The greater Generals looked at her and at one another, speaking no

word. The walls and battlements of St. Loup were strong and well
defended. The tower could spout fire and smoke like a living
monster. Already the troops had marched far and fought hotly.
Surely if assault were to be made it should wait for another day.
Thus they communed together a stone's throw from the Maid; but she
only looked upon them with her deep inward smile, and softly I
heard her speak the words:

"No, it must be done today."

De Gamache rode up, and some half dozen other officers with him.
His face was stained with blood and blackened by smoke. He had a
scarf bound about his left arm; but his bearing was bold and
resolute, and though his cheek flushed at the clear, direct gaze of
the Maid's eyes, he neither faltered nor trembled as he stood
before her.

"You did desire a good thing, my Captain," she said, "and had you
told me of your brave wish, I would have put myself at your head
and led you to victory forthwith. Yet this victory has not been
forfeited, only delayed by your eager rashness. Say, if I lead you
myself, this very hour, against yon frowning tower, will you follow
me like brave soldiers of the Cross, and not turn back till my Lord
has given us the victory? For He will deliver yon place into our
hands, albeit not without bloodshed, not without stress or strife.
Many must be slain ere we can call it ours, but will you follow and
take it?"

The shout which arose from a thousand throats rang to the welkin,
and methinks must have smote with dread import upon the English
ears. The Maid's voice seemed to float through the air, and
penetrate to the extreme limits of the crowd, or else her words
were taken up and repeated by a score of eager tongues, and so ran
through the mighty muster with thrilling import. The eyes were
dazzled by the flashing blades as men swung them above their heads.

"Lead us, O Maid, lead us! We follow to death or victory! We fear
nothing so that you are our leader and our guide!"

There was no withstanding a spirit like that! La Hire's voice was
one of the foremost in the cry; his great blade the first to leap
from its scabbard. Sage counsels of war, prompted by experience,
had to give way before a power different from anything which the
veterans had known before. With a dash, the elan of which was a
marvellous sight to see, the soldiers poured themselves like a
living stream against the walls of St. Loup. The English behind the
fortifications rained upon them missiles of every description. The
air was darkened by a cloud of arrows. The cannon from the walls
belched forth smoke and flame, and great stone and iron balls came
hurtling down into our midst, dealing death and destruction. The
English soldiers with their characteristic daring sallied forth
sword in hand to beat us back and yet we pressed on and ever on;
driven backwards here and there by stress of fighting; but never
giving great way, and always rallied by the sight of that gleaming
white armour, and by the clear, sweet voice ringing out through all
the tumult of arms.

"Courage, my children, courage. The fight is fierce; but my Lord
gives you the victory. A little more courage, a little more
patience, and the day is ours!"

She stood unscathed amid the hail of stones and arrows. Her clear
glance never quailed; her sweet voice never faltered; she had
thought for everyone but herself. Again and again with her own
hands she snatched some follower from a danger unseen by him, but
which a moment later would have been his death. She herself stood
unmoved in the awful tumult. She even smiled when Dunois and La
Hire would have drawn her from the hottest of the fighting.

"No, no, my friends, my place is here. Have no fear. I shall not
suffer. I have guardians watching over me that you wot not of."

And so she stood unmoved at the foot of the tower, till the
English, overcome with amaze, gave up the defence, and fled from a
place they believed must surely be bewitched.

And as the last of the sunlight faded from the sky, the fortress of
St. Loup was ours. The Maid had fought her first battle, and had
triumphed.



CHAPTER XI. HOW THE MAID BORE TRIUMPH AND TROUBLE.


The people of Orleans, and we her knights and followers, were
well-nigh wild with joy. I do not think I had ever doubted how she
would bear herself in battle; and yet my heart had sometimes
trembled at the thought of it. For, after all, speaking humanly,
she was but a girl, a gentle maid, loving and tender-hearted, to
whom the sight of suffering was always a sorrow and a pain. And to
picture a young girl, who had perhaps never seen blows struck in
anger in her life--save perchance in some village brawl--suddenly
set in the midst of a battle, arms clashing, blood flowing, all the
hideous din of warfare around her, exposed to all its fearful risks
and perils--was it strange we should ask ourselves how she would
bear it? Was it wonderful that her confidence and calmness and
steadfast courage under the trial should convince us, as never
perhaps we had been convinced before, of the nearness of those
supernatural beings who guarded her so closely, who warned her of
danger, who inspired her with courage, and yet never robbed her for
one moment of the grace and beauty and crown of her pure womanhood?

