The saints soon entered into familiar relations with her.[280] They came to the village every day, and often several times a day. When she saw them appear in a ray of light coming down from heaven, shining and clad like queens, with golden crowns on their heads, wearing rich and precious jewels, the village maiden crossed herself devoutly and curtsied low.[281] And because they were ladies of good breeding, they returned her salutation. Each one had her own particular manner of greeting, and it was by this manner that Jeanne distinguished one from the other, for the dazzling light of their countenances rendered it impossible for her to look them in the face. They graciously permitted their earth-born friend to touch their feet, to kiss the hems of their garments, and to inhale rapturously the sweet perfume they emitted.[282] They addressed her courteously,[283] as it seemed to Jeanne. They called the lowly damsel daughter of God. They taught her to live well and go to church. Without always having anything very new to say to her, since they came so constantly, they spoke to her of things which filled her with joy, and, after they had disappeared, Jeanne ardently pressed her lips to the ground their feet had trodden.[284] [Footnote 280: _Ibid._, index, under the words, _Voices_, _Catherine_, and _Marguerite_.] [Footnote 281: _Ibid._, vol. i, pp. 71-85, 167 _seq._, 186 _seq._] [Footnote 282: _Ibid._, pp. 185, 186.] [Footnote 283: In the French, _humblement_. In old French _humblement_ means courteously. In Froissart there is a passage quoted by La Curne: "_Li contes de Hainaut rechut ces seigneurs d'Engleterre, l'un apres l'autre, moult humblement._"] [Footnote 284: _Trial_, vol. i, p. 130.] Oftentimes she received the heavenly ladies in her little garden, close to the precincts of the church. She used to meet them near the spring; often they even appeared to their little friend surrounded by heavenly companies. "For," Isabelle's daughter used to say, "angels are wont to come down to Christians without being seen, but I see them."[285] It was in the woods, amid the light rustling of the leaves, and especially when the bells rang for matins or compline, that she heard the sweet words most distinctly. And so she loved the sound of the bells, with which her Voices mingled. So, when at nine o'clock in the evening, Perrin le Drapier, sexton of the parish, forgot to ring for compline, she reproached him with his negligence, and scolded him for not doing his duty. She promised him cakes if in the future he would not forget to ring the bells.[286] [Footnote 285: _Ibid._, p. 130.] [Footnote 286: _Ibid._, vol. ii, p. 413, note 2.]