Catherine and Henri le Royer were folk of Jeanne’s own humble station. The good dame welcomed the girl warmly, at first for her mother’s sake and then for her own. Jeanne had ever a way with women and girls, and but few days had elapsed ere she had completely won the heart of her hostess by her gentle ways, her skill in sewing and spinning, and her 144 earnest faith. Together they attended mass at the parish church, spun, sewed, or busied themselves about the house. Sometimes Jeanne climbed the hill to the royal chapel which adjoined the Governor’s castle, for there was a wonderful image of the Virgin in the crypt of Saint Mary’s before which she loved to pray.
News of her mission, the tidings that a young girl was come, who was appointed by God to save France spread through the town and surrounding country. The people flocked to see her, and those who came believed, won by her earnestness and simple sincerity. They were in no uncertainty at all as to her mission. A little mob hung about the cottage door to see her come and go, chiefly to church. The saying, “France lost by a woman shall be restored by a maid from the Marches of Lorraine,” was on every lip. And the excitement grew.
Again and again Jeanne sought the Governor, saying:
“I must to the gentle Dauphin. It is the will of Messire, the King of Heaven, that I should wend to the gentle Dauphin. I am sent by the King of Heaven. I must go even if I go on my knees. My Lord Captain, in God’s name, send me to the gentle Dauphin.”
But Sire Robert,––though he listened to her readily enough, and, impressed in spite of himself by her intense fervour, perceived a certain seriousness in the business,––remained deaf to her pleadings. He could not believe. What, a young girl fair and lovely as was this peasant maid to deliver France? The thing was absurd; and yet––he dared not send her home lest after all there might be truth in what she claimed. And so the matter rested.
The days dawned and waned, and still the men-at-arms were not provided. Jeanne shed bitter tears over the delay. She believed so implicitly in her Voices that she could not understand why others did not have the same faith. And the fame of her grew and spread, going out into the country even beyond the valley.
One day, as she was on her way to mass, a young man-at-arms pushed his way through the crowd which had gathered to see her to have a word with the wonderful peasant maid.
“Well, ma mie,” he said banteringly, “what are you doing here? Must the King be driven from his Kingdom, and we all turn English?”
“I came hither to the King’s territory, messire, to speak with Sire Robert that he may take me, or cause me to be taken to the Dauphin; but he heeds neither me nor my words. Notwithstanding, ere mid-Lent I must be before the Dauphin, were I in going to wear my legs to my knees.”