JOAN [_crossly_] Well, I have to find reasons for you, because you do not believe in my voices. But the voices come first; and I find the reasons after: whatever you may choose to believe. DUNOIS. Are you angry, Joan? JOAN. Yes. [_Smiling_] No: not with you. I wish you were one of the village babies. DUNOIS. Why? JOAN. I could nurse you for awhile. DUNOIS. You are a bit of a woman after all. JOAN. No: not a bit: I am a soldier and nothing else. Soldiers always nurse children when they get a chance. DUNOIS. That is true. [_He laughs_]. _King Charles, with Bluebeard on his left and La Hire on his right, comes from the vestry, where he has been disrobing. Joan shrinks away behind the pillar. Dunois is left between Charles and La Hire._ DUNOIS. Well, your Majesty is an anointed king at last. How do you like it? CHARLES. I would not go through it again to be emperor of the sun and moon. The weight of those robes! I thought I should have dropped when they loaded that crown on to me. And the famous holy oil they talked so much about was rancid: phew! The Archbishop must be nearly dead: his robes must have weighed a ton: they are stripping him still in the vestry. DUNOIS [_drily_] Your Majesty should wear armor oftener. That would accustom you to heavy dressing. CHARLES. Yes: the old jibe! Well, I am not going to wear armor: fighting is not my job. Where is The Maid? JOAN [_coming forward between Charles and Bluebeard, and falling on her knee_] Sire: I have made you king: my work is done. I am going back to my father’s farm. CHARLES [_surprised, but relieved_] Oh, are you? Well, that will be very nice. JOAN [_rises, deeply discouraged_] ! CHARLES [_continuing heedlessly_] A healthy life, you know. DUNOIS. But a dull one. BLUEBEARD. You will find the petticoats tripping you up after leaving them off for so long. LA HIRE. You will miss the fighting. It’s a bad habit, but a grand one, and the hardest of all to break yourself of. CHARLES [_anxiously_] Still, we dont want you to stay if you would really rather go home. JOAN [_bitterly_] I know well that none of you will be sorry to see me go. [_She turns her shoulder to Charles and walks past him to the more congenial neighborhood of Dunois and La Hire_]. LA HIRE. Well, I shall be able to swear when I want to. But I shall miss you at times. JOAN. La Hire: in spite of all your sins and swears we shall meet in heaven; for I love you as I love Pitou, my old sheep dog. Pitou could kill a wolf. You will kill the English wolves until they go back to their country and become good dogs of God, will you not? LA HIRE. You and I together: yes. JOAN. No: I shall last only a year from the beginning. ALL THE OTHERS. What! JOAN. I know it somehow. DUNOIS. Nonsense! JOAN. Jack: do you think you will be able to drive them out?