And so, whilst we were well-nigh mad with joy and triumph, whilst
joy bells pealed from the city, and the soldiers and citizens were
ready to do her homage as a veritable saint from heaven, she was
just her own quiet, thoughtful, retiring self. She put aside the
plaudits of the Generals; she hushed the excited shouting of the
soldiers. She exercised her authority to check and stop the
carnage, to insist that quarter should be given to all who asked
it, to see that the wounded upon both sides were carried into the
city to receive attention and care, and in particular that the
prisoners--amongst whom were several priests--should receive humane
treatment, and escape any sort of insult or reprisal.

These matters occupied her time and thought to the exclusion of any
personal pride or triumph. It was with difficulty that the Generals
could persuade her to ride at their head into the city, to receive
the applause and joyful gratitude of the people; and as soon as she
could without discourtesy extricate herself from the crowd pressing
round to kiss her hands or her feet, or even the horse upon which
she rode, she slipped away to give orders that certain badly
wounded English prisoners were to be carried to the Treasurer's
house, and laid in the spacious guest chamber, which, having been
prepared for her own reception, had been permitted to no one else.
Here she begged of Madame Boucher permission to lodge them, that
she might tend their hurts herself, and assure herself that all was
well with them.

No one could deny the Maid those things she asked, knowing well
that others in her place would have issued commands without
stooping to petition. But with the Maid it was never so. Her gentle
courtesy never deserted her. No association with men, no military
dignity of command, which she could so well assume, ever tarnished
the lustre of her sweet humility. A gentle maiden, full of
tenderness and compassion, she showed herself now. Instead of
resting after the sore strife of the battle, which had exhausted
even strong men, nothing would serve her but that she must herself
dress the wounds of these English prisoners; and so deft was her
touch, and so soft and tender her methods with them, that not a
groan passed the lips of any of them; they only watched her with
wondering eyes of gratitude; and when she had left the room they
looked at each other and asked:

"Who is it? Is it boy, or angel, or what? The voice is as the voice
of a woman, and the touch is as soft; but the dress is the dress of
a man. Who can it be?"

I understood them, for I knew something of the English tongue, and
I saw that they were in great amazement; for all who had seen the
Maid bore her image stamped upon their hearts; and yet it was
impossible for these prisoners of war to believe that the
triumphant, angelic Commander of the Forces could stoop to tend the
hurts of wounded prisoners with her own hands.

"Gentlemen," I said, "that is the Angelic Maid herself--she who has
been sent of Heaven for the deliverance of France. I trow that you
soldiers and knights of England have called her witch, and
threatened to burn her if you can lay hands upon her. Perchance now
that you have seen her thus face to face, your thoughts towards her
will somewhat change."

They gazed at me and at one another in amaze. They broke into
questions, eager and full of curiosity. When I had answered them
they were ready to tell me what was spoken of her in the English
ranks; all averred that some strange power seemed to fall upon them
with the advent of the Maid into the city--a power that withheld
them from sallying forth to hinder her coming, or that of the
relieving army.

"We had meant to fight her to the death," spoke one English knight.
"I was in counsel with the Generals when it was so proposed; and
yet more resolved were we to keep out the army from Blois, which we
heard must needs pass straight through our lines--an easy prey, we
said, to our gunners, archers and swordsmen. All was in readiness
for the attack--and yet no word was ever given. No trumpet sounded,
though the men were drawn up ready. We all stood to arms; but the
sight of that dazzling white figure seemed to close the lips of our
commanders, to numb the limbs of our soldiers. I can say no more.
When the chance was gone--the hour passed--we gazed into each
other's face as men awaking from a dream. We cursed ourselves. We
cursed the witch who had bound us by her spells. We vowed to redeem
and revenge ourselves another day. And when we saw the French
issuing forward to the attack scarce two hours after the entry of
the relieving army, and there was no white figure with them, then
indeed did we tell ourselves that our time was come; and we thought
to win a speedy victory over the men who had so often fled before
us. Yet you know how the day did end. The Maid came--victory rode
beside her! Nought we could do availed when she appeared. I had
thought to be left to die upon the battlefield, but behold I am
here, and she has dressed my wounds with her own hands! It is
wonderful! Past belief! Tell me who and what is she? A creature of
earth or of heaven?"

