these dreamers of dreams. I have met such myself--they talk great
swelling words, but the world wags on its way in spite of them.
They are no prophets; they are bags of wind. They make a stir and a
commotion for a brief while, and then they vanish to be heard of no
more."

"It may be so," answered Bertrand, whose face was grave, and whose
steadfast dark-blue eyes had taken a strange shining, "I can only
speak of that which I did see and hear. What the future may hold
none can say. God alone doth know that."

"Then you saw this maid--and heard her speech. What looked she
like?--and what said she?"

"I will tell you all the tale. We were gathered there in the great
hall. There were perhaps a score of us; the Seigneur at the head of
the council table, the Abbe Perigord on his right, and the Count of
La Roche on his left. There were two priests also present, and the
chiefest knights and gentlemen of the town. We had all been
laughing gaily at the thought of what a village maid of but
seventeen summers--or thereabouts--would feel on being introduced
into the presence of such a company. We surmised that she would
shrink into the very ground for shame. One gentleman declared that
it was cruel to ask her to face so many strangers of condition so
much more exalted than her own; but De Baudricourt cried out, 'Why
man, the wench is clamouring to be taken to the King at his Court!
If she cannot face a score of simple country nobles here, how can
she present herself at Chinon? Let her learn her place by a sharp
lesson here; so may she understand that she had best return to her
distaff and spindle and leave the crowning of Kings to other