 This episode disagreed with me, and I was not able to leave my bed the next day. The others were in the same condition, but for this one or another of us might have had the good luck that fell to the Paladin's share that day, but it is observable that God in his compassion sends the good luck to such as are ill-equipped with gifts, as compensation for their defect, but requires such as are more fortunately endowed to get by labour and talent what those others get by chance. It was Noel who said this, and it seemed to me to be well and justly thought. The Paladin, going about the town all the day in order to be followed, and admired, and overhear the people say in an odd voice, Sh! look! it is the standard bearer of Joan of Arc! had speech with all sorts and conditions of folk, and he learned from some boatmen that there was a stir of some kind going on in the Bastillas on the other side of the river, and in the evening, seeking further, he found a deserter from the fortress called the Augustines, who said that the English were going to send men over to strengthen the garrisons on our side during the darkness of the night, and were exulting greatly for they meant to spring upon Dunois and the army when it was passing the Bastillas and destroy it. A thing quite easy to do, since the witch would not be there, and without her presence the army would do like the French armies of these many years past, drop their weapons and run when they saw an English face. It was ten at night when the Paladin brought this news and asked Liev to speak to Joan, and I was up and on duty then. It was a bitter stroke to me to see what a chance I had lost. Joan made searching inquiries and satisfied herself that the word was true, and she made this annoying remark, You have done well, and you have my thanks. It may be that you have prevented a disaster. Your name and service shall receive official mention. Then he bowed low, and when he rose he was eleven feet high. As he swelled out past me he covertly pulled down the corner of his eye with his finger and muttered part of that defiled refrain. Oh, tears! Ah, tears! Oh, sad, sweet tears! Name in general orders! Personal mention to the king, you see! I wished Joan could have seen his conduct, but she was busy thinking what she would do. Then she had me fetch the knight Jean de Metz, and in a minute he was off for lair's quarters with orders for him and the Lord de Villar and Florin de Lierre to report to her at five o'clock next morning with five hundred picked men well mounted. The histories say half past four, but it is not true. I heard the order given. We were on our way at five to the minute, and encountered the head of the arriving column between six and seven, a couple of leagues from the city. Dunois was pleased, for the army had begun to get restive and show uneasiness now that it was getting so near to the dreaded Bastilles. But that all disappeared now, as the word ran down the line, with a hazzah that swept along the length of it like a wave, that the maid was come. Dunois asked her to halt and let the column pass in review so that the men could be sure that the reports of her presence was not a roost to revive their courage. So she took position at the side of the road with her staff, and the battalion swung by with a martial-stride hazzang. Joan was armed except her head. She was wearing the cunning little velvet cap with a mass of curved white ostrich plumes tumbling over its edges, which the city of Orleans had given her the night she arrived, the one that is in the picture that hangs in the Hotel de Ville à Rouen. She was looking about fifteen. The sight of soldiers always set her blood to leaping, and lit the fires in her eyes, and brought the warm, rich color to her cheeks. It was then that you saw that she was too beautiful to be of the earth, or at any rate that there was a subtle something somewhere about her beauty that differed it from the human types of your experience, and exalted it above them. In the train of Wayne's laden with supplies, a man lay on top of the goods, he was stretched out on his back, and his hands were tied together with ropes, and also his ankles. Joan signed to the officer in charge of that division of the train to come to her, and he rode up and saluted. "'What is he that is bound there?' she asked. "'A prisoner, General. What is his offence?' "'He is a deserter.' "'What is to be done with him?' "'He will be hanged, but it was not convenient on the march, and there was no hurry.' "'Tell me about him.' "'He is a good soldier, but he asked Leave to go and see his wife who was dying,' he said, but it could not be granted. So he went without Leave. Meanwhile, the march began, and he only overtook us yesterday evening.' "'Overtook you? Did he come of his own will?' "'Yes, it was of his own will.' "'He, a deserter, name of God, bring him to me.' The officer rode forward and loosed the man's feet and brought him back with his hands till tide. What a figure he was, a good seven feet high and built for business. He had a strong face. He had an unkempt shock of black hair which showed up a striking way, when the officer removed his morion for him. For weapon he had a big axe in his broad leather and belt. Standing by Jones' horse, he made Jones look littler than ever, for his head was about on a level with her own. His face was profoundly melancholy. All interest in life seemed to be dead in the man. Jones said, "'Hold up your hands.' The man's head was down. He lifted it, when he heard that soft friendly voice, and there was a wistful something in his face which made one think that there had been music in it for him, and that he would like to hear it again. When he raised his hands, Jones laid her sword to his bonds. But the officer said with apprehension, "'Ah, madam, my general.' "'What is it?' she said. "'He is under sentence.' "'Yes, I know. I am responsible for him.' And she cut the bonds. They had lacerated his wrists, and they were bleeding. "'Ah, pitiful,' she said. "'Blood. I do not like it.' And she shrank from the sight. But only for a moment. "'Give me something, somebody, to bandage his wrists with.' The officer said, "'Ah, my general, it is not fitting. Let me bring another to do it.' "'Another?' "'Depart-le-deur. You would seek far to find one that can do it better than I, for I learned it long ago among both men and beasts, and I can tie better than those that did this. If I had tied him, the ropes had not cut his flesh.' The man looked on silent, while he was being bandaged, stealing a furtive glance at Jones' face occasionally, such as an animal-mite that is receiving a kindness from an unexpected quarter, and is gropingly trying to reconcile the act with its source. All the staff had forgotten the hazzying army drifting by in its rolling clouds of dust, to crane their necks and watch the bandaging, as if it was the most interesting and absorbing novelty that ever was. I have often seen people do like that get entirely lost in the simplest trifle when it is something that is out of their line. Now there in Poitiers once I saw two bishops and a dozen of those grave and famous scholars group together watching a man paint a sign on a shop. They didn't breathe. They were as good as dead. And when it began to sprinkle they didn't know it at first. Then they noticed it, and each man hove a deep sigh and glanced up in a surprised look as wondering to see the others there and how he came to be there himself. But that is the way with people, as I have said. There is no way of accounting for people. You have to take them as they are. There, said Joan at last, pleased with her success. Another could have done it no better, not as well, I think. Tell me. What is it you did? Tell me all. The giant said, It was this way, my angel. My mother died. Then my three little children, one after the other, all in two years. It was the famine. Others fared so. It was God's will. I saw them die. I had that grace, and I buried them. Then when my poor wife's fate was come, I begged for leave to go to her. She who was so dear to me. She who was all I had. I begged on my knees, but they would not let me. Could I let her die friendless and alone? Could I let her die believing I would not come? Would she let me die, and she not come, with her feet free to do it if she would, and no cost upon it but only her life? Ah, she would come. She would come through the fire. So I went. I saw her. She died in my arms. I buried her. Then the army was gone. I had trouble to overtake it, but my legs are long, and there are many hours in a day. I overtook it last night. Jones said musingly, as if she were thinking aloud, It sounds true. If true, it were no great harm to suspend the law this one time, and he would say that. It may not be true, but if it is true, she turned suddenly to the man and said, I would see your eyes, look up. The eyes of the two met, and Jones said to the officer, This man is pardoned. Give you good day, you may go. Then she said to the man, Did you know it was death to come back to the army? Yes, he said. I knew it. Then why did you do it? The man said, quite simply, Because it was death. She was all I had. There was nothing left to love. Ah, yes, there was. France. The children of France have always their mother. They cannot be left with nothing to love. You shall live, and you shall serve France. 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 ingest than otherwise. It made Joan laugh, and she said, It has something of that look truly. What is the office of that vast axe? 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? 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 armour, and shall go on teaching your art. Take one of those lead horses there, and follow the staff when we move. That is how we came by the dwarf, and a good fellow he was. Joan picked him out on sight, but it wasn't a mistake. No one could be faithfuler than he was, and he was a devil and the son of a devil when he turned himself loose with these axe. He was so big that he made the paladin look like an ordinary man. He liked to like people, therefore people liked him. He liked us boys from the start. And he liked the knights, and liked pretty much everybody he came across. But he thought more of a pairing of Joan's fingernail than he did of all the rest of the world put together. Yes, that is where we got him. Stretched on the wane, going to his death, poor chap, and nobody to say a good word for him. He was a good find. Why, the knights treated him almost like an equal, it is the honest truth. That is the sort of a man he was. They called him the Bastille sometimes, and sometimes they called him Hellfire, which was on account of his warm and sumptuous style and battle. And you know they wouldn't have given him pet names if they hadn't had a good deal of affection for him. To the dwarf Joan was France, the spirit of France made flesh. He never got away from that idea that he had started with, and God knows it was the true one. That was a humble eye to see so great a truth where some others failed. To me that seems quite remarkable. And yet, after all, it was, in a way, just what nations do. When they love a great and noble thing they embody it. They want it so that they can see it with their eyes, like liberty, for instance. They are not content with the cloudy abstract idea. They make a beautiful statue of it. And then their beloved idea is substantial, and they can look at it and worship it. And so it is, as I say. To the dwarf Joan was our country embodied. Our country made visible flesh cast in a gracious form. When she stood before others they saw Joan of Arc, but he saw France. Sometimes he would speak of her by that name. It shows you how the idea was embedded in his mind, and how real it was to him. The world has called our kings by it, but I know of none of them who has had so good a right as she to that sublime title. When the march passed was finished, Joan returned to the front and rode at the head of the column. When we began to file past those grim Bastilles, and could glimpse the men within, standing to their guns and ready to empty death into our ranks, such a faintness came over me and such a sickness that all things seemed to turn dim and swim before my eyes. And the other boys looked droopy too, I thought, including the paladin, although I do not know this for certain because he was ahead of me and I had to keep my eyes out toward the Bastilles side, because I could