POULENGEY [_unmoved_] What is the good of commonsense? If we had any commonsense we should join the Duke of Burgundy and the English king. They hold half the country, right down to the Loire. They have Paris. They have this castle: you know very well that we had to surrender it to the Duke of Bedford, and that you are only holding it on parole. The Dauphin is in Chinon, like a rat in a corner, except that he wont fight. We dont even know that he is the Dauphin: his mother says he isnt; and she ought to know. Think of that! the queen denying the legitimacy of her own son! ROBERT. Well, she married her daughter to the English king. Can you blame the woman? POULENGEY. I blame nobody. But thanks to her, the Dauphin is down and out; and we may as well face it. The English will take Orleans: the Bastard will not be able to stop them. ROBERT. He beat the English the year before last at Montargis. I was with him. POULENGEY. No matter: his men are cowed now; and he cant work miracles. And I tell you that nothing can save our side now but a miracle. ROBERT. Miracles are all right, Polly. The only difficulty about them is that they dont happen nowadays. POULENGEY. I used to think so. I am not so sure now. [_Rising and moving ruminatively towards the window_] At all events this is not a time to leave any stone unturned. There is something about the girl. ROBERT. Oh! You think the girl can work miracles, do you? POULENGEY. I think the girl herself is a bit of a miracle. Anyhow, she is the last card left in our hand. Better play her than throw up the game. [_He wanders to the turret_]. ROBERT [_wavering_] You really think that? POULENGEY [_turning_] Is there anything else left for us to think? ROBERT [_going to him_] Look here, Polly. If you were in my place would you let a girl like that do you out of sixteen francs for a horse? POULENGEY. I will pay for the horse. ROBERT. You will! POULENGEY. Yes: I will back my opinion. ROBERT. You will really gamble on a forlorn hope to the tune of sixteen francs? POULENGEY. It is not a gamble. ROBERT. What else is it? POULENGEY. It is a certainty. Her words, and her ardent faith in God have put fire into me. ROBERT [_giving him up_] Whew! You are as mad as she is. POULENGEY [_obstinately_] We want a few mad people now. See where the sane ones have landed us! ROBERT [_his irresoluteness now openly swamping his affected decisiveness_] I shall feel like a precious fool. Still, if you feel sure—? POULENGEY. I feel sure enough to take her to Chinon—unless you stop me. ROBERT. This is not fair. You are putting the responsibility on me. POULENGEY. It is on you whichever way you decide. ROBERT. Yes: that’s just it. Which way am I to decide. You dont see how awkward this is for me. [_Snatching at a dilatory step with an unconscious hope that Joan will make up his mind for him_] Do you think I ought to have another talk to her? POULENGEY [_rising_] Yes. [_He goes to the window and calls_] Joan!