The young man addressed as Bertrand rose, and let his friend assist him to remove his armour, protesting against the need of it as he did so. Jeanne meantime brought a basin of water, and when the knight had pushed back the sleeve of his doublet she washed the blood from the wound gently. Then, with all the deftness that Isabeau had taught her--for many were the wounded who had experienced their services--she applied a compress of oil, and bandaged the arm with bands of serge. "I thank you, my little maid," spoke the young man gratefully. "It does in truth feel better, and though but a scratch, was indeed painful. What is your name?" "Jeanne, messire." "I will remember it, Jeanne. Who taught you to be so deft in such matters?" "My mother, messire." Jeanne blushed at being so interrogated. "You have a gentle touch. If my arm does not heal quickly under such ministration it does not belong to Bertrand de Poulengy." Jeanne blushed again and withdrew quickly, carrying the basin with her. After placing a tall flagon, the wooden drinking cups, and the knife for cutting the bread upon the table she went to her godmother's side, and sat down. As she did so her father and mother entered. Upon her arm Isabeau carried a large ring of black bread, while Jacques brought another armful of faggots. They were a hard working, devout couple who strove to bring up their children,--of which there were five: three sons, Jacquemin, Jean, and Pierre; and two daughters, Jeanne and Catherine,--to love work and religion. Jacques D'Arc was a doyen; that is, a village elder; the chief man in Domremy after the mayor. He was of such substance that he was enabled to raise his family in comfort, and to give alms and hospitality to the poor wandering friars, and other needy wayfarers then so common in the land. "Sit up, messires," cried Jacques as his wife emptied the contents of the iron pot into a platter which she set on the table. "Eat, for you must be hungry. Ay! and thirsty too, I doubt not." "By our Lady, but that hath a welcome sound, honest Jacques," cried the elder knight, starting up eagerly. "We are both hungry and thirsty. Neither of us has broken his fast since morning, and then the repast was but meagre. Bertrand, man, does not the flavor of that stew assail your nostrils deliciously?" "It does indeed, Louis. Methinks that I shall do justice to it. The Duke of Lorraine does not regale his prisoners on such fare." "You were prisoners to the Duke of Lorraine?" questioned Jacques as he and his guests drew up to the table. The women and children sat apart waiting to eat later. "Ay! and have been for these many weary months, Jacques. It seems like a miracle that we did at last escape, but so it has fallen out." "Tell of the manner of your taking and escape, if it please you, messire," spoke Jacques. "'Twill enliven the hour, and we are of the King's party here."