“It was this place, this season and time of day. I was a child, but I remember the cold, the wind like a whip against my face. I was frightened, for I had met my father only a few times before. And my elder brothers, they had said to me, Our father hides daggers on his person and possesses the strength of Heracles, so beware! It was le Maçon who brought me to him. He held my hand and said, Go to your father. Be gentle with him. I, a mere boy, told to be gentle with the King. But I was afraid. I saw the river and feared he would throw me in. He stood with his back to me, and I remember praying, Please, do not let my father throw me into the water, for I cannot swim, and I do not want to drown.”

That was a problem I never had, Joan thinks. Thank you, Uncle.

“We stood as you and I do now. For a long time, we did not speak or acknowledge each other, though I shivered. If people passed at that moment and did not know us, they might have thought we were strangers admiring the sunset. But then my father turned to me, just so.”

As if reenacting the scene, the Dauphin faces Joan. “He looked at me, and all my fear, whatever reservations I had, fell away. I felt calm. I knew then my brothers had deceived me, for I saw that this man would no more throw me into the water than Yolande or le Maçon would think of harming me. And when he asked me who I was and what I was doing here, I realized he was more frightened of me than I was of him. I told him that I was his son and he my father. And he did not speak but searched my face for signs that I was telling the truth, that I was, in fact, his child. At last he must have settled on something, because he placed a hand on my arm and drew me close to him.