“Yes, Jacques. She believes that she has been commanded so to do. She told you that; and whatever Jeanne thinks is the will of God that she will do.”
“She deludes herself,” spoke the father shortly, detecting the hint of faith underlying Lassois’ tone. “Think you that the Governor would listen to her if she were to go to him again?”
Lassois reflected.
“No,” he said presently. “I think he will not pay any attention to her.”
Jacques brightened. “That is well,” he nodded. “She shall not go if I can prevent it. She shall be guarded well. I shall see to it.”
Thereafter a strict watch was kept upon Jeanne’s every movement. One of her brothers, or Jacques D’Arc himself, was always with her. Instead of the tenderness that her father had always shown toward her there was now harshness and severity. Her mother too, though far from being cruel, was querulous and often spoke sharply to her. Isabeau knew her child’s pure heart too well to believe that the girl was actuated by any but the highest motives. She did think, however, that the child’s wits wandered, though the maiden performed her customary duties with care and exactness, and was worried and distressed in consequence.
In the village Jeanne found herself avoided. With the exception of Mengette and Hauviette her friends shunned her. The little hamlet was in a ferment of tattle. Whenever she appeared in any of the narrow streets heads were bent together and fingers pointed mockingly. Often the whispers reached her.
“There goes she who is to save France.”