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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
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