Absorbed in such thoughts and longings, she lost herself in communion with the celestial world, and in a vision she saw her favorite saints in the glowing clouds. “Why do you tarry, Joan?” said the voices. “Cities and villages are being destroyed every day. Daily the blood of the people is being shed. Arise! Execute the decree of Heaven.” “But,” said Joan, “how may I know it is Heaven which sends me?” “The signs of your mission will not fail.” “And what is my mission?” “To raise the siege of the city of Orleans, and conduct the King to his coronation at Rheims.” “How shall I begin?” “Go to the King and offer yourself to him as commander of the army.” “To whom shall I apply so that I may reach the King?” “Go to the knight, Robert of Baudricourt.[16] He will help you.” Joan returned home, and remained several days deeply absorbed in contemplating the mission to which she had been assigned. She would often steal away to her little chamber and weep bitterly; for although she felt exalted by the heavenly decree, still, it seemed impossible for her secretly to leave all the dear ones at home,—father, mother, brothers, and sister. And yet she must go secretly, for her father never would approve of her purpose or consent to her going, and no other way suggested itself. They had grown so accustomed to seeing her absorbed in silent and solitary meditations that they kept aloof from her at such times. It had been village gossip for years that she communicated with spirits and practised magic. In what other way indeed could her mastery of the wild beasts be explained? Her brother Pierre, however, who was devotedly attached to her, was an exception. He never pained her by suspicions. She had no secrets from him, and she came to him now in perfect confidence and wept upon his breast. “It is not true, Pierre,” she said, looking up at him with her beautiful tearful eyes, “that you mock at me as the others do?” “How can you think such a thing of me, little sister?” “Oh, I do not think it, my brother.” “And yet your question seems to imply that you do.” “Not at all, Pierre. I know very well that you love me, but you must tell me so over and over again. I know very well you do not mock me, but even that does not satisfy me. I must have the assurance from your own lips.” “I know very well, Joan, that you are a favorite with your saints, that they manifest themselves to you in the clouds, and that you talk with them as you talk with us.” “Yes; you believe me when I tell you these things. But when I tell the others—” “Oh, my sister, they do not know you as I do. I know that you never speak an untruth.” “And yet my actions now must be deceitful. Alas! Pierre, that is what distresses me.” “But remember, little sister, that you are obeying the celestial ones, that it is the fatherland which calls you.”