wince better when I saw what to wince at. But Joan was at home, in paradise, I might say. She sat up straight, and I could see that she was feeling different from me. The awfulest thing was the silence. There wasn't a sound but the squeaking of the saddles, the measured tramplings, and the sneezing of the horses, afflicted by the smothering dust clouds which they kicked up. I wanted to sneeze myself, but it seemed to me that I would rather go unsneezed or suffer even a bitterer torture if there is one than attract attention to myself. I was not of a rank to make suggestions, or I would have suggested that if we went faster we should get by sooner. It seemed to me that it was an ill-judge time to be taking a walk. Just as we were drifting in that suffocating stillness past a great cannon that stood just within a raised portcullis with nothing between me and it but the moat, a most uncommon jackass in there split the world with his bray, and I fell out of the saddle. Sir Bertrand grabbed me as I went, which was well, for if I had gone to the ground in my armor I could not have gotten up again by myself. The English warders on the battlements laughed a coarse laugh, forgetting that everyone must begin, and that there had been a time when they themselves would have fared no better when shot by a jackass. The English never uttered a challenge nor fired a shot. It was said afterward that when their men saw the maid riding at the front and saw how lovely she was, their eager courage cooled down in many cases and vanished in the rest. They feeling certain that the creature was not mortal, but the very child of Satan, and so the officers were prudent and did not try to make them fight. It was said also that some of the officers were affected by the same superstitious fears. Well, in any case they never offered to molest us, and we poked by all the grisly fortresses in peace. During the march I caught up on my devotions, which were in arrears, so it was not all loss and no profit for me after all. It was on this march that the histories, say, Dunois told Joan that the English were expecting reinforcements under the command of Sir John Fastolph, and that she turned upon him and said, Bastard! Bastard! In God's name I warn you to let me know of his coming as soon as you hear of it, for if he passes without my knowledge you shall lose your head. It may be so, I don't deny it, but I didn't hear it. If she really said it, I think she only meant she would take off his official head, degrade him from his command. It was not like her to threaten a comrade's life. She did have her doubts of her generals, and was entitled to them, for she was all for storm and assault, and they were for holding still and tiring the English out. Since they did not believe in her way, and were experienced old soldiers, it would be natural for them to prefer their own, and try to get around carrying hers out. But I did hear something that the histories didn't mention and don't know about. I heard Joan say that now that the garrisons on the other side had been weakened, to strengthen those on our side, the most effective point of operation had shifted to the south shore. So she meant to go over there and storm the forts, which held the bridge end, and that would open up communication with our own dominions and raise the siege. The generals began to balk privately, right away, but they only baffled and delayed her, and that for only four days. All Orléans met the army at the gate, and hazarded through the bannered streets to its various quarters. But nobody had to rock it to sleep. It slumped down, dog-tired, for Dunois had rushed it without mercy, and for the next twenty-four hours it would be quiet, all but the snoring. Mark Twain. Book I, Volume 2, Chapter 17. Sweet Fruit of Bitter Truth When we got home, breakfast for us, minor fry, was waiting in our mess-room, and the family honoured us by coming in to eat it with us. The nice old treasurer, and in fact all three, were flatteringly eager to hear about our adventures. Nobody asked the paladin to begin, but he did begin, because now that his specially ordained and peculiar military rank set him above everybody on the personal staff but old Dolan, who didn't eat with us. He didn't care a farthing for the night's nobility, nor mine, but took precedence in the talk whenever it suited him, which was all the time, because it was born that way. He said, God be thanked! We found the army in admirable condition. I think I have never seen a finer body of animals. Animals, said Miss Catherine. I will explain to you what he means, said Noel. He—I will trouble you not to trouble yourself to explain anything for me, said the paladin loftily. I have reason to think. That is his way, said Noel. Always when he thinks he has reason to think, he thinks he does think. But this is an error. He didn't see the army. I noticed him, and he didn't see it. He was troubled by his old complaint. What's his old complaint, Catherine asked? Prudence, I said, seeing my chance to help. But it was not a fortunate remark, for the paladin said, It probably isn't your turn to criticize people's prudence. You who fall out of the saddle when a donkey braes. They all laughed, and I was ashamed of myself for my hasty smartness. I said, It isn't quite fair for you to say I fell out on account of the donkey's braeing. It was emotion, just ordinary emotion. Very well, if you want to call it that, I am not objecting. What would you call it, Sir Bertrand? Well—well, whatever it was, it was excusable, I think. All of you have learned how to behave in hot hand-to-hand engagements, and you don't need to be ashamed of your record in that matter, but to walk along in front of death with one's hands idle, and no noise, no music, and nothing going on is a very trying situation. If I were you, de Conte, I would name the emotion. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It was as straight and sensible as speech as ever I heard, and I was grateful for the opening it gave me, so I came out and said, It was fear, and thank you for the honest idea, too. It was the cleanest and best way out, said the old treasurer. You've done well, my lad. That made me comfortable, and when Miss Catherine said, It's what I think, too. I was grateful to myself for getting into that scrape. Sir Jean de Metz said, We were all in a body together when the donkey braed, and it was dismally still at the time. I don't see how any young campaigner could escape some little touch of that emotion. He looked about him with a pleasant expression of inquiry on his good face, and as each pair of eyes in turn met his, the head they were in nodded a confession. Even the paladin delivered his nod. That surprised everybody, and saved the standard bearer's credit. It was clever of him. Nobody believed he could tell the truth that way without practice, or would tell that particular sort of a truth either with or without practice. I suppose he judged it would favourably impress the family. Then the old treasurer said, Passing the forts in that trying way required the same sort of nerve that a person must have when ghosts are about him in the dark, I should think. What does the standard bearer think? Well, I don't quite know about that, sir. I've often thought I would like to see a ghost if I— Would you? exclaimed the young lady. We've got one. Would you try that one? Will you? She was so eager and pretty that the paladin said straight out that he would, and then, as none of the rest had bravery enough to expose the fear that was in him, one volunteered after the other with a prompt mouth and a sick heart till all were shipped for the voyage. Then the girl clapped her hands in glee and the parents were gratified too, saying that the ghosts of their house had been a dread and a misery to them and their forebears for generations, and nobody had ever found yet who was willing to confront them and find out what their trouble was so that the family could heal it and content the poor specters and beguile them to tranquility and peace. END OF CHAPTER XVII. About noon I was chatting with Madame Boucher—nothing was going on, all was quiet—when Catherine Boucher suddenly entered in great excitement and said, Fly, sir, fly! The maid was doing in her chair in my room when she sprang up and cried out, French blood is flowing! My arms! Give me my arms! Her giant was on guard at the door, and he brought Dolan, who began to arm her, and I and the giant have been warning the staff. Fly, and stay by her, and if there really is a battle, keep her out of it. Don't let her risk herself. There is no need. If the men know she is near and looking on, it is all that is necessary. Keep her out of the fight. Don't fail on this. I started on a run, saying sarcastically, for I was always fond of sarcasm, and it was said that I had a most neat gift that way. Oh, yes! Nothing easier than that. I'll attend to it. At the furthest end of the house I met Joan, fully armed, hurrying toward the door, and she said, Ah! French blood is being spilt, and you did not tell me. Indeed, I did not know it. I said, There are no sounds of war. Everything is quiet, Your Excellency. You will hear war sounds enough in a moment," she said, and was gone. It was true. Before one could count five, there broke upon the stillness the swelling rush and tramp of an approaching multitude of men and horses, with horse cries of command, and then out of the distance came the muffled deep boom, boom, boom, boom, of cannon, and straight way that rushing multitude was roaring by the house like a hurricane. Our knights and all our staff came flying, armed with no horses ready, and we burst out after Joan in a body, the paladin in the lead with the banner. The surging crowd was made up half of citizens and half of soldiers, and had no recognized leader. When Joan was seen, a huzzah went up, and she shouted, A horse! A horse! A dozen saddles were at her disposal in a moment. She mounted, a hundred people shouting, Way there! Way for the maid of Orléans! The first time that that immortal name was ever uttered, and I praise God was there to hear it. The mass divided itself like the waters of the Red Sea, and down this lane Joan went skimming like a bird, crying, Forward! Forward, French hearts, follow me! And we came winging in her wake on the rest of the borrowed horses, the holy standard streaming above us, and the lane closing together in our rear. This was a different thing from the ghastly march past the dismal Bastilles. No, we felt fine now, and all a whirl with enthusiasm. The explanation of this sudden uprising was this. The city and the little garrison, so long hopeless and afraid, had gone wild over Joan's coming, and could no longer restrain their desire to get at the enemy. So without orders from anybody, a few hundred soldiers and citizens had plunged out at the burgundy gate on a sudden impulse, and made a charge on one of Lord Talbot's most formidable fortresses, Saint-Luc, and were getting the worst of it. The news of this had swept through the city and started this new crowd that we were with. As we poured out at the gate, we met a force bringing in the wounded from the front. The sight moved Joan, and she said, Ah! French blood! It makes my hair rise to see it! We were soon on the field, soon in the midst of the turmoil. Joan was seeing her first real battle, and so were we. It was a battle in the open field, for the garrison of Saint-Luc had Sallie'd confidently out to meet the attack, being used to victories when witches were not around. The Sallie had been reinforced by troops from the Paris Bastille, and when we approached the French were getting whipped and were falling back. But when Joan came charging through the disorder with her banner displayed, crying forward, men, follow me! There was a change. The French turned about and surged forward like a solid wave of the sea, and swept the English before them, hacking and slashing, and being hacked and slashed in a way that was terrible to see. In the field the dwarf had no assignment. That is to say he was not under orders to occupy any particular place, therefore he chose his place for himself, and went ahead of Joan and made a road for her. It was horrible to see the iron helmets fly into fragments under his dreadful axe. He called it cracking nuts and it looked like that. He made a good road and paved it well with flesh and iron. Joan and the rest of us followed it so briskly that we outspeeded our