Another day, when the inquisition had dragged along until everybody looked drowsy and tired but Joan, Brother Seguin, professor of theology at the University of Poitiers, who was a sour and sarcastic man, fell to plying Joan with all sorts of nagging questions in his bastard Limousin French—­for he was from Limoges.  Finally he said: 

“How is it that you understand those angels?  What language did they speak?”

“French.”

“In-deed!  How pleasant to know that our language is so honored!  Good French?”

“Yes—­perfect.”

“Perfect, eh?  Well, certainly you ought to know.  It was even better than your own, eh?”

“As to that, I—­I believe I cannot say,” said she, and was going on, but stopped.  Then she added, almost as if she were saying it to herself, “Still, it was an improvement on yours!”

I knew there was a chuckle back of her eyes, for all their innocence.  Everybody shouted.  Brother Seguin was nettled, and asked brusquely: 

“Do you believe in God?”

Joan answered with an irritating nonchalance: 

“Oh, well, yes—­better than you, it is likely.”

Brother Seguin lost his patience, and heaped sarcasm after sarcasm upon her, and finally burst out in angry earnest, exclaiming: 

“Very well, I can tell you this, you whose believe in God is so great:  God has not willed that any shall believe in you without a sign.  Where is your sign?—­show it!”

This roused Joan, and she was on her feet in a moment, and flung out her retort with spirit: 

“I have not come to Poitiers to show signs and do miracles.  Send me to Orleans and you shall have signs enough.  Give me men-at-arms—­few or many—­and let me go!”

The fire was leaping from her eyes—­ah, the heroic little figure! can’t you see her?  There was a great burst of acclamations, and she sat down blushing, for it was not in her delicate nature to like being conspicuous.

This speech and that episode about the French language scored two points against Brother Seguin, while he scored nothing against Joan; yet, sour man as he was, he was a manly man, and honest, as you can see by the histories; for at the Rehabilitation he could have hidden those unlucky incidents if he had chosen, but he didn’t do it, but spoke them right out in his evidence.

On one of the latter days of that three-weeks session the gowned scholars and professors made one grand assault all along the line, fairly overwhelming Joan with objections and arguments culled from the writings of every ancient and illustrious authority of the Roman Church.  She was well-nigh smothered; but at last she shook herself free and struck back, crying out: 

“Listen!  The Book of God is worth more than all these ye cite, and I stand upon it.  And I tell ye there are things in that Book that not one among ye can read, with all your learning!”