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Wearied with the persistence and threats of her arch-tormentor, Cauchon, Joan said that she had been sent by God and wished to return to God. 'I have nothing more to do here, she added. Beaupère was again ordered to cross-examine the prisoner. He began by asking her when she had last eaten. 'Not since yesterday at mid-day, she said. Beaupère then began again to question her regarding the voice.
Suddenly he looked bright-eyed and shy. He leaned toward her. "Do you remember we are married?" he whispered. Joan was startled. "Of course," she replied hastily. But had she forgotten? "You're my wife." Joan looked at him and felt her nerves begin to tingle. A soft, warm wave stole over her. Like a boy he laughed. "This was our first meal together on our honeymoon!" "Jim!"
Then he meant to chaff her about her distracted air; for Joan was no neurotic subject, and she herself would be the first to laugh at the nervous fit of the morning.
It was a place of chains and bars compared to the other. The waves of humiliation and shame swept over Joan, but each time she emerged she held her head higher. "And he left me to go my way and he went to Nancy! He did not care!" It was anger now; proud, life-saving anger. "If he had only cared!" "And why should he?" The thought was like a dash of cold water in her face. After all, why should he?
Garivel, when a lad of fifteen, had seen Joan at Poitiers, and he remembered that on her being asked why she styled Charles Dauphin, and not by his kingly title, she replied that she could not give him his regal title until he had been crowned and anointed at Rheims.
"Well?" said the old man softly. "Oh, my God!" said Kenny, wiping his forehead. "I'll stay!" "Good!" said Adam, moistening his lips. "Good! You know, Kenny," he whispered, shivering, "I I hate the rain." "Yes," said Kenny wretchedly, "so do I." "Kenny," said the old man later when Kenny had carried the lamp back and made sure that Joan had gone to her room, "don't sulk.
He even went so far as to pat Ashe on the shoulder. "Good boy!" he said. "Meet me at Paddington Station at four o'clock on Friday. And if there's anything more you want to know come round to this address." There remained the telling of Joan Valentine; for it was obviously impossible not to tell her.
"I have some distance to go this evening," said the old woman, "but I do not object to a few minutes' rest, and sooner than that you should lose the bird I will sit on the doorstep to oblige you, while you run down to the cornfield." "But can you bark if any one comes?" asked little Joan. "For if you can't, So-so must stay with you."
I see you've a dog and some cats aboard." "Yes; and they're good company better, in some ways, than human beings, for they can't talk back. The dog's Oliver Cromwell; and the cats I've named Joan of Arc, Marie Antoinette, and Queen Victoria. I must go aboard and give 'em their suppers." He rose from the table. "Come back again in an hour," invited Jim, "and we'll have some music.
Joan had for a moment covered her face with her hand, for even so it was rather terrible to see this tyrant and oppressor led forth from his own house to an ignominious death, and she was unused to such stern scenes.
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