I had already told him all I knew; but they were never tired of
hearing the story of the Maid; and as I, at her request, watched
beside them during the night, ministering to their wants, and doing
what I was able to relieve their pain, I found that nothing so
helped them to forget the smart of their wounds as the narration of
all the wonderful words and deeds of this Heavenly Deliverer of
France.

They were frank enough on their side also, and told me much of the
disposition of their forces, and how that they were expecting a
strong army to join them quickly, headed by Sir John Fastolffe, a
notable knight, whose name we well knew, and had trembled before
ere this. They admitted that their ranks were somewhat thinned by
disease and death, and that they had scarce sufficient force both
to maintain all the bastilles erected on the north side of the
river and also to hold the great forts of Les Tourelles and Les
Augustins on the south; but that when the reinforcements should
arrive all would be well, and but for the marvellous power of the
Maid, they would have felt no doubt whatever as to the speedy
reduction of the city either by assault or blockade.

With the first golden shafts of sunlight came the Maid once more,
little Charlotte beside her, both bearing in their hands such
cooling drinks and light sustenance as the condition of the wounded
men required. The Maid wore the white, silver embroidered tunic and
silken hose which Queen Yolande had provided for her indoor dress;
she carried no arms, and her clustering curls framed her lovely
face like a nimbus. All eyes were fixed upon her as upon a vision,
and as she bent over each wounded man in turn, asking him of his
welfare and holding a cup to his lips, I could see the amazement
deepening in their eyes; and I am sure that they were well-nigh
ready to worship the ground upon which she trod, so deep was the
impression made upon them by her beauty and her gentle treatment.

When she left the room I followed her at her sign, and asked:

"Then you go not forth to battle today, General?"

"Nay," she replied, "for today the Church keeps the blessed Feast
of the Ascension; which should be to all a day of peace and
thanksgiving and holy joy. I am going forthwith to hear Mass and
receive the Holy Sacrament; and I would have my faithful knights
about me. Let us forget warfare and strife for this day."

Her own face was transfigured as she spoke. The light shone upon it
all the time that she knelt before the high altar in the Cathedral,
rapt in a mystery of thanksgiving and heavenly joy. O how real it
all was to her--those things which were to us articles of faith,
grounds of hope, yet matters which seemed too far above us to
arouse that personal rapture which was shining from the eyes and
irradiating the whole face of the Maid.

It was a beautiful beginning to the day; and all the early hours
were spent by the Maid in meditation and prayer within the walls of
the Cathedral, where the people flocked, as perhaps they had never
done before, to give thanks for the mercies received with the
advent of the Maid, and to gaze upon her, as she knelt in a trance
of rapture and devotion in her appointed place not far from the
altar. We, her knights, went to and fro, some of us always near to
her, that the crowd might not too curiously press upon her when she
went forth, or disturb her devotions by too close an approach.

I noted that none of the Generals appeared or took part in the acts
of devotion that day. And as I issued forth into the sunny street
at the close of the High Mass, Bertrand met me with a look of
trouble and anger on his face.

"They are all sitting in council of war together," he said, "and
they have not even told her of it, nor suffered her to join them!
How can they treat her so--even Dunois and La Hire--when they have
seen again and yet again how futile are all plans made by their
skill without the sanction of her voice? It makes my gorge rise! Do
they think her a mere beautiful image, to ride before them and
carry a white banner to affright the foe? It is a shame, a shame,
that they should treat her so, after all that they have seen and
heard!"

I was as wroth as Bertrand, and as full of surprise. Even now,
looking back after all these years, the blindness of these men of
war astonishes and exasperates me. They had seen with their own
eyes what the Maid could accomplish; again and again she had proved
herself the abler in counsel as in fight; and yet they now
deliberately desired to set her aside from their councils, and only
inform her of their decisions when made, and permit her to take a
share in the fighting they had planned.

