ll window she looked at
night and saw the sanctuary light burning in the church. Here, also, as
well as in the garden and in the woods, her heavenly voices spoke to
her and told her what she must do for the king and her country. She was
not afraid or ashamed, though she lived in so small a house. Here in
this very room she braided her hair and put on her red dress, and set
forth on foot for her visit to Robert de Baudricourt at Vaucouleurs. He
was a rough man and at first he received her roughly. But at last she
convinced him. He gave her a horse and arms and sent her to the king.
She saved France."

[Illustration]

At the rustic inn Pierre at thick slices of dark bread and drank a
stoup of thin red wine at noon. He sat at a bare table in the corner of
the room. Behind him, at a table covered with a white cloth, two
captains on furlough had already made their breakfast. They also were
pilgrims, drawn by the love of Jeanne d'Arc to Domremy. They talked of
nothing else but of her. Yet their points of view were absolutely
different.

One of them, the younger, was short and swarthy, a Savoyard, the son of
an Italian doctor at St. Jean de Maurienne. He was a skeptic; he
believed in Jeanne, but not in the legends about her.

"I tell you," said he, eagerly, "she was one of the greatest among
women. But all that about her 'voices' was illusion. The priests
suggested it. She had hallucinations. Remember her age when they
began--just thirteen. She was clever and strong; doubtless she was
pretty; certainly she was very courageous. She was only a girl. But she
had a big, brave idea which--the liberation of her country. Pure? Yes.
I am sure she was virtuous. Otherwise the troops would not have
followed and obeyed her as they did. Soldiers are very quick about
those things. They recognize and respect an honest woman. Several men
were in love with her, I think. But she was '_une nature froide_.' The
only thing that moved her was her big, brave idea--to save France. The
Maid was a mother, but not of a mortal child. Her offspring was the
patriotism of France."

The other captain was a man of middle age, from Lyons, the son of an
architect. He was tall and pale and his large brown eyes had the
tranquillity of a devout faith in them. He argued with quiet tenacity
for his convictions.

"You are right to believe in her," said he, "but I think you are
mistaken to deny her voices. They were as real as anything in her life.
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