dawn to-morrow. From
his house I shall go soon to Vaucouleurs, and wait and strive until my
prayer is granted. Who were the two cavaliers who sat to your left at
the governor's table that day?"

"One was the Sieur Jean de Novelonpont de Metz, the other the Sieur
Bertrand de Poulengy."

"Good metal--good metal, both. I marked them for men of mine.... What is
it I see in your face? Doubt?"

I was teaching myself to speak the truth to her, not trimming it or
polishing it; so I said:

"They considered you out of your head, and said so. It is true they
pitied you for being in such misfortune, but still they held you to be
mad."

This did not seem to trouble her in any way or wound her. She only said:

"The wise change their minds when they perceive that they have been in
error. These will. They will march with me. I shall see them presently..
.. You seem to doubt again? Do you doubt?"

"N-no. Not now. I was remembering that it was a year ago, and that they
did not belong here, but only chanced to stop a day on their journey."

"They will come again. But as to matters now in hand; I came to leave
with you some instructions. You will follow me in a few days. Order your
affairs, for you will be absent long."

"Will Jean and Pierre go with me?"

"No; they would refuse now, but presently they will come, and with them
they will bring my parents' blessing, and likewise their consent that
I take up my mission. I shall be stronger, then--stronger for that; for
lack of it I am weak now." She paused a little while, and the tears
gathered in her eyes; then she went on: "I would say good-by to Little
Mengette. Bring her outside the village at dawn; she must go with me a
little of the way--"

"And Haumette?"

She broke down and began to cry, saying:

"No, oh, no--she is too dear to me, I could not bear it, knowing I should
never look upon her face again."

Next morning I brought Mengette, and we four walked along the road in
the cold dawn till the village was far behind; then the two girls said
their good-bys, clinging about each other's neck, and pouring out their
grief in loving words and tears, a pitiful sight to see. And Joan took
one long look back upon the distant village, and the Fairy Tree, and the
oak forest, and the flowery plain, and the river, as if she was trying
to print these scenes on her memory so that they would abide there
always and not fade, for she knew she would not see them any more in
this life;