We never went out or came in without furnishing good and sufficient reasons for one of these pleasant tempests, and so the tempest was always on hand. There had been a blank absence of reasons for this sort of upheavals for the past seven months, therefore the people too to the upheavals with all the more relish on that account.
Chapter 21 She Gently Reproves Her Dear Friend
TO GET away from the usual crowd of visitors and have a rest, Joan went with Catherine straight to the apartment which the two occupied together, and there they took their supper and there the wound was dressed. But then, instead of going to bed, Joan, weary as she was, sent the Dwarf for me, in spite of Catherine's protests and persuasions. She said she had something on her mind, and must send a courier to Domremy with a letter for our old PŠre Fronte to read to her mother. I came, and she began to dictate. After some loving words and greetings to her mother and family, came this:
"But the thing which moves me to write now, is to say that when you presently hear that I am wounded, you shall give yourself no concern about it, and refuse faith to any that shall try to make you believe it is serious."
She was going on, when Catherine spoke up and said:
"Ah, but it will fright her so to read these words. Strike them out, Joan, strike them out, and wait only one day--two days at most--then write and say your foot was wounded but is well again--for it surely be well then, or very near it. Don't distress her, Joan; do as I say."
A laugh like the laugh of the old days, the impulsive free laugh of an untroubled spirit, a laugh like a chime of bells, was Joan's answer; then she said:
"My foot? Why should I write about such a scratch as that? I was not thinking of it, dear heart."
"Child, have you another wound and a worse, and have not spoken of it? What have you been dreaming about, that you--"
She had jumped up, full of vague fears, to have the leech called back at once, but Joan laid her hand upon her arm and made her sit down again, saying:
"There, now, be tranquil, there is no other wound, as yet; I am writing about one which I shall get when we storm that bastille tomorrow."
Catherine had the look of one who is trying to understand a puzzling proposition but cannot quite do it. She said, in a distraught fashion:
"A wound which you are going to get? But--but why grieve your mother when it--when it may not happen?"
"May not? Why, it will."
The puzzle was a puzzle still. Catherine said in that same abstracted way as before:
"Will. It is a strong word. I cannot seem to--my mind is not able to take hold of this. Oh, Joan, such a presentiment is a dreadful thing--it takes one's peace and courage all away. Cast it from you!--drive it out! It will make your whole night miserable, and to no good; for we will hope--"
"But it isn't a presentiment--it is a fact. And it will not make me miserable. It is uncertainties that do that, but this is not an uncertainty."
"Joan, do you know it is going to happen?"
"Yes, I know it. My Voices told me."
"Ah," said Catherine, resignedly, "if they told you-- But are you sure it was they?--quite sure?"
"Yes, quite. It will happen--there is no doubt."
"It is dreadful! Since when have you know it?"
"Since--I think it is several weeks." Joan turned to me. "Louis, you will remember. How long is it?"
"Your Excellency spoke of it first to the King, in Chinon," I answered; "that was as much as seven weeks ago. You spoke of it again the 20th of April, and also the 22d, two weeks ago, as I see by my record here."
These marvels disturbed Catherine profoundly, but I had long ceased to be surprised at them. One can get used to anything in this world. Catherine said:
"And it is to happen to-morrow?--always to-morrow? Is it the same date always? There has been no mistake, and no confusion?"
"No," Joan said, "the 7th of May is the date--there is no other."
"Then you shall not go a step out of this house till that awful day is gone by! You will not dream of it, Joan, will you?--promise that you will stay with us."
But Joan was not persuaded.