uld not have me tarry longer."

I talked with her long and earnestly. Not that I doubted her. I
could not do so. Although no voices came to me, yet my heart was
penetrated by a conviction so deep and poignant that to doubt would
have been impossible. France had been sold and betrayed by one bad
woman; but here was the Maid who should arise to save! I knew it in
my heart; yet I still spoke on and asked questions, for I must
needs satisfy De Baudricourt, I must needs be able to answer all
that he would certainly ask.

"How old are you, fair maiden?" I asked, as at length I rose to
depart, and she stood, tall and slim, before me, straight as a
young poplar, graceful, despite her coarse raiment, her feet and
hands well fashioned, her limbs shapely and supple.

"I was seventeen last week," she answered simply, "the fifth of
January is my jour de fete."

"And your parents, what think they of this? What said they when you
bid them farewell for such an errand?"

The tears gathered slowly in her beautiful eyes; but they did not
fall. She answered in a low voice:

"In sooth they know not for what I did leave them. They believed I
went but to visit a sick friend. I did not dare to tell them all,
lest my father should hold me back: He is very slow to believe my
mission; he chides me bitterly if ever word be spoken anent it. Is
it not always so when the Lord uses one of His children? Even our
Lord's brethren and sisters believed not on Him. How can the
servant be greater than his Lord?"

"You fear not, then, to disobey your parents?"

I had need to put this question; for it was one that De Baudricourt
had insisted upon; for he knew something of Jacques d'Arc's
opposition to his daughter's proposed campaign.

"I must obey my Lord even above my earthly parents," was her
steadfast reply; "His word must stand the first. He knows all, and
He will pardon. He knows that I love my father and my mother, and
that if I only pleased myself I should never leave their side."

Then suddenly as she spoke a strange look of awe fell upon her; I
think she had forgotten my presence, for when she spoke, her words
were so low that I could scarce hear them.

"I go to my death!" she whispered, the colour ebbing from her face,
"but I am in the hands of my Lord; His will alone can be done."

I went out from her presence with bent head. What did those last
words signify--when hitherto all she had spoken was of deliverance,
of victory? She spok