of God, go forward. We are at
your side.'"

Catherine trembled. She seemed on the edge of a world of which in
all her cosseted life she had never dreamed, a world of beautiful and
terrible things. There was rapture in it, and a great awe. She had
forgotten her grievances in wonder.

"Do not shrink from me," said the voice which seemed to have won an
unearthly sweetness. "Let us sit together and tell our thoughts. You are
very fair. Have you a lover?"

The word brought the girl to earth. "I had a lover, but this night I
dismissed him. He fights in your company, and I see no need for this
war."

Jeanne's voice was puzzled. "Can a man fight in a holier cause than to
free his country?"

"The country..." But Catherine faltered. Her argument with Guy now
seemed only pettishness.

"You are a great lady," said Jeanne, "and to such as you liberty
may seem a little thing. You are so rich that you need never feel
constraint. But to us poor folk freedom is life itself. It sweetens
the hind's pottage, and gives the meanest an assurance of manhood....
Likewise it is God's will. My Holy Ones have told me that sweet France
shall be purged from bondage. They have bidden me see the King crowned
and lead him to Paris.... After that they have promised me rest."

She laid an arm round Catherine's neck and looked into her eyes.

"You are hungry, sister mine," she said.

The girl started. For the eyes were no longer those of a boy, but of a
mother--very wise, very tender. Her own mother had died so long ago
that she scarcely remembered her. A rush of longing came over her for
something she had never known. She wanted to lay her head on that young
breast and weep.

"You are hungry--and yet I think you have been much smiled on by
fortune. You are very fair, and for most women to be beautiful is to be
happy. But you are not content, and I am glad of it. There is a hunger
that is divine...."

She broke off, for the girl was sobbing. Crumpled on the floor, she bent
her proud head to the Maid's lap "What must I do?" she cried piteously.
"The sight of you makes me feel my rottenness. I have been proud of
worthless things and I have cherished that wicked pride that I might
forget the doubts knocking on my heart. You say true, I am not content.
I shall never be content, I am most malcontent with myself.... Would to
God that like you I had been born a peasant!"

The tragic eyes looked up to find the Maid laughing--a kind, gentle
merrim