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"I will serve you!"
—"you shall fight for France—"
"I will fight for you!"
"You shall be France's soldier—"
"I will be your soldier!"
—"you shall give all your heart to France—"
"I will give all my heart to you—and all my soul, if I have one—and all my strength, which is great—for I was dead and am alive again; I had nothing to live for, but now I have! You are France for me. You are my France, and I will have no other."
Joan smiled, and was touched and pleased at the man's grave enthusiasm—solemn enthusiasm, one may call it, for the manner of it was deeper than mere gravity—and she said—
"Well, it shall be as you will. What are you called?"
The man answered with unsmiling simplicity—
"They call me the Dwarf, but I think it is more in jest than otherwise."
It made Joan laugh, and she said—
"It has something of that look truly! What is the office of that vast ax?"
The soldier replied with the same gravity—which must have been born to him, it sat upon him so naturally:
"It is to persuade persons to respect France."
Joan laughed again, and said—
"Have you given many lessons?"
"Ah, indeed, yes—many."
"The pupils behaved to suit you, afterward?"
"Yes; it made them quiet—quite pleasant and quiet."
"I should think it would happen so. Would you like to be my man-at-arms?—orderly, sentinel, or something like that?"
"If I may!"
"Then you shall. You shall have proper armor, and shall go on teaching your art. Take one of those led horses there, and follow the staff when we move."
