Mary Hartwell Catherwood
The days of Jeanne d'Arc
eBook
( April 5, 2015)
All France was lighted by an early rising moon, and the village of Bury-la-Côte,
seated on a high ridge, seemed to glitter just beneath the sky. There was frost on
the square, low church tower, on tight-shut windows, and on the manure-heaps carefully raked into place beside the doors, and held by stone barriers to mellow
for the spring fields. It was a cold night even for January. Durand Laxart decided, as he unchained his horse, to let the cart stand outside the archway, and lead the poor
beast directly into its snug stable in the end of the house. He came out again into the moonlight and walked around the muck-barrier to his own door. He was proud of his new house. It had an ogival portal, and above the little window was an ornament in stone shaped like a clover-leaf. But no light shone through this window, for a long, dark passage led to the inner room, where his wife and new-born child lay asleep in
their cupboard bed.