iceable more than once before--that there was
pity for Joan in the hearts of many of these people. Whenever she had
been in great danger it had manifested itself, and now it was apparent
again--manifest in a pathetic dumb sorrow which was visible in many
faces.

Early the next morning, Wednesday, Martin Ladvenu and another friar
were sent to Joan to prepare her for death; and Manchon and I went
with them--a hard service for me. We tramped through the dim corridors,
winding this way and that, and piercing ever deeper and deeper into that
vast heart of stone, and at last we stood before Joan. But she did not
know it. She sat with her hands in her lap and her head bowed, thinking,
and her face was very sad. One might not know what she was thinking of.
Of her home, and the peaceful pastures, and the friends she was no more
to see? Of her wrongs, and her forsaken estate, and the cruelties which
had been put upon her? Or was it of death--the death which she had
longed for, and which was now so close?

Or was it of the kind of death she must suffer? I hoped not; for she
feared only one kind, and that one had for her unspeakable terrors. I
believed she so feared that one that with her strong will she would shut
the thought of it wholly out of her mind, and hope and believe that
God would take pity on her and grant her an easier one; and so it
might chance that the awful news which we were bringing might come as a
surprise to her at last.

We stood silent awhile, but she was still unconscious of us, still deep
in her sad musings and far away. Then Martin Ladvenu said, softly:

"Joan."

She looked up then, with a little start and a wan smile, and said:

"Speak. Have you a message for me?"

"Yes, my poor child. Try to bear it. Do you think you can bear it?"

"Yes"--very softly, and her head drooped again.

"I am come to prepare you for death."

A faint shiver trembled through her wasted body. There was a pause. In
the stillness we could hear our breathings. Then she said, still in that
low voice:

"When will it be?"

The muffled notes of a tolling bell floated to our ears out of the
distance.

"Now. The time is at hand."

That slight shiver passed again.

"It is so soon--ah, it is so soon!"

There was a long silence. The distant throbbings of the bell pulsed
through it, and we stood motionless and listening. But it was broken at
last:

"What death is it?"

"By fire!"

"Oh, I knew it, I knew it!" She spra