Isabella and Jacques sat stiffly at the table in the public house. They were out of place here, in Vaucouleurs, and it clearly showed in their faces. Here, the streets were wider, yet certainly darker and more forbidding than the muddy tracks between the cottages and the church at Dom-Remys. Isabella wore a rough spun red peasant dress, and her hands were clenched in the folds, knuckles white. Jacques, in his dusty brown tunic, moved nervously from side to side. Both stared intently at the door to the street, waiting for her. Isabella's cousin had found Sir Jean Daulon and made him swear to bring the girl to her parents this morning. Sir Jean was known to be a man of honor, and Isabella's cousin assured them he would come. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of girls and young women traveling that day, but none turned into the public house. Once, when a beautiful and melodious laugh bounced into the room from the street, Jacques flew to his feet, aching to run out into sunlight and find his little girl. The laugh faded, and with its passing, Jacques collapsed back onto the rough bench. Hours later, they no longer watched the door. Jacques was hunched over, watching his hands as he clenched them in to fists and relaxed them, over and over. Isabella's hands rested limply in her lap, and she seemed to be staring at a point slightly to the left of the door. Her eyes were glazed, though, and she saw only her thoughts. She noticed the change outside before Jacques did, however, and soon she was looking back out onto the street. What had sparked her forlorn interest was loud cheering at least a few streets away. The noise approached and coalesced into a chant. The words were unintelligible at first; more of a rhythmic rumble, echoing through the canyons of the town's streets. As the crowd moved closer, Isabella could understand what they were chanting. "La Pucelle! La Pucelle!" Isabella tried to stand, but her knees were like water, and she fell back to the bench. This startled Jacques, who turned and steadied her before she could fall all the way to the floor. He noticed the noise from the street and had the same reaction as his wife. As he rose to his feet, Isabella used his arm to stand up, and they both willed the crowd to move faster. They knew their daughter was coming to them now. The mass of people, still chanting, moved past the door, and two figures on horses came into view. Isabella saw flashes of white from behind the rider they could see,

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