roof, with its worm-eaten beams, she slept and prayed and worked.

"See, here is the bread-board between two timbers where she cut
the bread for the _croute au pot._ From this small window she
looked at night and saw the sanctuary light burning in the church.
Here, also, as well as in the garden and in the woods, her heavenly
voices spoke to her and told her what she must do for her king and
her country. She was not afraid or ashamed, though she lived in
so small a house. Here in this very room she braided her hair and
put on her red dress, and set forth on foot for her visit to Robert
de Baudricourt at Vaucouleurs. He was a rough man and at first he
received her roughly. But at last she convinced him. He gave her
a horse and arms and sent her to the king. She saved France."

At the rustic inn Pierre ate thick slices of dark bread and drank
a stoup of thin red wine at noon. He sat at a bare table in the
corner of the room. Behind him, at a table covered with a white
cloth, two captains on furlough had already made their breakfast.
They also were pilgrims, drawn to Domremy by the love of Jeanne
d'Arc. They talked of nothing else but of her. Yet their points of
view were absolutely different.

One of them, the younger, was short and swarthy, a Savoyard, the
son of an Italian doctor at St. Jean de Maurienne. He was a sceptic;
he believed in Jeanne, but not in the legends about her.

"I tell you," said he eagerly, "she was one of the greatest among
women. But all that about her 'voices' was illusion. The priests
suggested it. She had hallucinations. Remember her age when they
began--just thirteen. She was clever and strong; doubtless she was