forces and had the English behind us as well as before. The knights commanded us to face outward around Joan, which we did, and then there was work done that was fine to see. One was obliged to respect the paladin now, being right under Joan's exalting and transforming eye, he forgot his native prudence, he forgot his diffidence in the presence of danger, he forgot what fear was, and he never laid about him in his imaginary battles in a more tremendous way than he did in this real one, and wherever he struck there was an enemy the less. We were in that close place only a few minutes, then our forces to the rear broke through with a great shout and joined us, and then the English fought a retreating fight, but in a fine and gallant way, and we drove them to their fortress foot by foot, they facing us all the time, and their reserves on the walls raining showers of arrows, crossbow bolts, and stone cannonballs upon us. The bulk of the enemy got safely within the works and left us outside with piles of French and English dead and wounded for company, a sickening sight, an awful sight to us youngsters, for our little ambush fights in February, had been in the night, and the blood and the mutilations and the dead faces were mercifully dim, whereas we saw these things now for the first time in all their naked gasliness. Now arrived Dunois from the city, and plunged through the battle on his foam-flect horse, and galloped up to Joan, saluting and uttering handsome compliments as he came. He waved his hand toward the distant walls of the city, where a multitude of flags were flaunting gaily in the wind, and said the populace were up there observing her fortunate performance and rejoicing over it, and added that she and the forces would have a great reception now. Now? Hardly now, bastard, not yet. Why not yet? Is there more to be done? More, bastard? We have but begun. We will take this fortress. Ah, you can't be serious. We can't take this place. Let me urge you not to make the attempt. It is too desperate. Let me order the forces back. Joan's heart was overflowing with the joys and enthusiasm of war, and it made her impatient to hear such talk. She cried out, Bastard! Bastard! Will ye play always with these English? Now verily I tell you we will not budge until this place is ours. We will carry it by storm. Sound the charge! Ah, my general, waste no more time, man! Let the bugle sound the assault! And we saw that strange deep light in her eye which we named the battle-light, and learned to know so well in later fields. The Marshal notes peeled out. The troops answered with a yell, and down they came against that formidable work whose outlines were lost in its own cannon-smoke, and whose sides were spouting flame and thunder. We suffered repulse after repulse, but Joan was here and there and everywhere encouraging the men, and she kept them to their work. During three hours the tide ebbed and flowed, flowed and ebbed, and at last Lair, who was now come, made a final and resistless charge, and the Bastille Saint Loube was ours. We gutted it, taking all its stores and artillery, and then destroyed it. When all our host was shouting itself horse with rejoicings, and there went up a cry for the general, for they wanted to praise her and glorify her and do her homage for her victory, we had trouble to find her. And when we did find her, she was off by herself, sitting among a rock of corpses, with her face in her hands crying. For she was a young girl, you know, and her hero heart was a young girl's heart, too, with the pity and the tenderness that are natural to it. She was thinking of the mothers of those dead friends and enemies. Among the prisoners were a number of priests, and Joan took these under her protection and saved their lives. It was urged that they were most probably combatants in disguise, but she said, As to that? How can any tell? They wear the livery of God, and if even one of these wears it rightfully, surely it were better that all the guilty should escape, than that we have upon our hands the blood of that innocent man. I will lodge them where I lodge, and feed them, and send them away in safety. We marched back to the city with our crop of cannon and prisoners on view, and our banners displayed. Here was the first substantial bit of war work the imprisoned people had seen in the seven months that the siege had endured. The first chance they had had to rejoice over a French exploit. You may guess that they made good use of it. They and the bells went mad. Joan was their darling now, and the press of people struggling and shouldering each other to get a glimpse of her was so great that we could hardly push our way through the streets at all. Her new name had gone all about, and was on everybody's lips. The Holy Maid of Voculaire was a forgotten title. The city had claimed her for its own, and she was the Maid of Orléans now. It is a happiness to me to remember that I heard that name the first time it was ever uttered. Between that first utterance and the last time it will be uttered on this earth, think how many moldering ages will lie in that gap. The Boucher family welcomed her back, as if she had been a child of the house, and saved from death against all hope or probability. They chided her for going into the battle and exposing herself to danger during all those hours. They could not realize that she had meant to carry her warriorship so far, and asked her if it had really been her purpose to go right into the turmoil of the fight, or hadn't she got swept into it by accident and the rush of the troops. They begged her to be more careful another time. It was good advice, maybe, but it fell upon pretty unfruitful soil. Volume 1, Book 2, Chapter 19, We Burst In Upon Ghosts Being worn out with a long fight, we all slept the rest of the afternoon away, and two or three hours into the night. Then we got up refreshed and had supper. As for me, I could have been willing to let the matter of the ghost drop, and the others were of a like mind, no doubt, for they talked diligently of the battle and said nothing of that other thing. And indeed it was fine and stirring to hear the paladin rehearse his deeds and see him pile his dead fifteen here, eighteen there, and thirty-five yonder. But this only postponed the trouble. It could not do more. He could not go on forever. When he had carried the Bastille by assault and eaten up the garrison, there was nothing for it but to stop, unless Catherine Boucher would give him a new start and have it all done over again, as we hoped she would this time, but she was otherwise minded. As soon as there was a good opening and a fair chance, she brought up her unwelcome subject, and we faced it the best we could. We followed her and her parents to the haunted room at eleven o'clock, with candles, and also with torches to place in the sockets on the walls. It was a big house, with very thick walls, and this room was in a remote part of it which had been left unoccupied for nobody knew how many years because of its evil repute. This was a large room, like a salon, and had a big table in it of enduring oak and well preserved, but the chairs were worm-eaten, and the tapestry on the walls was rotten and discolored by age. The dusty cobwebs under the ceiling had the look of not having had any business for a century. Catherine said, "'Tradition says that these ghosts have never been seen. They have merely been heard. It is plain that this room was once larger than it is now, and that the wall at this end was built in some bygone time to make and fence off a narrow room there. There is no communication anywhere with that narrow room, and if it exists, and of that there is no reasonable doubt, it has no light and no air, but is an absolute dungeon. Wait where you are, and take note of what happens.' That was all. Then she and her parents left us. When their footfalls had died out in the distance down the empty stone corridors, an uncanny silence and solemnity ensued, which was dismaler to me than the mute march past the Bastilles. We sat looking vacantly at each other, and it was easy to see that no one there was comfortable. The longer we sat so, the more deadly still that stillness got to be. And when the wind began to moan around the house presently, it made me sick and miserable, and I wished I had been brave enough to be a coward this time, for indeed it is no proper shame to be afraid of ghosts seeing how helpless the living are in their hands. And then these ghosts were invisible, which made the matter the worse, as it seemed to me. They might be in the room with us at that moment we could not know. I felt airy touches on my shoulders and my hair, and I shrank from them and cringed, and was not ashamed to show this fear, for I saw the others doing the like, and knew that they were feeling those faint contacts too. As this went on—oh, eternities it seemed, the time dragged so drearily—all those faces became as wax, and I seemed sitting with the Congress of the dead. At last faint and far and weird and slow came a boom, boom, boom—a distant bell tolling midnight. When the last stroke died, that depressing stillness followed again, and as before I was staring at those waxen faces and feeling those airy touches on my hair and my shoulders once more. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes of this, then we heard a long deep groan, and everybody sprang up and stood, with his legs quaking. It came from that little dungeon. There was a pause, then we heard muffled sobbing, mixed with pitiful ejaculations. Then there was a second voice, low and not distinct, and the one seemed trying to comfort the other, and so the two voices went on with moanings and soft sobbing, and, ah, the tones were so full of compassion and sorry and despair. Indeed it made one's heart soar to hear it. But those sounds were so real and so human and so moving that the idea of ghosts passed straight out of our minds, and Sir Jean de Mets spoke out and said, Come, we will smash that wall and set those poor captors free. Here, with your axe! The dwarf jumped forward, swinging his great axe with both hands and others sprang for torches and brought them. Bang, wang, slam! Smash went the ancient bricks, and there was a hole an ox could pass through. We plunged within and held up the torches. Nothing there but vacancy. On the floor lay a rusty sword and a rotten fan. Now you know all that I know. Take the pathetic relics, and weave about them the romance of the dungeon's long, vanish inmates as best you can. Brave Victor's The next day Joan wanted to go against the enemy again, but it was the Feast of the Ascension, and the Holy Council of Bandit Generals were too pious to be willing to profane it with bloodshed. But privately they profaned it with plottings, a sort of industry just in their line. They decided to do the only thing proper to do now in the new circumstances of the case, feign an attack on the most important Bastille on the Orlean side, and then, if the English weakened the far more important fortresses on the other side of the river to come to its help, cross in force and capture those works. This would give them the bridge and free communication with the Solonia, which was French territory. They decided to keep this latter part of the program secret from Joan. Joan intruded and took them by surprise. She asked them what they were about and what they had resolved upon. They said they had resolved to attack the most important of the English Bastilles on the Orlean side next morning, and there the spokesman stopped. Joan said, Well, go on. There is nothing more, that is all. Am I to believe this? That is to say, Am I to believe that you have lost your wits? She turned to Dunwine and said, Bastard, you have sense? Answer me this. If this attack is made and the Bastille taken, how much better off would we be than we are now? The Bastard hesitated, and then began some rambling talk not quite germane to the question. Joan interrupted him and said, That will not do, good Bastard. You have answered. Since the Bastard is not able to mention any advantage to be gained by taking that Bastille and stopping there, it is not likely that any of you could better the matter. You waste much time here in inventing plans that lead to nothing and making delays that are a damage. Are you concealing something from me? Bastard, this council has a general plan, I take it. Without going into details, what is it? It is the same it was