Convinced by these words that she need expect neither mercy nor justice from the ecclesiastical tribunal before which she was about to be arraigned, and overpowered by the bitter disillusionment, the recollections of which stabbed her heart without souring her angelic spirit, Joan asked herself in a perplexity of doubt, why did the Lord forsake her, her the instrument of His divine will? Her who was ever obedient to the saintly voices that she heard so distinctly, and that since her captivity still repeated to her: "Go, daughter of God! Fear not--submit meekly to your martyrdom. You have fulfilled your duty--heaven is with you!" And yet heaven delivered her to the English, her implacable enemies! And yet the priests of the Lord were impatient, it was told her on all hands, to sentence her to the flames! These contradictions profoundly troubled the prisoner. Often she was overcome with sadness, whenever she thought of her uncompleted mission--the soil of Gaul was not yet completely delivered from the foreign rule! Such are the thoughts of Joan at this hour when, with her face hidden in her hands, she sits on the straw of her cell, and is yet ignorant of the presence of Canon Loyseleur. Suddenly the girl trembles with surprise, almost fright. From the midst of the darkness at the opposite side she hears a compassionate voice addressing her, and the following dialogue ensues: CANON LOYSELEUR--"Raise your head, virgin! The Lord will not forsake you! He watches over you!" JOAN DARC--"Who is speaking to me?" CANON LOYSELEUR (rising on the straw)--"Who speaks to you? A poor old priest--a good Christian and royalist--a victim to his loyalty, to his faith, and to his King--crimes that the English do not pardon. For more than a year have I lived chained in this dungeon, and have asked but one favor of my Creator--to be recalled to Him! Alack! I have suffered so much! But I forget my sufferings since I am permitted to behold the holy maid, the virgin inspired by heaven, vanquisher of the English, deliverer of Gaul! May her name be glorified!" JOAN DARC (tenderly)--"Not so loud, my Father! You might be heard. I fear not for myself, but I fear for your sake the anger of the jailers." CANON LOYSELEUR (with exaltation and a ringing voice)--"What can the English, whom I abhor, these enemies of our beloved country, do to me? I pray God to send me martyrdom, if He thinks me worthy of such a glorious aureola!" JOHN (appearing at the wicket and affecting rage)--"If you keep on screaming like that, I shall have you whipped till you bleed!" CANON LOYSELEUR (with greater exaltation)--"Hack my limbs to pieces! Tear my scalp from my skull, ferocious beast! Unto death shall I cry: 'Glory to God--Long live King Charles VII! Anathema upon the English!'"