"_Raimond._--As yet she loves to dwell upon the hills, And trembles to descend from the free heath To man's low roof, beset with narrow cares. _Thibaut._--Ay, that it is displeases me. She flies Her sisters' frolicsome companionship For the bare hills--deserts her sleepless couch Before the cock-crow--in that fearful hour When man so willingly his shelter seeks, Housed with his kind, within familiar walls, She, like a solitary bird, hies forth Into the gloomy, spirit-haunted, night, Stands on the cross-way, holding with the air Mysterious intercourse. Why will she choose Perpetually _this_ place? Why will she drive Her flocks for ever _here?_ I've seen her sit Musing whole hours together underneath This Druid oak, which all good Christians shun; There's nothing blest beneath it; a foul spirit Has made his refuge in it ever since The old and sinful times of Paganism. The old men of the village can relate Horrible tales of this same tree: one hears Oft, in its thick dark branches, whisperings Of strange unearthly voices. I, myself, As once my way led past the tree at night, Saw sitting at its trunk a spectral woman, Who slowly, from her wide enfolding robe, Stretch'd a thin hand and beckon'd me." Raimond points to the sacred image of the Virgin, which stands opposite the oak, and replies that _it_ is the attraction which brings Johanna to this spot. But the old man persists in his own interpretation. Because his daughter is more beautiful than any other maiden in the valley, she is proud, and disdains her humble condition. He has had, moreover, ominous dreams. The entrance of Bertrand, a countryman just arrived from the neighbouring town of Vaucouleurs, interrupts the conversation. He carries a helmet in his hand, which has been forced upon him, in the marketplace, by a strange woman. Johanna, who has all this while remained quite silent, not answering a word to the rebuke of her parent, comes suddenly forward, and claims the helmet as having been sent for her. Through the interposition of her lover, it is granted to her. Bertrand, being asked what news of the war he has heard at Vaucouleurs, gives a desponding account of the king's cause, and brings the report that Orleans, pressed by the besiegers, is on the point of surrendering. Johanna now breaks forth:--