“Yes, mother; I know. It will be as I say. And now let’s get the rest of the furniture in the cart. Father grows impatient.”
Curiously enough, Isabeau was comforted. She dried her eyes and gave way to grief no more. Jacques came in and seeing Jeanne so helpful, bringing order out of the chaos about her, spoke gently to her in quite his old tender manner. So that Jeanne’s heart was lighter than it had been since her return from Bury le Petit. The animals were in the highroad, the ox carts were drawn up behind them laden with the belongings of the villagers, the women and children stood ready, waiting for the word of departure to be given, to take up the line of march to Neufchâteau, when they were thrown into the greatest confusion by the advent of a man-at-arms who rode among them at speed, crying:
“March! March while there is time. Vaucouleurs is attacked, and Sire Antoine hath started a body of men this way.”
He was gone before the startled villagers had time to question him. For a time the greatest excitement prevailed, but something like order was restored at length, and with lingering, despairing looks at the homes they were abandoning the village folk started toward Neufchâteau, their market town, lying five miles to the southward of Domremy. The day was excessively 123 warm, and wearily the village folk followed the road through fields of wheat and rye, up the vine clad hills to the town. There were many of them, and their chattels were numerous, but the citizens received them cordially and lodged them as best they could.
Jacques conducted his family at once to the inn kept by a worthy woman, La Rousse by name, whom he knew. The move from Domremy had been made none too soon, for Antoine de Vergy’s men swept into the village but a few hours after the departure of its inhabitants, and both Domremy and Greux were laid waste.
To Jeanne the days that followed were tranquil and the happiest that she had known for a long time. As in Domremy she drove her father’s beasts to the fields, and kept his flocks. She also helped La Rousse about the household duties, greatly to the good dame’s satisfaction, and when she was not helping her hostess, or tending the cattle she passed all her time in church.
During the first few days of the stay in the market town Jeanne saw Colin frequently, but greatly to her relief he forbore to press his attentions upon her. Then she saw him no longer, and rejoiced thereat. Her thanksgiving was of short duration.
Dinner was over in the common room of the inn one day, and the guests––not numerous as it chanced––had broken up into groups; some lingering at the board where they had eaten, others clustering at small tables scattered about the rush strewn room. The great chamber, with its dusky walls and 124 blackened beams would have looked gloomy enough on a dark day, but the heat and bright sunshine of midsummer made it seem cool and restful.
In the nook formed by the outer angle of the huge projecting chimney, and so somewhat in the shadow, sat Jeanne waiting for the guests to leave the board that she might clear away the dinner. Her father and a man with whom he was conversing were the last ones to rise, and at once the girl came forward to begin her task. As she did so there came the sound of a dagger hilt beating upon the outside door at the further end of the room. Before Jeanne could reach it to open it the heavy door swung open quickly as though thrust inward by a strong hasty hand, and there entered a man garbed in priest’s raiment. Reverent always in her attitude toward priests the maiden bowed low before him.
“Is it your pleasure to have dinner, messire?” she asked when she had risen from her obeisance.