The seance began. And how did it begin, should you think? Exactly as it began before—with that same tedious thing which had been settled once, after so much wrangling. The Bishop opened thus:
“You are required now, to take the oath pure and simple, to answer truly all questions asked you.”
Joan replied placidly:
“I have made oath yesterday, my lord; let that suffice.”
The Bishop insisted and insisted, with rising temper; Joan but shook her head and remained silent. At last she said:
“I made oath yesterday; it is sufficient.” Then she sighed and said, “Of a truth, you do burden me too much.”
The Bishop still insisted, still commanded, but he could not move her. At last he gave it up and turned her over for the day’s inquest to an old hand at tricks and traps and deceptive plausibilities—Beaupere, a doctor of theology. Now notice the form of this sleek strategist’s first remark—flung out in an easy, offhand way that would have thrown any unwatchful person off his guard:
“Now, Joan, the matter is very simple; just speak up and frankly and truly answer the questions which I am going to ask you, as you have sworn to do.”
It was a failure. Joan was not asleep. She saw the artifice. She said:
“No. You could ask me things which I could not tell you—and would not.” Then, reflecting upon how profane and out of character it was for these ministers of God to be prying into matters which had proceeded from His hands under the awful seal of His secrecy, she added, with a warning note in her tone, “If you were well informed concerning me you would wish me out of your hands. I have done nothing but by revelation.”