But Sire Robert,--though he listened to her readily enough, and, impressed in spite of himself by her intense fervour, perceived a certain seriousness in the business,--remained deaf to her pleadings. He could not believe. What, a young girl fair and lovely as was this peasant maid to deliver France? The thing was absurd; and yet--he dared not send her home lest after all there might be truth in what she claimed. And so the matter rested. The days dawned and waned, and still the men-at-arms were not provided. Jeanne shed bitter tears over the delay. She believed so implicitly in her Voices that she could not understand why others did not have the same faith. And the fame of her grew and spread, going out into the country even beyond the valley. One day, as she was on her way to mass, a young man-at-arms pushed his way through the crowd which had gathered to see her to have a word with the wonderful peasant maid. "Well, ma mie," he said banteringly, "what are you doing here? Must the King be driven from his Kingdom, and we all turn English?" "I came hither to the King's territory, messire, to speak with Sire Robert that he may take me, or cause me to be taken to the Dauphin; but he heeds neither me nor my words. Notwithstanding, ere mid-Lent I must be before the Dauphin, were I in going to wear my legs to my knees." The reply was given with such intent seriousness that the young knight was impressed, and he spoke more gently: "Know you not, maiden, that Louis, the little son of Charles, hath just been betrothed to the infant daughter of the King of Scotland? King James is to send Madame Margaret to France with an army of six thousand men before Whitsunday, which, as you know, is in May. What need, therefore, is there for you, a young girl, to go to the Dauphin?" "I must go to the Dauphin, messire; for no one in the world, no king or duke or daughter of the King of Scotland[6] can restore the realm of France. In me alone is help, albeit for my part, I would far rather be spinning by my poor mother's side, for this life is not to my liking. But I must go, and so I will, for it is Messire's command that I should go." "Who is Messire?" asked he. "He is God," she answered. The young man was moved. He stretched out his hands suddenly as though he believed in spite of himself, and laid his hands between hers. "There!" said he. "I, Jean de Novelonpont, commonly called Jean de Metz, pledge you my word, knightly fashion, my hands in your hands in token of fealty, that God helping me I will take you to the King." "You will, messire?" cried Jeanne joyfully. "On my word of honour I promise it. When will you set forth?" "This hour is better than to-morrow; to-morrow is better than after to-morrow," she told him, her face illumined with smiles. It was the first gleam of hope that had lightened the weary days of waiting.