tisement which had
now strung out for ninety-six years. But nobody found fault with it.
There was nobody there who would not punish a sinner ninety-six years if
he could, nor anybody there who would ever dream of such a thing as the
Lord's being any shade less stringent than men.

"Have you ever embraced St. Marguerite and St. Catherine?"

"Yes, both of them."

The evil face of Cauchon betrayed satisfaction when she said that.

"When you hung garlands upon L'Arbre Fee Bourlemont, did you do it in
honor of your apparitions?"

"No."

Satisfaction again. No doubt Cauchon would take it for granted that she
hung them there out of sinful love for the fairies.

"When the saints appeared to you did you bow, did you make reverence,
did you kneel?"

"Yes; I did them the most honor and reverence that I could."

A good point for Cauchon if he could eventually make it appear that
these were no saints to whom she had done reverence, but devils in
disguise.

Now there was the matter of Joan's keeping her supernatural commerce a
secret from her parents. Much might be made of that. In fact, particular
emphasis had been given to it in a private remark written in the margin
of the proces: "She concealed her visions from her parents and from
every one." Possibly this disloyalty to her parents might itself be the
sign of the satanic source of her mission.

"Do you think it was right to go away to the wars without getting your
parents' leave? It is written one must honor his father and his mother."

"I have obeyed them in all things but that. And for that I have begged
their forgiveness in a letter and gotten it."

"Ah, you asked their pardon? So you knew you were guilty of sin in going
without their leave!"

Joan was stirred. Her eyes flashed, and she exclaimed:

"I was commanded of God, and it was right to go! If I had had a hundred
fathers and mothers and been a king's daughter to boot I would have
gone."

"Did you never ask your Voices if you might tell your parents?"

"They were willing that I should tell them, but I would not for anything
have given my parents that pain."

To the minds of the questioners this headstrong conduct savored of
pride. That sort of pride would move one to see sacrilegious adorations.

"Did not your Voices call you Daughter of God?"

Joan answered with simplicity, and unsuspiciously:

"Yes; before the siege of Orleans and since, they have several times
called me Daughter of God."