It really seemed as if Joan were flying. The mist, the fast-gathering twilight, and the distance created such an ocular illusion that any superstitious spectator would have sworn she was flying. All hurried to the tree, under whose branches the victor was not standing, but devoutly kneeling. The joyous crowd surrounded her, and no feeling of envy clouded their joy as they placed the wreath upon her fair head. As the night was now fast coming on, the girls went homewards with the flocks. They were all from the village of Domremy. Joan found Jacques, her father, Pierre, her brother, and Duram Laxart, her uncle, engaged in earnest conversation with a stranger in the square in front of the church. A few words which she overheard aroused her curiosity, and she approached the group and listened. “I bid you repent,” said the stranger, “lest the wrath of Heaven be visited upon you, for all the misfortunes of this land are divine punishments for the sins of the Court and the King’s kindred.” “Oh, oh, holy father,” said one, “that would be very sad.” “What do you mean by that, my son?” “I mean it would be very sad for Heaven to punish poor people who have done no wrong, for the wrongdoings of the Court.” “Go home, thou son of Belial who doubtest that which the Spirit reveals to thee through my lips. Shut thyself up in thy chamber, and three times repeat seven paternosters, that thy soul may be released from the bonds of doubt, for doubt is the work of the devil, who is already stretching out his claws to seize thee.” “But, holy father—” “Be quiet, Gamoche,” interposed another villager. “Do not interrupt the holy father. He will explain it all to us.” “Yes, yes,” cried the others, “he will explain everything.” “Well, then, listen to me, children,” resumed the stranger. “But, holy Mother of God, where shall I begin? The list of the sins of this Court is so long that if I should go back a century, even then it would not be the beginning. I will confine myself to the recent ones, which must be more or less familiar to you all. Have you heard about the last King, Charles the Sixth?”[8] “Why should we not have heard? He died insane only two years ago.”