Bertrand was furiously angry. He led me up into a lofty turret
which commanded a bird's-eye view of the whole city and its
environs, and he pointed out that which the Maid had declared she
would straightway do, so soon as the Feast of the Ascension was
over, and how the Generals were about to follow a quite different
course.

Orleans, as all men know, lies upon the right--the north--bank of
the Loire, and the country to the north was then altogether in the
power of the English; wherefore they had built their great
bastilles around the city upon that side without molestation, and
were able to receive supplies from their countrymen without let or
hindrance.

But these bastilles were not the chiefest danger to the city, or
rather I should say, it was not these which were the chiefest cause
of peril, since no help could reach the garrison from that side.
They looked to the country to the south to help them, and it was to
stop supplies from reaching them by water or from the south that
the English had long since crossed the river and had established
themselves in certain forts along the south bank. Of these, St.
Jean le Blanc was one; but by far the most important and dangerous
to the city were the two great towers commanding the bridge, whose
names I have given before. Let me explain how these great
fortifications stood.

Les Augustins had once been a convent, and it stood on the south
bank, very near to the end of the bridge, guarding it securely from
attack, and commanding the waterway and the approach to the city.
Les Tourelles was an even stronger tower, constructed upon the very
bridge itself, and menacing the town in formidable fashion. Dunois
had broken down the main portion of the bridge on the north side to
prevent the advance into the city of the English from their tower;
so it stood grimly isolated from either bank; for the permanent
bridge at the south end had been destroyed to be replaced by a
drawbridge which could rise or fall at will.

And it was these towers of Les Augustins and Les Tourelles which
had reduced the city to such straits by hindering the entrance of
food supplies. Moreover, from Les Tourelles great stone cannon
balls had been hurled into the city in vast numbers, battering down
walls and doing untold damage to buildings and their inhabitants.

Now it was evident to all that these fortresses must be taken if
the city were to be relieved and the siege raised. But the Maid,
with her far-seeing eyes, had decreed that first the bastilles upon
the north bank should be attacked and destroyed; and it was easy to
follow her reasoning; "For," she said, "when the English are
fiercely attacked there, they will, without doubt, yield up these
lesser fortresses without a great struggle, concentrating
themselves in force upon the left bank, where they think to do us
most hurt. We shall then destroy their bastilles, so that they will
have no place of shelter to fly back to; and then we shall fall
upon them hip and thigh on the south side, and drive them before us
as chaff before the wind. They must needs then disperse themselves
altogether, having no more cover to hide themselves in; so will the
enemies of the Lord be dispersed, and the siege of Orleans be
raised."

This was the plan she had confided to her own immediate attendants
and staff the previous evening, and which Bertrand repeated to me,
gazing over the ramparts, and pointing out each fortress and
bastion as it was named. But now the Generals in Council, without
reference to the Maid, had decreed something altogether different.
What they desired to do was not to make any real or vigorous attack
upon any of the English forts, but to feign an assault upon the
towers on the south bank, and whilst the attention of the foe was
thus engaged, get great quantifies of stores--all lying in
readiness at hand--into the city, enough to last for a long while,
and then quietly sit down behind the strong walls, and tire out the
English, forcing them thus to retreat of their own accord!

Think of it! After all that had been promised, all that had been
performed! To be content to shut ourselves in a well-provisioned
town, and just weary out the patience of the foe! And, moreover, of
a foe who expected daily reinforcements from the north, and who
would be quite capable of exercising as much patience, and perhaps
more daring than ourselves.

Even now my blood boils at the thought, and I find it hard to
conceive how such men as Dunois and La Hire let themselves be led
from their allegiance and confidence in the Maid to listen to such
counsel as this from her detractors, and those many lesser
commanders who were sorely jealous of her success and influence.
But so it was, not once nor twice, but again and again; though in
action they were staunch to her, would follow her everywhere, rally
round her standard, fly to her defence when danger threatened, and
show themselves gallant soldiers and generous-hearted men, never
denying her all her share of praise and honour. But when sitting in
the council room, surrounded by officers and men of experience in
war disposed to scorn the counsels of an unlettered girl, and scoff
at her pretensions to military rule, they were invariably led away
and overborne, agreeing to act without her sanction, or even
contrary to her advice, notwithstanding their belief in her
mission, and their trust in her power as a leader.

