Jeanne [putting it on her head]. The English wreath is in its right place now. Here, on the head of Jeanne d'Arc. I'll wear that wreath forever. Give me your hand, you English soldier.
Fred. I've not washed since morning, lady.
Jeanne. Your hand, that fights for France. [She takes it.] And yours, soldier of France.
Paul. Jeanne! But you—[Holding back timidly.]
Jeanne. I am where I would always be—[she has a hand of both]—amongst my fighting men. They have set me on a pedestal and made a saint of me, but I am better here, between you two, both soldiers of France. They will not let me fight for France to-day. Save for this mystic hour on Christmas Eve I am a thing of stone. But Jeanne lives on. Her spirit fights for France to-day as Jeanne fought five hundred years ago. And, in this hour when I am granted speech, I say, "Fight on, fight on for France till France and Belgium are free and the invader pays the price of treachery. And you, you English who have come to France, and you in England who are making arms for France, I, who have hated you, I, whom you burnt, I, Jeanne d'Arc of Rheims and Orléans, I give you thanks. My people are your people, and my cause your cause. Vivent! Vivent les Anglais!" [During this speech she drops the soldiers' hands. They resume gradually their sleeping attitudes. Jeanne mounts her pedestal, and gives the last words from it, then becomes stone again. The light fades to darkness, then becomes the moonlight of the opening. Blanche enters L. She goes to the steps, looks at the sleeping soldiers, and stands above them. Her basket is empty but for one flower.]
Paul [stirring and seeing her]. Jeanne!
Blanche. My name is Blanche, monsieur.
Paul. But I—you—[he rises]. Mademoiselle, you are very like—
Blanche. I am the flower-girl whom you saw before you went to sleep, and I am very like myself, monsieur.
Paul. Was I asleep? [Looks at statue.] Yes. There is Jeanne.