in the beginning, seven months ago, to get provisions for a long siege, then sit down and tire the English out. In the name of God, as if seven months was not enough, you want to provide for a year of it. Now ye shall drop these pusillanimous dreams, the English shall go in three days." Several exclaimed, Ah, general, general, be prudent! Be prudent and starve! Do ye call that war? I tell you this, if you do not already know it. The new circumstances have changed the face of matters. The true point of attack has shifted. It is on the other side of the river now. One must take the fortifications that command the bridge. The English know that if we are not fools and cowards, we will try to do that. They are grateful for your piety in wasting this day. They will reinforce the bridge forts from this side tonight, knowing what ought to happen tomorrow. You have but lost a day and made our task harder, for we will cross and take the bridge forts. Bastard, tell me the truth, does not this council know that there is no other course for us than the one I am speaking of? Dunois conceded that the council did know it to be the most desirable, but considered it impracticable. And he excused the council as well as he could by saying that, in as much as nothing was really and rationally to be hoped for, but a long continuance of the siege, and weering out of the English, they were naturally a little afraid of Joan's impetuous notions. He said, You see, we are sure that the waiting game is the best, whereas You would carry everything by storm. That I would, and moreover that I will. You have my orders here and now. We will move upon the forts of the South Bank tomorrow at dawn. And carry them by storm? Yes, carry them by storm." Lair came clanking in and heard the last remark, and he cried out, By my baton! That is the music I love to hear! Yes, that is the right time, and the beautiful words by general, We will carry them by storm! He saluted in his large way, and came up and shook Joan by the hand. Some member of the council was heard to say, It follows, then, that we must begin with the Bastille Saint John, and that will give the English time to—Joan turned and said, Give yourselves no uneasiness about the Bastille Saint John. The English will know enough to retire from it and fall back on the bridge Bastille's when they see us coming. She added with a touch of sarcasm. Even a War Council would know enough to do that itself. Then she took her leave. Lair made this general remark to the council. She is a child, and that is all ye seem to see. Keep to that superstition if you must, but you perceive that this child understands this complex game of war as well as any of you, and if you want my opinion without the trouble of asking for it, here you have it without ruffles or embroidery. By God! I think she can teach the best of you how to play it! Joan had spoken truly. The sagacious English saw that the policy of the French had undergone a revolution, that the policy of pulturing and dawdling was ended, that in place of taking blows, blows were ready to be struck now. Therefore they made ready for the new state of things by transferring heavy reinforcements to the Bastilles of the South Bank from those of the North. The city learned the great news that once more in French history, after all these humiliating years, France was going to take the offensive, that France, so used to retreating, was going to advance, that France, so long accustomed to skulking, was going to face about and strike. The joy of the people passed all bounds. The city walls were black with them to see the army march out in the morning in that strange new position, its front, not its tail, toward an English camp. You shall imagine for yourselves what the excitement was like and how it expressed itself when Joan rode out at the head of the host with her banner floating above her. We crossed the river in strong force and a tedious long job it was, for the boats were small and not numerous. Our landing on the island of Saint-Aignan was not disputed. We threw a bridge of a few boats across the narrow channel thence to the south shore and took up our march in good order and unmolested. For although there was a fortress there, Saint John, the English vacated and destroyed it and fell back on the bridge forts below as soon as our first boats were seen to leave the Orléans shore, which was what Joan had said would happen when she was disputing with the council. We moved down the shore and Joan planted her standard before the Bastille of the Augustines, the first of the formidable works that protected the end of the bridge. The trumpets sounded the assault and two charges followed in handsome style, but we were too weak as yet, for our main body was still lagging behind. Before we could gather for a third assault the garrison of Saint-Prix were seen coming up to reinforce the big Bastille. They came on a run and the Augustines sallied out, and both forces came against us with a rush and sent our small army flying in a panic and followed us, slashing and slaying and shouting jeers and insults at us. Joan was doing her best to rally the men, but their wits were gone, their hearts were dominated for the moment by the old-time dread of the English. Joan's temper flamed up and she halted and commanded the trumpets to sound the advance. Then she wheeled about and cried out, If there is but a dozen of you that are not cowards, it is enough. Follow me! Away she went, and after her a few dozen who had heard her words and been inspired by them. The pursuing force was astonished to see her sweeping down upon them with this handful of men, and it was their turn now to experience a grisly fright. Surely this is a witch, this is a child of Satan! That was their thought, and without stopping to analyze the matter they turned and fled in a panic. Our flying squadrons heard the bugle and turned to look, and when they saw the maid's banner speeding in the other direction and the enemy scrambling ahead of it in disorder, their courage returned, and they came scouring after us. Laïr heard it and hurried his force forward and caught up with us just as we were planting our banner again before the ramparts of the Augustines. We were strong enough now, we had a long and tough piece of work before us, but we carried it through before night. Joan keeping us hard at it, and she and Laïr saying we were able to take that big Bastille and must. The English fought like—well, they fought like the English! When that is said there is no more to say. We made assault after assault, through the smoke and flame and the deafening cannon-blasts, and at last as the sun was sinking we carried the place with a rush and planted our standard on its walls. The Augustines was ours. The Tourelles must be ours too, if we would free the bridge and raise the siege. We had achieved one great undertaking. Joan was determined to accomplish the other. We must lie on our arms where we were, hold fast to what we had got, and be ready for business in the morning. So Joan was not minded to let the men be demoralized by pillage and riot and carousings. She had the Augustines burned, with all its stores in it, accepting the artillery and ammunition. Everybody was tired out with this long day's hard work, and of course this was the case with Joan. Still she wanted to stay with the army before the Tourelles, to be ready for the assault in the morning. The chiefs argued with her, and at last persuaded her to go home and prepare for the great work by taking proper rest, and also by having a leech look to a wound which she had received in her foot. So we crossed with them and went home. Just as usual we found the town in a fury of joy, all the bells clanging, everybody shouting, and several people drunk. We never went out or came in without furnishing good and sufficient reasons for one of these pleasant tempests, and so the tempest was always on hand. There had been a blank absence of reasons for this sort of upheavals for the past seven months. Therefore the people took to the upheavals with all the more relish on that account. To get away from the usual crowd of visitors and have a rest, Joan went with Catherine straight to the apartment which the two occupied together, and there they took their supper, and there the wound was dressed. But then, instead of going to bed, Joan, weary as she was, sent the Dwarf for me, in spite of Catherine's protests and persuasions. She said she had something on her mind and must send a courier to Dom Rémy with a letter for our old Père Front to read to her mother. I came, and she began to dictate. After some loving words and greetings to her mother and family came this. But the thing which moves me to right now is to say that when you presently hear that I am wounded, you shall give yourself no concern about it, and refuse faith to any that shall try to make you believe it is serious. She was going on when Catherine spoke up and said, Ah, but it will fright her so to read these words. Strike them out, Joan, strike them out, and wait only one day, two days at most. Then write and say your foot was wounded but is well again. For it surely will be well then, or very near it. Don't distress her, Joan. Do as I say. A laugh like the laugh of the old days, the impulsive free laugh of an untroubled spirit. A laugh like a chime of bells, was Joan's answer. Then she said, My foot? Why should I write about such a scratch as that? I was not thinking of it, dear heart. Child, have you another wound and a worse, and have not spoken of it? What have you been dreaming about, that you she had jumped up, full of vague fears to have the leech called back at once? But Joan laid her hand upon her arm and made her sit down again, saying, There now, be tranquil. There is no other wound as yet. I am writing about one which I shall get when we storm that Bastille to-morrow. Joan had the look of one who is trying to understand a puzzling proposition, but cannot quite do it. She said in a distraught fashion, A wound which you are going to get? But why grieve your mother when it may not happen? May not? Why it will. The puzzle was a puzzle still. Catherine said in that same abstracted way as before, Will, it is a strong word. I cannot seem to—my mind is not able to take hold of this. Oh, Joan, such a presentiment is a dreadful thing. It takes one's peace and courage all away. Cast it from you, drive it out. It will make your whole night miserable and to no good, for we will hope, but it isn't a presentiment, it is a fact, and it will not make me miserable. It is uncertainties that do that, but this is not an uncertainty. Joan, do you know it is going to happen? Yes, I know it. My voices told me. Ah, said Catherine residedly, if they told you. But are you sure it was they, quite sure? Yes, quite. It will happen. There is no doubt. It is dreadful. Since when have you known it? Since—I think it is several weeks, Joan turned to me. Louis, you will remember. How long is it? Your Excellency spoke of it first to the King, in Chinon, I answered. That was as much as seven weeks ago. You spoke of it again the twentieth of April and also the twenty-second two weeks ago, as I see by my record here. These marvels disturbed Catherine profoundly. But I had long ceased to be surprised at them. One can get used to anything in this world. Catherine said, and it is to happen to-morrow? Always to-morrow? Is it the same date always? There has been no mistake and no confusion? No, Joan said. The seventh of May is the date. There is no other. Then you shall not go a step out of this house till that awful day is gone by. You will not dream of it, Joan, will you? Promise that you will stay with us. But Joan was not persuaded, she said. It would not help the matter, dear good friend. The wound is to come, and come to-morrow. And if I do not seek it, it will seek me. My duty calls me to that place to-morrow. I should have to go if my death were waiting for me there. Shall I stay away for only a wound? Oh, no! We must try to do better than that. Then you are determined to go? Of a certainty, yes. There is only one thing that I can do for France. Hearten her soldiers for battle and victory, she thought a moment then added. However, Joan should not be unreasonable, and I would do much to please you, who are so good to me. Do you love France? I wondered what she might be contriving now, but I saw no clue. Catherine said reproachfully, Ah! what have I done to deserve this