The knight sprang up. Words cannot describe his joy. He stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed upon her. “What!” he exclaimed at last, “is this charming girl the little Marie, my sister’s child?” He opened wide his arms, and she flew to his embrace. He kissed her hair, and lovingly stroked her cheeks. “My poor child,” he gently said, “how you must have suffered!” Marie only answered with a sigh. “You shall tell me all about it some other time. Be quiet now, my daughter. From now on no one shall harm a hair of your head. And this Luxemburg! By Saint George, he shall make reparation to me for every tear you have shed.” He resumed his seat, and then turned to Jean. “Come to my heart, my son. I knew that you were as brave and determined and valiant as any one, but I did not believe you would bring this child back. I am anxious to know how you did it, but just now I am too full under my doublet to listen. I believe there are tears running down my beard. I don’t know when that ever happened before. It must be because this is a real heart’s joy you have given me, my boy. Yes, yes, you and poor Joan have both shown what resolute purpose can do when it is persisted in to the end. Children,” he exclaimed to both of them, “you have made me young again. The end will be fine. Just now I determined to fight the English still longer, and I know,” with a look at Jean, “who will be with me. But that is not the end I mean. That is only the common duty. I know a finer end than that.” He looked with joyous eyes from Jean to Marie, and from Marie to Jean. “Yes, a finer end than that, and by Saint George I will accomplish it.” The valiant knight did accomplish it. Just two years from that day he stood on the steps of a lordly castle, happier perhaps than he had ever been before in his life, and watched a carriage which was coming toward the castle amid the enthusiastic shouts of the peasants. In this carriage the lawful owner of the castle was making his entrance to take possession, for the English had been driven out of that whole region. The master of the castle was Jean Renault, and by his side sat his happy spouse, Marie of Chafleur. Appendix It is impossible to compile a chronological statement of all the events in the life of Joan of Arc, as many of the dates are uncertain and some are unknown, but those given below are measurably accurate.