The Path of the King

main route southward from the Valois cut the highway from Paris to Rheims and Champagne. The roads at that hour made ghostly white ribbons, and the fore-court of dusty grasses seemed of a ve

knot of young squires stood talking in whispers-impatient, if one judged from the restless clank of metal, but on duty, as appeared when a new-

ght and clear in the glow of the big iron lantern hung above the chimney. She was a tall girl, exquisitely dressed, from the fine silk of her horned cap to the amethyst

ct health, and now slowly flushing to some emotion. The little chin was firm, but the mouth was pettish. Her teeth bit on a gol

dyarmour and coated the scabbard of his great sword. He played nervously with the plume of a helmet which lay on the settle, and lifted his face now a

rned wearily aside, and drew the chain betw

ung man asked timidly. The Sieur Guy de Laval was most not

e we in these quarrels? Let the Kings who seek thrones do the fighting. What

"This is our country of France. I would rid i

en? You are a fool, Guy. Make peace with Burgundy an

voice of La

ding.... But have done with statecraft, for that is not the heart of my complaint. You have broken your pledged word, sir. Did you not promise me when you set out that you would abide the

inst Fastolf's spears. You would not have me stay idle in face of such odds. I was not the o

he girl's cold answer. "Your wor

to pass. Orleans has been saved, and there is now a great army behind Charles. In a little while we shall drive the English from Paris, and presently into the sea. There is ho

alking with quick, short ste

this maid,"

is a daughter of G

But I would hea

n trumpets; of her gentleness and her wisdom. He told of his first meeting with her, when she welcomed him in her chamber. "She sent for wine and said that soon she would drink it with me in Paris. I saw her mount a plunging black horse, he

e was pale with fury, and she tore at

no maid, but a witch, a light-of-love, a blasphemer. By the Rood, Sir Guy, you choose this instant betwee

th his sunburn. "I will not listen," h

him, her slim figure as stiff as a spear. "This very hour you break this mad allegiance and

adly at the angry loveliness before him. H

d at length. "You would have me forswe

an's devotion, I will end my days in a nunnery. I will have none of it,

hout a word turned slowly and left the room. A moment later

in her sobs, and bitter self-pity. She had made a fine tragedy scene, but the glory of it was short. She did not regret

Louis and ridden out of the ken of mortals. Their wealth had bought them peace, and they had kept on good terms alike with France and Burgundy, and even with the unruly captains of England. Wars might sweep round their marches, but their fields were unravaged. Shrewd, peaceable folk they were, at least the males of the house. The women had been different, for the daughters of Beaumanoir had been notable for

as she was, it was no passive luxury that she craved, but the sense of mastery, of being a rare thing set apart. The spirit of the women of Beaumanoir burned fiercely in her.... She longed to set her lover in th

her eyes and arranged her dress, tossing the reliquary and its broken chain on the table. Some new guests; and the inn was none too large. She would have the landlord flayed if he dared to i

like one who is not for battle but expects a brush at any corner of the road. A long surcoat of dark green and crimson fell stiffy as if it covered metal, and the boo

usical voice with the broad accent of Lorraine.

the bold youth to disarm. The helm was removed, the surcoat was stripped, and the steel corslet beneat

point, and a tunic of blue. The black hair was cut short like a soldier's, and the small secret face had the clear tan of one much abroad in wind and sun. The eyes were tired and yet merry, great grey eyes as clear and deep as a mo

ord in its leather sheath was laid on the table beside the broken rel

ht sight of an embroidered white dove bearing in its beak the scroll De pa

stammered. "The w

nne of Arc," she said simply. "She whom they c

s scarcely dry. "Out upon you!" she cried. "You are that false woman tha

upon her. Her merry

taunts hurt me. They have spoken falsely of me, dear sister. I am

is and Raymond and the Sieur d'Aulon leave me undisturbed till morning, for I would fain rest. Oh, but I am weary of councils! T

stealing into her heart. Could this tired child be the virago against whom she had sworn vengeance? It had none of a woman's

ddenly becomes a square of light. She sank on her knees, her head thrown back, her lips parted, the long eyelashes quiet on he

gain, her face entranced and her gaze still dwelling on some

e sometimes when I am sad. Their voices said to me,

ted life she had never dreamed, a world of beautiful and terrible things. There

have won an unearthly sweetness. "Let us sit together an

ver, but this night I dismissed him. He fights

Can a man fight in a holier c

faltered. Her argument with G

folk freedom is life itself. It sweetens the hind's pottage, and gives the meanest an assurance of manhood.... Likewise it is God's will. My Holy Ones have to

Catherine's neck and

ry, sister mi

er. Her own mother had died so long ago that she scarcely remembered her. A rush of longing came o

u are very fair, and for most women to be beautiful is to be happy. But you

f you makes me feel my rottenness. I have been proud of worthless things and I have cherished that wicked pride that I might forget the doubts knocking on my

ing-a kind, gentle merriment. Catherine flushed

whom many looked for the succour of France. Folly, folly! There is no virtue in humble blood. I would I had been a queen! I love fine clothes and rich trappings and the great

said the girl, "and I

id the Maid, "save in doing

ll take the vows and become a religious, and then I sha

rls which strayed around Catherine's ear. "You were

way," the g

e life of devout contemplation, but not for you, sister. Your blood is too

hispered it, and Jea

f, you are the blessed maid. There is no mor

e leading armies and doing the commands of God. Somet

ou," she cried. "I will bring a stout company behind me. Let me r

hook her h

nate little mouth had shut and th

ic sword. I think that in a little while this land will be free again.... But I shall not see it, for God's promise is clear, and for me it does not give length of days. I did not seek this errand of mine. I resisted

adness. It was Catherine's turn to be the comforter. Sh

the hope of bearing a saviour of mankind. She is the channel of the eternal purpose of Heaven. Could I change-could I change! What fortunate wi

d she felt a gush of pity. No longer self-pity, but compassion for another. Her heart grew sud

rrow. Will you sleep by me, for I have lo

ne was kneeling by the window, her head thrown back and the moonlight on her upturned face. When she woke in the dawn the Maid

nonette' Cr

eyes at the cool morn

if I would spare the poor things in the noon. Follow me with your prayers, for France ri

the woods to Compiegne, and a brooding and si

. . . . . .

nter and the great fortune and wide manors of the family were now her own. Her lover had fought with Jeanne in the futile battles of the spring, but he had been far away when in the fatal sortie at Compiegne the Maid was taken by her enemies. All the summer of that year he had made desperate efforts at rescue, but Jeanne was tight in English hands, and presently was in prison at

nd, her mind was too full of housewifely cares, and her heart of her husband, for long repining. But often the thought of Jeanne drove a sword into

hour. She saw the figure outlined against a window full of the amet

t of the summer roads. Her face was very pale, as if from long immurement, and her eyes were no more merry. Th

and kissed the young wife's

mered. Her voice seemed to bre

e come again to you as I promised. But

he King?" sa

to my

ngered the girl's broad ring which had come from distant ancestors, the ring which Si

held motionless. Not by fear, but by an exquisite and happy awe. She remembered afterwards that from the Maid's rou

my word to you, that every wife is like Mary the Blessed and may bear a

it gave her power to move again. Never in her life had she felt such a hunger

g me. I go. Adie

To Catherine there was no sound of voices, but the Maid seemed to h

on her knees and prayer passionately to her saints, among whom not the least was that grey-tunic

. . . . . .

h a tragic message. On the day before, in the market-place of Rouen, the c