question? Then you do love France. I had not doubted it, dear. Do not be hurt, but answer me. Have you ever told a lie? In my life I have not willfully told a lie, fibs, but no lies. That is sufficient. You love France, and do not tell lies. Therefore I will trust you. I will go, or I will stay, as you shall decide. Oh! I thank you for my heart, Joan, how good and dear it is of you to do this for me. Oh! you shall stay and not go! In her delight she flung her arms about Joan's neck, and squandered in dearments upon her, the least of which would have made me rich. But, as it was, they only made me realize how poor I was, how miserably poor in what I would most have prized in this world. Joan said, Then you will send word to my headquarters that I am not going? Oh! gladly! leave that to me! It is good of you. And how will you word it? For it must have proper official form. Shall I word it for you? Oh! do, for you know about these solemn procedures and stately proprieties, and I have had no experience. Then word it like this. The chief of staff is commanded to make known to the king's forces in garrison and in the field that the general-in-chief of the armies of France will not face the English on the morrow, she being afraid she may get hurt, signed Joan of Arc by the hand of Catherine Boucher, who loves France. There was a pause, a silence of the sort that tortures one into stealing a glance to see how the situation looks, and I did that. There was a loving smile on Joan's face, but the colour was mounting in crimson waves into Catherine's, and her lips were quivering and the tears gathering. Then she said, Oh! I am so ashamed of myself, and you are so noble and brave and wise, and I am so paltry, so paltry, and such a fool! And she broke down and began to cry, and I did so want to take her in my arms and comfort her, but Joan did it, and of course I said nothing. Joan did it well, and most sweetly and tenderly, but I could have done it as well, though I knew it would be foolish and out of place to suggest such a thing, and might make an awkwardness too, and be embarrassing to us all, though I did not offer, and I hope I did right and for the best, though I could not know, and was many times tortured with doubts afterward as having perhaps let a chance pass which might have changed all my life and made it happier and more beautiful than, alas, it turned out to be. For this reason I grieve yet when I think of that scene and do not like to call it up out of the deeps of my memory because of the pangs it brings. Well, well, a good and wholesome thing is a little harmless fun in this world, it tones a body up and keeps him human and prevents him from souring. To set that little trap for Catherine was as good and effective away as any to show her what a grotesque thing she was asking of Joan. It was a funny idea now, wasn't it, when you look at it all around? Even Catherine dried up her tears and laughed when she thought of the English getting hold of the French commander-in-chief's reason for staying out of a battle. She granted that they could have had a good time over a thing like that. We got to work on the letter again, and of course did not have to strike out the passage about the wound. Joan was in fine spirits, but when she got to sending messages to this, that, and the other playmate and friend, it brought our village and the fairy-tree and the flowery plain and the browsing sheep and all the peaceful beauty of our old humble home-place back. And the familiar names began to tremble on her lips, and when she got to Omet and Little Mangeet it was no use, her voice broke and she couldn't go on. She waited a moment and said, Give them my love, my warm love, my deep love, O, out of my heart of hearts, I shall never see our home any more. Now came Pascarrel, Joan's confessor, and introduced a gallant knight, the Sire de Re, who had been sent with a message. He said he was instructed to say that the council had decided that enough had been done for the present, that it would be safest and best to be content with what God had already done, that the city was now well victualed and able to stand along siege, that the wise course must necessarily be to withdraw the troops from the other side of the river and resume the defensive, therefore they had decided accordingly. The incurable cowards, exclaimed Joan, so it was to get me away from my men that they pretended so much solicitude about my fatigue. Take this message back, not to the council. I have no speeches for those disguised ladies-maids, but to the bastard and lair who are men. Tell them the army is to remain where it is, and I hold am responsible if this command miscarries, and say the offensive will be resumed in the morning. You may go, good sir." Then she said to her priest, �Rise early, and be by me all the day. There will be much work on my hands, and I shall be hurt between my neck and my shoulder.� CHAPTER XXII. We were up at dawn, and after mass we started. In the hall we met the master of the house who was grieved, good man, to see Joan going breakfastless to such a day's work, and begged her to wait and eat. But she couldn't afford the time, that is to say, she couldn't afford the patience, she being in such a blaze of anxiety to get at that last remaining Bastille which stood between her, and the completion of the first great step in the rescue and redemption of France. Boucher put in another plea. �But think! We poor beleaguered citizens who have hardly known the flavor of fish for these many months have spoiled of that sort again, and we owe it to you. There's a noble chad for breakfast. Wait! Be persuaded!� Joan said. �Oh, there's going to be fish in plenty. When this day's work is done the whole riverfront will be yours to do as you please with. �Ah! Your Excellency will do well that, I know. But we don't require quite that much, even of you. You shall have a month for it in place of a day. Now be beguiled, wait and eat. There's a saying that he that would cross a river twice in the same day in a boat will do well to eat fish for luck lest he have an accident. �That doesn't fit my case. For today I cross but once in a boat. �Oh! Don't say that. Aren't you coming back to us? �Yes, but not in a boat. � �How then? �By the bridge. �Listen to that, by the bridge. Now stop this, justing, dear General, and do as I would have you. It's a noble fish. �Be good then, and save me some for supper, and I will bring one of those Englishmen with me, and he shall have his share. �Ah, well, have your way, if you must. But he that fasts must attempt but little and stop early. When shall you be back? �When we've raised the siege of Orléans. �Foward!� We were off. The streets were full of citizens and of groups and squads of soldiers, but the spectacle was melancholy. There was not a smile anywhere, but only universal gloom. It was as if some vast calamity had smitten all hope and cheer dead. We were not used to this, and were astonished. And when they saw the maid, there was an immediate stir, and the eager question flew from mouth to mouth. �Where is she going?� �Whither is she bound?� Joan heard it, and called out, �Whither would ye suppose?� �I am going to take to Rel.� It would not be possible for any to describe how those few words turned that morning into joy, into exaltation, into frenzy, and how a storm of hizazz burst out and swept down the streets in every direction and woke those corpse-like multitudes to vivid life and action and turmoil in a moment. The soldiers broke from the crowd and came flocking to our standard, and many of the citizens ran and got pikes and halberts and joined us. As we moved on, our numbers increased steadily, and the harrying continued. Yes, we moved through a solid cloud of noise, as you may say, and all the windows on both sides contributed to it, for they were filled with excited people. You see, the Council had closed the burgundy gate and placed a strong force there under that Stout Soldier Raul de Gokur, Bailey of Orléans, with orders to prevent Joan from getting out and resuming the attack on Naturale, and this shameful thing had plunged the city into sorrow and despair. But that feeling was gone now. They believed the maid was a match for the Council, and they were right. When we reached the gate, Joan told Gokur to open it and let her pass. He said it would be impossible to do this, for his orders were from the Council and were strict. Joan said, There is no authority above mine but the King's. If you have an order from the King, produce it. I cannot claim to have an order from him, General. Then make way or take the consequences. He began to argue the case, for he was like the rest of the tribe, always ready to fight with words, not acts. But in the midst of his gavel Joan interrupted with these terse orders. Charge! We came with a rush, and brief work we made of that small job. It was good to see the Bailey's surprise. He was not used to this unsentimental promptness. He said afterward that he was cut off in the midst of what he was saying, in the midst of an argument by which he could have proved that he could not let Joan pass, an argument which Joan could not have answered. Still, it appears she did answer it, said the person he was talking to. We swung through the gate in great style, with a vast accession of noise, the most of which was laughter. And soon our van was over the river and moving down against the Turrell. First we must take a supporting work called a Boulevard and which was otherwise nameless before we could assault the great Bastille. Its rear communicated with the Bastille by a drawbridge, under which ran a swift and deep strip of the Loire. The Boulevard was strong, and Dunois doubted our ability to take it. But Joan had no such doubt. She pounded it with artillery all the forenoon. Then, about noon, she ordered an assault and led it herself. We poured into the fos through the smoke, and a tempest of missiles, and Joan, shouting encouragements to her men, started to climb a scaling ladder, when that misfortune happened which we knew was to happen. The iron bolt from an arbalest struck between her neck and her shoulder, and tore its way down through her armor. When she felt the sharp pain and saw her blood gushing over her breast, she was frightened, poor girl. And as she sank to the ground she began to cry bitterly. The English sent up a glad shout, and came surging down in strong force to take her, and then, for a few minutes, the might of both adversaries was concentrated upon that spot. Over her, and above her, English and French fought with desperation, for she stood for France. Indeed, she was France to both sides, whichever won her, won France, and could keep it forever. Right there, in that small spot, and in ten minutes by the clock, the fate of France for all time was to be decided, and was decided. If the English had captured Joan then, Charles VII would have flown the country, the Treaty of Troyes would have held good, and France, already English property, would have become, without further dispute, an English province, to so remain until judgment day. A nationality and a kingdom were at stake there, and no more time to decide it in than it takes to hard-boil an egg. It was the most momentous ten minutes that the clock had ever ticked in France, for ever will. Whenever you read in histories about hours or days, or weeks in which the fate of one or another nation hung in the balance, do not you fail to remember, nor your French hearts to beat the quicker for the remembrance, the ten minutes that France, called otherwise Joan of Arc, lay bleeding in the Fos that day, with two nations struggling over her for her possession. And you will not forget the dwarf, for he stood over her, and did the work of any six of the others. He swung his axe with both hands. Whenever it came down he said those two words, for France! And a splintered helmet flew like eggshells, and the skull that carried it had learned its manners, and would offend the French no more. He piled a bulwark of ironclad dead in front of him and fought from behind it, and at last when the victory was ours we closed about him, shielding him, and he ran up a ladder with Joan as easily as another man would carry a child, and bore her out of the battle, a great crowd following and anxious, for she was drenched with blood to her feet, half of it her own, and the other half English. For bodies had fallen across her as she lay, and had poured their red