her home to her father.”
Whip her? Lassois turned a startled glance upon the Governor as though he had not heard aright. Whip Jeanne, who was so good and sweet? The very idea was profanation. Cowed and frightened he grasped the maiden’s arm.