"That is well enough," admitted Jacques grumblingly. "But even so, no man likes his house always full. There! let the matter rest. We must hasten with the cattle. The night grows apace." "And mother will have need of me to help her," cried Jeanne, quickening her steps. "With so much company there will be much work to be done." ------ [1] Gossip--A name usually given to godmothers. CHAPTER II THE KNIGHT'S STORY "_By a Woman Shall France Be Lost; By a Maid Shall It Be Redeemed._" _Old Prophecy._ MERLIN, THE MAGICIAN. The house where Jeanne D'Arc lived was a stone cottage with the roof sloping from a height on one side half way to the ground on the other. In front there were but two windows, admitting but a scanty light. Close by the door, as was usual in that country, were piles of faggots and farm tools covered with mud and rust. The enclosure served also as kitchen garden and orchard. Beyond the cottage, scarce a stone's throw distant, only separated from it by a small graveyard, stood the village church, and north of both buildings there was a square towered monastery. A streamlet that flowed down into the Meuse trickled noisily by the cottage and church, dividing them from the other houses of the village. Perhaps it was because of this fact that the church seemed to Jeanne to belong more to her and to her family than it did to the other inhabitants of Domremy. Born under its very walls, she was lulled in her cradle by the chime of its bells, and cherished a passionate love for them in her heart. Involuntarily the little girl paused with her hand on the latch to cast a lingering, tender glance at the church before opening the door of the cottage. Before she had crossed the threshold a tall woman, who was stirring the contents of a large iron pot which hung on a tripod before the fire, turned quickly at the sound of her sabots, and seeing that it was Jeanne hastily left her task and drew the maid once more without the door. It was Isabeau Romée,[2] the wife of Jacques D'Arc. In marriage the wife always retained her maiden name, so Jeanne's mother was always spoken of as Isabeau Romée of Vauthon, her native village. She was mild in manner, but her usual serenity was at this moment disturbed by anxiety. "Right glad am I that you have come, Jeanne," she remarked. "Your Gossip Beatrix has been asking for you. She came this afternoon. And but a short time since two men-at-arms came, asking for supper and bed. Gentles they are, who have but escaped from the hands of the Burgundians, having been prisoners for many months. Sup them I will right gladly, but bed them I can not. The house is full. It galls your father that we must refuse them." "And why not bed them, mother? Let little Catherine sleep with you, and I can lie upon the floor before the hearth. Then the gentles may have my bed."