life-streams over her. One couldn't see the white armor now, with that awful dressing over it. The iron bolt was still in the wound, some say it projected out behind the shoulder. It may be, I did not wish to see, and did not try to. It was pulled out, and the pain made Joan cry again, poor thing. Some say she pulled it out herself because others refused, saying they could not bear to hurt her. As to this I do not know. I only know it was pulled out, and that the wound was treated with oil and properly dressed. Joan lay on the grass, weak and suffering, hour after hour, but still insisting that the fight go on, which it did, but not to much purpose, for it was only under her eye that men were heroes and not afraid. They were like the Paladin. I think he was afraid of his shadow. I mean in the afternoon when it was very big and long. But when he was under Joan's eye, and the inspiration of her great spirit, what was he afraid of? Nothing in this world, and that is just the truth. Toward night Dunois gave it up. Joan heard the bugles. What! she cried. Sounding the retreat! Her wound was forgotten in a moment. She countermanded the order, and sent another to the officer in command of a battery to stand ready to fire five shots in quick succession. This was a signal to the force on the Orleans side of the river under Leir, who was not, as some of the histories say, with us. It was to be given whenever Joan should feel sure the boulevard was about to fall into her hands. Then that force must make a counter-attack on the Turelle by way of the bridge. Joan mounted her horse now with her staff about her, and when our people saw us coming they raised a great shout and were at once eager for another assault on the boulevard. Joan rode straight to the force where she had received her wound, and standing there in the rain of bolts and arrows, she ordered the Paladin to let her long standard blow free, and to note when its fringes should touch the fortress. Presently he said, It touches! Now then, said Joan to the waiting battalions, The place is yours! Enter it! Bugles! Sound the assault! Now then, altogether, go! And go it was! You never saw anything like it! We swarmed up the ladders and over the battlements like a wave, and the place was our property. Why, one might live a thousand years and never see so gorgeous a thing as that again. There, hand to hand we fought like wild beasts, for there was no give-up to those English. There was no way to convince one of those people but to kill him, and even then he doubted—at least, so it was thought in those days and maintained by many. We were busy and never heard the five cannon-shots fired, but they were fired a moment after Joan had ordered the assault, and so while we were hammering and being hammered in the smaller fortress, the reserve on the Orléans side poured across the bridge and attacked the Turel from that side. A fire-boat was brought down and moored under the drawbridge, which connected the Turel with our boulevard. Wherefore, when at last we drove our English ahead of us, and they tried to cross that drawbridge and join their friends in the Turel, the burning timbers gave way under them and emptied them in a mass, into the river, in their heavy armor, and a pitiful sight it was to see brave men die such a death as that. Ah, God pity them, said Joan, and wept to see that sorrowful spectacle. She said those gentle words and wept those compassionate tears, although one of those perishing men had grossly insulted her with a coarse name three days before when she had sent him a message asking him to surrender. That was their leader, Sir William Glastale, a most valorous knight. He was closed all in steel, so he plunged underwater like a lance. And, of course, he came up no more. We soon patched a sort of bridge together and threw ourselves against the last stronghold of the English power that barred Orléans from friends and supplies. Before the sun was quite down, Joan's forever memorable day's work was finished. Her banner floated from the fortress of the Turel. Her promise was fulfilled. She had raised the siege of Orléans. The seven months' beleaguement was ended. The thing which the first generals of France had called impossible was accomplished. In spite of all that the king's ministers and war-councils could do to prevent it, this little countrymaid at seventeen had carried her immortal task through, and had done it in four days. Good news travels fast sometimes, as well as bad. By the time we were ready to start homeward by the bridge, the whole city of Orléans was one red flame of bonfires, and the heavens blushed with satisfaction to see it, and the booming and bellowing of cannon and the banging of bells surpassed by great odds anything that even Orléans had attempted before, in the way of noise. When we arrived—well, there is no describing that—why, those acres of people that we plowed through shed tears enough to raise the river. There was not a face in the glare of those fires that hadn't tears streaming down it. And if Joan's feet had not been protected by iron, they would have kissed them off of her. Welcome! Welcome to the maid of Orléans! That was the cry I heard it a hundred thousand times. Welcome to our maid! Some of them worded it. No other girl in all history has ever reached such a summit of glory as Joan of Arc reached that day. And do you think it turned her head, and that she sat up to enjoy that delicious music of homage and applause? No. Another girl would have done that, but not this one. That was the greatest heart and the simplest that ever beat. She went straight to bed and to sleep, like any tired child. And when the people found she was wounded and would rest, they shut off all passage and traffic in that region, and stood guard themselves the whole night through to see that her slumbers were not disturbed. They said, She has given us peace, she shall have peace herself. All knew that that region would be empty of English next day, and all said that neither the present citizens, nor their posterity, would ever cease to hold that day sacred to the memory of Joan of Arc. That word has been true for more than sixty years. It will continue so always. Orléans will never forget the eighth of May, nor ever fail to celebrate it. It is Joan of Arc's day, and holy. NOTE NUMBER ONE It is still celebrated every year with civic and military pumps and solemnities. TRANSLATOR END OF NOTE ONE END OF CHAPTER XXII This is Chapter XXIII of Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc by Mark Twain. Volume I, Book II, Chapter XXIII, Joan inspires the Tawdry King. In the earliest dawn of mourning, Talbot and his English forces evacuated their Bastilles and marched away, not stopping to burn, destroy, or carry off anything, but leaving their fortresses just as they were provisioned, armed, and equipped for a long siege. It was difficult for the people to believe that this great thing had really happened, that they were actually free once more, and might go and come through any gate they pleased with none to molest or forbid, that the terrible Talbot, that scourge of the French, that man whose mere name had been able to annul the effectiveness of French armies, was gone, vanished, retreating, driven away by a girl. The city emptied itself, out of every gate the crowds poured. They swarmed about the English Bastilles like an invasion of ants, but noisier than those creatures, and carried off the artillery and stores, then turned all those dozen fortresses into monster bonfires, imitation volcanoes, whose lofty columns of thick smoke seemed supporting the arch of the sky. The delight of the children took another form. To some of the younger ones, seven months was a sort of lifetime. They had forgotten what grass was like, and the velvety green meadows seemed paradise to their surprised and happy eyes after the long habit of seeing nothing but dirty lanes and streets. It was a wonder to them, those spacious reaches of open country to run and dance and tumble and frolic in after their dull and joyless captivity, so they scampered far and wide over the fair regions on both sides of the river, and came back at eventide weary, but laden with flowers and flushed with new health drawn from the fresh country air and the vigorous exercise. After the burnings, the grown folk followed Joan from church to church and put in the day in thanksgivings for the city's deliverance, and at night they fettered her and her generals and illuminated the town, and high and low gave themselves up to the festivities and rejoicings. By the time the populace were fairly in bed toward dawn, we were in the saddle in a way toward tour to report to the king. That was a march which would have turned anyone's head but Joan's. We moved between emotional ranks of grateful country people all the way. They crowded about Joan to touch her feet, her horse, her armor, and they even knelt in the road and kissed her horse's hoof-prints. The land was full of her praises. The most illustrious chiefs of the church wrote to the king extolling the maid, comparing her to the saints and heroes of the Bible, and warning him not to let unbelief, ingratitude, or other injustice, hinder or impair the divine help sent through her. One might think there was a touch of prophecy in that, and we will let it go with that. But to my mind it had its inspiration in those great men's accurate knowledge of the king's trivial and treacherous character. The king had come to tour to meet Joan. At the present day this poor thing is called Charles the Victorious, on account of victories which other people won for him, but in our time we had a private name for him which described him better, and was sanctified to him by personal deserving, Charles the Base. When we entered the presence he sat throned with his tinseled snobs and dandies around him. He looked like a forked carrot, so tightly did his clothing fit him from his waist down. He wore shoes with a rope-like pliant toe, a foot long, that had to be hitched up to the knee to keep it out of the way. He had on a crimson velvet cape that came no lower than his elbows. On his head he had a tall felt-thing like a thimble with a feather in its jeweled band that stuck up like a pen from an ink-horn, and from under that thimble his bush of stiff hair stuck down to his shoulders, curving outward at the bottom, so that the cap and the hair together made the head like a shuttlecock. All the materials of his dress were rich, and all the colors brilliant. In his lap he cuddled a miniature greyhound that snarled, lifting its lip and showing its white teeth whenever any slight movement disturbed it. The king's dandies were dressed in about the same fashion as himself, and when I remembered that Joan had called the War Council of Orleans, disguised ladies-maids. It reminded me of people who squander all their money on a trifle, and then haven't anything to invest when they come across a better chance. That name ought to have been saved for these creatures. Joan fell on her knees before the majesty of France and the other frivolous animal in his lap, a sight which it pained me to see. What had that man done for his country or for anybody in it, that she or any other person should kneel to him? But she, she had just done the only great deed that had been done for France in fifty years, and had consecrated it with the libation of her blood. The positions should have been reversed. However, to be fair, one must grant that Charles acquitted himself very well for the most part on that occasion, very much better than he was in the habit of doing. He passed his pup to a courtier and took off his cap to Joan as if she had been a queen. Then he stepped from his throne and raised her, and showed quite a spirited and manly joy and gratitude in welcoming her and thanking her for her extraordinary achievement in his service. My prejudices are of a later date than that. If he had continued as he was at that moment I should not have acquired them. He acted handsomely. He said, You shall not kneel to me, my matchless general. You have wrought royally, and royal courtesies are your due. Noticing that she was pale, he said, But you must not stand. You have lost blood for France, and your wound is yet green. Come! He led her to a seat and sat down by her. Now then, speak out frankly as to one who owes you much and freely confesses it before all this courtly assemblage. What shall be your reward? Name it! I was ashamed of