“Then you are determined to go?”
“Of a certainty, yes. There is only one thing that I can do for France—hearten her soldiers for battle and victory.” She thought a moment, then added, “However, one should not be unreasonable, and I would do much to please you, who are so good to me. Do you love France?”
I wondered what she might be contriving now, but I saw no clue. Catherine said, reproachfully:
“Ah, what have I done to deserve this question?”
“Then you do love France. I had not doubted it, dear. Do not be hurt, but answer me—have you ever told a lie?”
“In my life I have not wilfully told a lie—fibs, but no lies.”
“That is sufficient. You love France and do not tell lies; therefore I will trust you. I will go or I will stay, as you shall decide.”
“Oh, I thank you from my heart, Joan! How good and dear it is of you to do this for me! Oh, you shall stay, and not go!”
In her delight she flung her arms about Joan’s neck and squandered endearments upon her the least of which would have made me rich, but, as it was, they only made me realize how poor I was—how miserably poor in what I would most have prized in this world. Joan said:
“Then you will send word to my headquarters that I am not going?”