t I am wounded, you shall give yourself no concern
about it, and refuse faith to any that shall try to make you believe it
is serious."

She was going on, when Catherine spoke up and said:

"Ah, but it will fright her so to read these words. Strike them out,
Joan, strike them out, and wait only one day--two days at most--then
write and say your foot was wounded but is well again--for it surely be
well then, or very near it. Don't distress her, Joan; do as I say."

A laugh like the laugh of the old days, the impulsive free laugh of an
untroubled spirit, a laugh like a chime of bells, was Joan's answer; then
she said:

"My foot? Why should I write about such a scratch as that? I was not
thinking of it, dear heart."

"Child, have you another wound and a worse, and have not spoken of it?
What have you been dreaming about, that you--"

She had jumped up, full of vague fears, to have the leech called back at
once, but Joan laid her hand upon her arm and made her sit down again,
saying:

"There, now, be tranquil, there is no other wound, as yet; I am writing
about one which I shall get when we storm that bastille tomorrow."

Catherine had the look of one who is trying to understand a puzzling
proposition but cannot quite do it. She said, in a distraught fashion:

"A wound which you are going to get? But--but why grieve your mother when
it--when it may not happen?"

"May not? Why, it will."

The puzzle was a puzzle still. Catherine said in that same abstracted way
as before:

"Will. It is a strong word. I cannot seem to--my mind is not able to take
hold of this. Oh, Joan, such a presentiment is a dreadful thing--it takes
one's peace and courage all away. Cast it from you!--drive it out! It
will make your whole night miserable, and to no good; for we will hope--"

"But it isn't a presentiment--it is a fact. And it will not make me
miserable. It is uncertainties that do that, but this is not an
uncertainty."

"Joan, do you know it is going to happen?"

"Yes, I know it. My Voices told me."

"Ah," said Catherine, resignedly, "if they told you-- But are you sure it
was they?--quite sure?"

"Yes, quite. It will happen--there is no doubt."

"It is dreadful! Since when have you know it?"

"Since--I think it is several weeks." Joan turned to me. "Louis, you will
remember. How long is it?"

"Your Excellency spoke of it first to the King, in Chinon," I answered;
"that was as much as seven weeks ago. You spoke of