him. And yet that was not fair. For how could he be expected to know this marvellous child in these few weeks, when we who thought we had known her all her life were daily seeing the clouds uncover some new altitudes of her character whose existence was not suspected by us before? But we are all that way. When we know a thing we have only scorn for other people who don't happen to know it. And I was ashamed of these curtears, too, for the way they licked their chops, so to speak, as envying Joan her great chance they not knowing her any better than the king did. A blush began to rise in Joan's cheeks at the thought that she was working for her country for pay, and she dropped her head and tried to hide her face, as girls always do when they find themselves blushing. No one knows why they do, but they do, and the more they blush the more they fail to get reconciled to it, and the more they can't bear to have people look at them when they are doing it. The king made it a great deal worse by calling attention to it, which is the unkindest thing a person can do when a girl is blushing. Sometimes, when there is a big crowd of strangers, it is even likely to make her cry if she is as young as Joan was. God knows the reason for this. It is hidden from men. As for me, I would as soon blush as sneeze. In fact, I would rather. However, these meditations are not of consequence. I will go on with what I was saying. The king rallied her for blushing, and this brought up the rest of the blood and turned her face to fire. Then he was sorry, seeing what he had done, and tried to make her comfortable by saying the blush was exceeding becoming to her and not to mind it, which caused even the dog to notice it now, so of course the red in Joan's face turned to purple, and the tears overflowed and ran down. I could have told anybody that that would happen. The king was distressed and saw that the best thing to do would be to get away from this subject, so he began to say the finest kind of things about Joan's capture of the tourelle, and presently, when she was more composed, he mentioned the reward again and pressed her to name it. Everybody listened with anxious interest to hear what her claim was going to be, but when her answer came their faces showed that the thing she asked for was not what they had been expecting. Oh, dear gracious Dauphin, I have but one desire, only one, if—do not be afraid, my child, name it—that you will not delay a day. My army is strong and valiant, and eager to finish its work. March with me to Rames, and receive your crown. You could see the indolent king shrink in his butterfly clothes. To Rames! Oh! impossible, my general! We march through the heart of England's power! Could those be French faces there? Not one of them lighted in response to the girl's brave proposition, but all promptly showed satisfaction in the king's objection. Leave this silken idleness for the rude contact of war? None of these butterflies desire that. They passed their jeweled comfort boxes one to another, and whispered their content in the head butterfly's practical prudence. Joan pleaded with the king, saying, Ah, I pray you do not throw away this perfect opportunity. Everything is favourable, everything. It is as if the circumstances were specially made for it. The spirits of our army are exalted with victory. Those of the English forces depressed by defeat. Delay will change this. Seeing us hesitate to follow up our advantage, our men will wonder, doubt, lose confidence, and the English will wonder, gather courage, and be bold again. Now is the time, pretty, let us march. The king shook his head, and La Tramouie, being asked for an opinion, eagerly furnished it. Sire, all prudence is against it. Think of the English strongholds along the Loire. Think of those that lie between us and Reims. He was going on, but Joan cut him short and said turning to him, If we wait, they will all be strengthened, reinforced. Will that advantage us? Why, no. Then what is your suggestion? What is it that you would propose to do? My judgment is to wait. Wait for what? The minister was obliged to hesitate, for he knew of no explanation that would sound well. Moreover, he was not used to being catacysed in this fashion with the eyes of a crowd of people on him, so he was irritated and said, Matters of State are not proper matters for public discussion. Joan said placidly, I have to beg your pardon. My trespass came of ignorance. I did not know that matters connected with your department of the government were matters of State. The minister lifted his brows in amused surprise and said with a touch of sarcasm, I am the king's chief minister, and yet you had the impression that matters connected with my department are not matters of State? Pray, how is that? Joan replied indifferently, because there is no State. No State! No, sir, there is no State, no use for a minister. France is shrunk to a couple of acres of ground. A sheriff's constable could take care of it. Its affairs are not matters of State. The term is too large. The king did not blush, but burst into a hearty, careless laugh, and the court laughed, too, but prudently turned its head and did it silently. La Troumouie was angry and opened his mouth to speak, but the king put up his hand and said, There! I take her under the royal protection. She has spoken the truth, the ungilded truth. How seldom I hear it. With all this tinsel on me and all this tinsel about me I am but a sheriff after all, a poor, shabby, two acre sheriff, and you are but a constable. And he laughed his cordial laugh again. Joan, my frank, honest general, will you name your reward? I would ennoble you. You shall quarter the crown and the lilies of France for a blazing. And with them your victorious sword to defend them. Speak the word! It made an eager buzz of surprise and envy in the assemblage, but Joan shook her head and said, Ah, I cannot, dear and noble Dauphin, to be allowed to work for France to spend one's self for France is itself so supreme a reward that nothing can add to it nothing. Give me the one reward, I ask, the dearest of all rewards, the highest in your gift. March with me to Reims and receive your crown. I will beg it on my knees. But the king put his hand on her arm, and there was a really brave awakening in his voice and a manly fire in his eye when he said, No. Sit. You have conquered me. It shall be as you— But a warning sign from his minister halted him, and he added to the relief of the court. Well, we will think of it. We will think it over and see. Does that content you, impulsive little soldier? The first part of the speech sent a glow of delight to Joan's face, but the end of it quenched it, and she looked sad, and the tears gathered in her eyes. After a moment she spoke out with what seemed a sort of terrified impulse and said, Oh, use me. I beseech you. Use me. There is but little time. Only a year. I shall last only a year. Why, child, there are fifty good years in that compact little body yet. Oh, you ere. Indeed you do. In one little year the end will come. Ah, the time is so short, so short. The moments are flying and so much to be done. Oh, use me and quickly. It is life or death for France. Even those insects were sobered by her impassioned words. The king looked very grave, grave and strongly impressed. His eyes lit suddenly with an eloquent fire, and he rose and drew his sword and raised it aloft. Then he brought it slowly down upon Joan's shoulder and said, Ah, thou art so simple, so true, so great, so noble, and by this accolade I join thee to the nobility of France, thy fitting place, and for thy sake I do hereby and noble all thy family and all thy kin, and all their descendants born in wedlock, not only in the male, but also in the female line, and more, more, to distinguish thy house and honour it above all others. We add a privilege never accorded to any before in the history of these dominions. The females of thy line shall have and hold the right to ennoble their husbands when these shall be of inferior degree. Astonishment and envy flared up in every countenance when the words were uttered which conferred this extraordinary grace. The king paused and looked around upon these signs with quite evident satisfaction. Rise, Joan of Arc, now and henceforth surmained duly, in grateful acknowledgment of the good blow which you have struck for the lilies of France, and they, and the royal crown, and your own victorious sword, fit and fair company for each other, shall be grouped in your escutcheon and be and remain the symbol of your high nobility forever. As My Lady duly rose, the gilded children of privilege pressed forward to welcome her to their sacred ranks and call her by her new name. But she was troubled, and said these honours were not meet for one of her lowly birth and station, and by their kind grace she would remain simple, Joan of Arc. Nothing more, and so be called. Nothing more, as if there could be anything more, anything greater. My Lady duly, why it was tinsel, petty, perishable, but Joan of Arc, the mere sound of it, sets one's pulses leaping. It was vexatious to see what had to do the whole town, and next the whole country made over the news. Joan of Arc ennobled by the king. People went dizzy with wonder and delight over it. You cannot imagine how she was gaped at, stared at, envied. Why, one would have supposed that some great and fortunate thing had happened to her. But we did not think any great things of it. To our minds, no mere human hand could add a glory to Joan of Arc. To us, she was the sun soaring in the heavens, and her new nobility a candle atop of it. To us it was swallowed up and lost in her own light. And she was as indifferent to it, and as unconscious of it as the other sun would have been. But it was different with her brothers. They were proud and happy in their new dignity, which was quite natural. And Joan was glad it had been conferred when she saw how pleased they were. It was a clever thought in the king to outflank her scruples by marching on them under shelter of her love for her family and her kin. Joan and Pierre sported their coat of arms right away, and their society was courted by everybody, the nobles and commons alike. The standard bearer said, with some touch of bitterness, that he could see that they just felt good to be alive, they were so soaked with the comfort of their glory, and didn't like to sleep at all, because when they were asleep they didn't know they were noble. And so sleep was a clean loss of time. And then he said, They can't take precedence of me in military functions and state ceremonies, but when it comes to civil ones and society affairs, I judge they'll cuddle coolly in behind you and the knights, and Noel and I will have to walk behind them, hey? Yes, I said. I think you are right. I was just afraid of it. Just afraid of it, said the standard bearer with a sigh. Afraid of it? I'm talking like a fool. Of course I knew it. Yes, I was talking like a fool. Noel Régisson said musingly, Yes, I noticed something natural about the tone of it. We others laughed. Oh, you did, did you? You think you are very clever, don't you? I'll take and ring your neck for you one of these days, Noel Régisson. The Sierra de Met said, Paladin, your fears haven't reached the top notch. They are away below the grand possibilities. Didn't it occur to you that in civil and society functions they will take precedence of all the rest of the personal staff, every one of us? Oh, come! You'll find it so. Look at their escutcheon. Its chiefest feature is the lilies of France. It's Royal Man, Royal. Do you understand the size of that? The lilies are there by authority of the King. Do you understand the size of that? Though not in detail and in entirety, they do nevertheless substantially quarter the arms of France in their coat. Imagine it. Consider it. Measure the magnitude of it. We walk in front of those boys. Bless you, we've done that for the last time. In my opinion, there isn't a lay lord in this whole region that can walk in front of them, except the Duke de L'Encent, Prince of the Blood. You could have knocked the Paladin down with a feather. He seemed to actually turn pale. He worked his lips a moment without getting anything out, and then it came, I didn't know that, nor the half of it. How could I? I've been an idiot. I see it now. I've been an idiot. I met them this morning and sung out hello to them just as I would to anybody. I didn't mean