her when she says that she was born here, that she went to
Chinon and saw the king, that she delivered Orleans. Why not credit her
when she says she heard God and the saints speaking to her? The proof
of it was in what she did. Have you read the story of her trial? How
clear and steady her answers were! The judges could not shake her. Yet
at any moment she could have saved her life by denying the voices. It
was because she knew, because she was sure, that she could not deny.
Her vision was a part of her real life. She was the mother of French
patriotism--yes. But she was also the daughter of true faith. That was
her power."

"Well," said the younger man, "she sacrificed herself and she saved
France. That was the great thing."

"Yes," said the elder man, stretching his hand across the table to
clasp the hand of his companion, "there is nothing greater than that.
If we do that, God will forgive us all."

They put on their caps to go. Pierre rose and stood at attention. They
returned his salute with a friendly smile and passed out.

After a few moments he finished his bread and wine, paid his score, and
followed them. He watched them going down the village street toward the
railway station. Then he turned and walked slowly back to the spring in
the dell.

The afternoon was hot, in spite of the steady breeze which came out of
the north. The air felt as if it had passed through a furnace. The low,
continuous thunder of the guns rolled up from Verdun, with now and then
a sharper clap from St. Mihiel.

Pierre was very tired. His head was heavy, his heart troubled. He lay
down among the ferns, looking idly at the foxglove spires above him and
turning over in his mind the things he had heard and seen at Domremy.
Presently he fell into a profound sleep.

How long it was he could not tell, but suddenly he became aware of some
one near him. He sprang up. A girl was standing beside the spring.

She wore a bright-red dress and her feet were bare. Her black hair hung
down her back. Her eyes were the color of a topaz. Her form was tall
and straight. She carried a distaff under her arm and looked as if she
had just come from following the sheep.

"Good day, shepherdess," said Pierre. Then a strange thought struck him
and he fell on his knees. "Pardon, lady," he stammered. "Forgive my
rudeness. You are of the high society of heaven, a saint. You are
called Jeanne d'Arc?"

She nodded and smiled. "That is my name," said she. "