y all flung themselves in a body at the singer, stark
mad with love of him and love of France and pride in her great deeds and
old renown, and smothered him with their embracings; but Joan was there
first, hugged close to his breast, and covering his face with idolatrous
kisses.

The storm raged on outside, but that was no matter; this was the
stranger's home now, for as long as he might please.

Chapter 4 Joan Tames the Mad Man

ALL CHILDREN have nicknames, and we had ours. We got one apiece early,
and they stuck to us; but Joan was richer in this matter, for, as time
went on, she earned a second, and then a third, and so on, and we gave
them to her. First and last she had as many as half a dozen. Several of
these she never lost. Peasant-girls are bashful naturally; but she
surpassed the rule so far, and colored so easily, and was so easily
embarrassed in the presence of strangers, that we nicknamed her the
Bashful. We were all patriots, but she was called the Patriot, because
our warmest feeling for our country was cold beside hers. Also she was
called the Beautiful; and this was not merely because of the
extraordinary beauty of her face and form, but because of the loveliness
of her character. These names she kept, and one other--the Brave.

We grew along up, in that plodding and peaceful region, and got to be
good-sized boys and girls--big enough, in fact, to begin to know as much
about the wars raging perpetually to the west and north of us as our
elders, and also to feel as stirred up over the occasional news from
these red fields as they did. I remember certain of these days very
clearly. One Tuesday a crowd of us were romping and singing around the
Fairy Tree, and hanging garlands on it in memory of our lost little fairy
friends, when Little Mengette cried out:

"Look! What is that?"

When one exclaims like that in a way that shows astonishment and
apprehension, he gets attention. All the panting breasts and flushed
faces flocked together, and all the eager eyes were turned in one
direction--down the slope, toward the village.

"It's a black flag."

"A black flag! No--is it?"

"You can see for yourself that it is nothing else."

"It is a black flag, sure! Now, has any ever seen the like of that
before?"

"What can it mean?"

"Mean? It means something dreadful--what else?"

"That is nothing to the point; anybody knows that without the telling.
But what?--that is the question."

"It is a ch