to be ill-mannered, but I didn't know the half of this that you've been telling. I've been an ass. Yes, that is all there is to it. I've been an ass. No regresson said in a kind of weary way. Yes, that is likely enough, but I don't see why you should seem surprised at it. You don't, don't you? Well, why don't you? Because I don't see any novelty about it. With some people it is a condition which is present all the time. Now, you take a condition which is present all the time, and the results of that condition will be uniform. This uniformity of result will in time become monotonous. Monotonousness by the law of its being is fatiguing. If you had manifested fatigue upon noticing that you had been an ass, that would have been logical, that would have been rational. Whereas it seems to me that to manifest surprise was to be again an ass, because the condition of intellect that can enable a person to be surprised and stirred by inert monotonousness is—now that is enough, no regresson. Stop where you are, before you get yourself into trouble. And don't bother me any more for some days or a week, and it please you, for I cannot abide your crack. Come, I like that. I didn't want to talk. I tried to get out of talking. If you didn't want to hear my clack, what did you keep intruding your conversation on me for? I never dreamed of such a thing. While you did it anyway, and I have a right to feel hurt, and I do feel hurt, to have you treat me so. It seems to me that when a person goes and crowds, and in a manner forces another person to talk, it is neither very fair nor very good mannered to call what he says, clack. Though snuffle do, and break your heart, you poor thing. Somebody fetch this sick dollar sugar rag. Look you, Sir John Demet, do you feel absolutely certain about that thing? What thing? Why, that Jean and Pierre are going to take precedence of all the lame no-blesser hereabouts except the Duke d'Alançon. I think there is not a doubt of it. The standard bearer was deep in thoughts and dreams a few moments. Then the silk and velvet expanse of his vast breast rose and fell with a sigh, and he said, Dear, dear, what a lift it is. It just shows what luck can do. Well, I don't care. I shouldn't care to be a painted accident. I shouldn't value it. I am prouder to have climbed up to where I am just by sheer natural merit than I would be to ride the very sun in the zenith and have to reflect that I was nothing but a poor little accident, and got shot up there out of somebody else's catapult. To me, merit is everything. In fact, the only thing, all else, is dross. Just then the bugles blew the assembly and that cut our talk short. End of Chapter 24 This is Chapter 25 of Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc by Mark Twain. Volume 1, Book 2, Chapter 25. At last. Forward. The days began to waste away, and nothing decided, nothing done. The army was full of zeal, but it was also hungry. It got no pay. The treasury was getting empty. It was becoming impossible to feed it. Under pressure of privation it began to fall apart and disperse, which pleased the trifling court exceedingly. Joan's distress was pitiful to see. She was obliged to stand helpless while her victorious army dissolved away until hardly the skeleton of it was left. At last one day she went to the castle of Loch, where the king was idling. She found him consulting with three of his councillors, Robert Lemasson, a former Chancellor of France, Christophe d'Arcourt, and Gerard Machet. The Bastard of Orleans was present also, and it is through him that we know what happened. Joan threw herself at the king's feet and embraced his knees, saying, Noble Dauphin, pray thee, hold no more of these long and numerous councils, but come and come quickly to Remes and receive your crown. Christophe d'Arcourt asked, Is it your voices that command you to say that to the king? Yes, and urgently. Then will you not tell us in the king's presence in what way the voices communicate with you? It was another sly attempt to trap Joan into indiscreet admissions and dangerous pretensions. But nothing came of it. Joan's answer was simple and straightforward, and the smooth bishop was not able to find any fault with it. She said that when she met with people who doubted the truth of her mission, she went aside and prayed, complaining of the distrust of these, and then the comforting voices were heard at her ears, saying soft and low, Go forward, daughter of God, and I will help thee. Then she added, When I hear that, the joy in my heart, oh, it is insupportable! The Bastard said that when she said these words, her face lit up as with a flame, and she was like one in an ecstasy. Joan pleaded, persuaded, reasoned, gaining ground little by little, but opposed, step by step, by the council. She begged, she implored, leave to march. But when they could answer nothing further, they granted that perhaps it had been a mistake to let the army waste away. But how could we help it now? How could we march without an army? Raise one, said Joan. But it will take six weeks. No matter. Begin. Let us begin. It is too late. Without doubt the Duke of Bedford has been gathering troops to push to the sucker of his strongholds on the Loire. Yes, while we have been disbanding ours and pit it is. But we must throw away no more time. We must bestow ourselves. The King objected that he could not venture toward Reims with those strong places on the Loire in his path. But Joan said, We will break them up. Then you can march. With that plan the King was willing to venture ascent. He could sit around out of danger while the road was being cleared. Joan came back in great spirits. Straightway everything was stirring. Proclamations were issued calling for men. A recruiting camp was established at Cell in Berry, and the Commons and the Nobles began to flock to it with enthusiasm. A deal of the month of May had been wasted, and yet by the 6th of June Joan had swept together a new army and was ready to march. She had eight thousand men. Think of that. Think of gathering together such a body as that in that little region. And these were veteran soldiers, too. In fact, most of the men in France were soldiers, when you came to that, for the wars had lasted generations now. Yes, most Frenchmen were soldiers, and admirable runners, too, both by practice and inheritance. They had done next to nothing but run for near a century. But that was not their fault. They had had no fair and proper leadership, at least leaders with a fair and proper chance. Away back King and Court got the habit of being treacherous to the leaders. Then the leaders easily got the habit of disobeying the King and going their own way, each for himself and nobody for the lot. Nobody could win victories that way, hence running became the habit of the French troops, and no wonder. Yet all that those troops needed in order to be good fighters was a leader who would attend strictly to business, a leader with all authority in his hands, in place of a tenth of it, along with nine other generals equipped with an equal tenth a piece. They had a leader rightly clothed with authority now, and with a head and heart bent on war with the most intensely business-like and earnest sort. And there would be results. No doubt of that. They had Joan of Arc, and under that leadership their legs would lose the art and mystery of running. Yes, Joan was in great spirits. She was here and there and everywhere, all over the camp, by day and by night, pushing things. And wherever she came charging down the lines, reviewing the troops, it was good to hear them break out and cheer. And nobody could help cheering. She was such a vision of young bloom and beauty and grace, and such an incarnation of pluck and life and go. She was growing more and more ideally beautiful every day, as was plain to be seen. And these were days of development, for she was well past seventeen now. In fact, she was getting close upon seventeen and a half, indeed just a little woman, as you may say. The two young Counts de Laval arrived one day. Fine young fellows, allied to the greatest and most illustrious houses of France, and they could not rest till they had seen Joan of Arc. So the King sent for them and presented them to her, and you may believe she filled the bill of their expectations. When they heard that rich voice of hers, they must have thought it was a flute. And when they saw her deep eyes and her face, and the soul that looked out of that face, you could see that the sight of her stirred them like a poem, like lofty eloquence, like martial music. One of them wrote home to his people, and in his letter he said, It seemed something divine to see her and hear her. Ah, yes, it was a true word. Trueer word was never spoken. He saw her when she was ready to begin her march and open the campaign, and this is what he said about it. She was closed all in white armor, save her head, and in her hand she carried a little battle-axe, and when she was ready to mount her great black horse, he reared and plunged and would not let her. Then she said, Lead him to the cross. This cross was in front of the church close by, so they led him there. Then she mounted, and he never budged, any more than if he had been tied. Then she turned toward the door of the church and said in her soft, womanly voice, You priests and people of the church, make processions and pray to God for us. Then she spurred away under her standard with her little-axe in her hand, crying, Forward, march! One of her brothers, who came eight days ago, departed with her, and he also was clad all in white armor. I was there, and I saw it too, saw it all, just as he pictures it. And I see it yet, the little battle-axe, the dainty-plumed cap, the white armor, all in the soft June afternoon. I see it just as if it were yesterday. And I rode with the staff, the personal staff, the staff of Joan of Arc. That young Count was dying to go too, but the King held him back for the present. But Joan had made him a promise. In his letter he said, She told me that when the King starts for Reims I shall go with him. But God grant I may not have to wait till then, but may have a part in the battles. She made him that promise when she was taking leave of my lady the Duchess de l'Ençon. The Duchess was exacting a promise, so it seemed a proper time for others to do the like. The Duchess was troubled for her husband, for she foresaw desperate fighting, and she held Joan to her breast and stroked her hair lovingly, and said, You must watch over him, dear, and take care of him, and send him back to me safe. I require it of you. I will not let you go till you promise. Joan said, I give you the promise with all my heart, and it is not just words. It is a promise. You shall have him back without a hurt. Do you believe? And are you satisfied with me now? The Duchess could not speak, but she kissed Joan on the forehead, and so they parted. We left on the sixth and stopped over at Remorantin. Then on the ninth Joan entered Orléans in state, under triumphal arches, with a welcoming cannon thundering and seas of welcoming flags fluttering in the breeze. The grand staff rode with her, closed in shining splendors of costume and decorations. The Duke de l'Ençon, the Bastard of Orléans, the Sire de Boussac, Marshal of France, the Lord de Grandville, the Master of the Crossbowmen, the Sire de Cullan, Admiral of France, Ambroise de l'Or, Etienne de Vignole, Cord de l'Aire, Gauthier de Roussac, and other illustrious captains. It was grand times. The usual shoutings and packed multitudes, the usual crush to get sight of Joan. But at last we crowded through to our old blodgings, and I saw old Boucher and the wife, and that dear Catherine gathered Joan to their hearts and smother her with kisses, and my heart ached for her so, for I could have kissed Catherine better than anybody and more and longer. Yet was not thought of for that office, and I so famished for it. Ah, she was so beautiful and so sweet! I had loved her the first day I ever saw her, and from that day forth she was sacred to me. I have carried her image in my heart for sixty-three years, all lonely there, yes, solitary, for it never has had company. And I am grown so old, so old, but it, oh, it is as fresh and young and merry and mischievous and lovely and sweet and pure and witching and divine as it was when it crept in there, bringing benediction and peace to its habitation so long ago, so long ago, for it has not aged a day.