“I saw mother and dad talking with your father and Aunt Nan to-night, when we were helping serve,” she whispered, “and I know they were talking about it! Oh, Virginia, do you really suppose I’ll be there?”
“I’m thinking on it every minute I have,” came back the whispered answer. “Aunt Nan’s going will make a big difference; and some way I just know you’re coming, Priscilla!”
Tuesday dawned beautifully, setting at rest many anxious hearts, which had bade their owners rise from bed at intervals during the night to study the heavens. At ten o’clock a strictly private dress rehearsal was held on the meadow. Virginia, who was one of Queen Elizabeth’s pages, ran about in doublet and hose, and directed those who rode Napoleon. Everything went along with perfect smoothness. Martin Luther, who was Mary, nailed his theses with resounding strokes upon the church door, and then in a fiery and original Latin oration denounced the sale of “Indulgences ”; and Mary, Queen of Scots, was led to execution, without the headsmen giggling, as they had invariably done on every other occasion. Miss Allan, the History teacher, declared herself delighted.
“It’s perfect!” she said enthusiastically. “Now you may go where you like, except those in the last Joan of Arc scene. I want you to try that dismounting again, Anne, and don’t let your voice tremble when you address the Dauphin.”
“My voice will tremble until I say good-by to Napoleon forever,” thought Anne to herself as she mounted in the woods, and rode out on the meadow, preceded by her priest, and followed by two retainers, who kept at a very respectful distance from Napoleon’s heels. She drew near the Dauphin and his assembled court, halted her steed, and prepared to dismount. But, in some way, she lost her balance, and fell to the ground, her left foot caught in the stirrup. Had Napoleon moved it might have been a serious happening; but he stood calmly looking on, even before Virginia had grasped his bridle. Then Miss Allan released Anne’s foot, while the Dauphin and his court sympathized.
Anne had wrenched her ankle, and could not mount Napoleon again. That was certain. It was possible for her to perform her first and second acts, for in the first she did not walk about at all, and the scene with the priest required but a few steps. But the last was, under the circumstances, utterly impossible, and, unless a substitute could be found, must be omitted.
Poor Joan sat on the ground and tried to smile, while Miss Allan rubbed her aching ankle.
“I think it’s really providential,” she said, “because I’d have been sure to fall this afternoon. Virginia can do my last part splendidly. My costume will fit her all right, and I’m quite content with hearing the voices and talking with the priest. You’ll do it, won’t you, Virginia?”
“Why, of course, I will, if Miss Allan thinks best. My French isn’t like yours, Anne. Oh, I’m so sorry it happened!”
“Well, it’s fortunate we have you, Virginia,” said Miss Allan. “You know the part perfectly, and your pronunciation will have to do. Besides, you ride well enough to make up for it.”