Jeanne and Pierrot walked in the Bois (bwä), hand in hand. Pierrot was not crying any more, though it had taken Jeanne a long time to soothe him. She told him of the many stories she would make up. She told him of the many fine adventures he would have as the hero of these stories.
Jeanne now had a story in her mind. And she was taking Pierrot to a quiet spot where she could tell him about it.
"Sit here beside me, Pierrot," she said at last.
They had found a sylvan dell that might have been in the heart of fairy-land, instead of in the heart of a big city like Paris.
"Now, listen, Pierrot," said Jeanne. "I am going to tell you a very fine story. You and I shall be the actors in it. I shall be Joan of Arc and you shall be my knight.
"You know that Joan of Arc was only a little girl when she heard the call to save her country. She rode a big horse at the head of an army.
"She marched against the enemy with a sword in her hand. But my story says that without her brave knight she could not have won the battle."
Pierrot's shirt puffed out. His little clown cap went up in the air—puff!—and came down again on his head. He was very proud indeed. Jeanne was pleased because she had made him happy.
"Now see! We shall begin our story and I am hearing the call."