The shades of evening had fallen in the Treasurer's house before
word was brought to the Maid of the decision of the Generals in
Council. We were sitting around her after supper; and she had
fallen into a very thoughtful mood. The Chevalier d'Aulon had been
called away, and now returned with a troubled face. He stood just
within the doorway, as though half afraid to advance. The Maid
lifted her eyes to his and smiled.

"Do not fear to tell me your news, my kind friend. I know that your
faithful heart is sore at the dishonour done to me; but let us not
judge harshly. It is hard for men full of courage and fleshly power
to understand how the Lord works with such humble instruments.
Perchance, in their place, we should not be greatly different.

"So they have refused my plan, and made one of their own. We are to
attack the foe upon the south? Is that agreed? And even so not with
all our heart and strength?"

D'Aulon recoiled a step in amaze.

"Madame, that is indeed so--a feint upon the south bank has been
decreed, whilst provisions are thrown into the city--"

"Yes, yes, I know. Well, so be it. We will attack on the south
bank. It must have come sooner or later, and if we fight with a
will, the Lord will be with us and uphold our cause. But, my
friends, understand this, and let the men likewise understand it.
There shall be no mockery of fighting. It shall be true and
desperate warfare. Let the Generals decree what they will, the Maid
will lead her soldiers to victory! Tomorrow Les Augustins shall be
ours; upon the next day Les Tourelles shall fall--" she paused
suddenly and turned towards Bertrand.

"What day will that be--the day after to-morrow?"

"The seventh day of May," he answered at once.

"Ah!" she said, "then it will be on that day--the day which shall
see Orleans relieved--the power of the English broken."

She spoke dreamily, and only Madame Boucher, who sat in the shadows
with her child upon her lap, ventured to ask of her:

"What will be on that day, gentle Jeanne?"

"That I shall be wounded," she answered quietly.

"Did I not tell you long since," turning to Bertrand and me, "that
I should not come unscathed through the assault; but that on a
certain day I should receive a wound?"

I pulled out my tablets, upon which I often recorded the sayings of
the Maid, and sure enough there it was written down as she said. We
felt a great burning revolt at the thought of any hurt befalling
her, and somebody spoke vehemently, saying that the holy Saints
would surely protect her from harm. But she lifted her hand with
her gentle authority of gesture, and spoke:

"Nay, my kind friends, but thus it must needs be; nor would I have
it otherwise. Listen, and I will tell you all. I often had my days
and hours of fear because this great work was put upon one so weak
and ignorant as I, and it was long before I clearly understood that
I was but the instrument in a mighty Hand, and that power for all
would be given me. Then my fear left and great joy came; perhaps
even some pride and haughtiness of spirit in that I had been chosen
for such a task.

"And then it was that my voices asked of me: 'Jeanne, hast thou no
fear?'

"And I answered without pause, 'I fear nothing now.'

"Then St. Catherine herself suddenly appeared to me in a great
white light and said: 'Child, thou art highly favoured of heaven;
but the flesh is easily puffed up. And for this cause, and because
it may be well that thou thyself and all men shall know that thou
art but human flesh and blood, thou shalt not escape unscathed in
warfare; but thou too shalt feel the sting of fiery dart, and know
the scald of flowing blood.'

"I bowed my head and made answer I would bear whatever my Lord
thought fit to lay upon me; and I asked if I might know when this
thing would happen. It was not told me then; but later it was
revealed to me; and I know that upon the seventh day of May I shall
be wounded--" and she touched her right shoulder as she spoke, just
below the neck.

"But what matter will that be, when the siege of Orleans shall be
raised?"

Her face was aglow; nothing could touch her joy, not the insults of
the proud Generals, nor the knowledge of coming pain for herself.
Her thought was all of the mission entrusted to her; and so, though
thwarted and set aside, she showed no petty anger, dreamed not of
any paltry vengeance such as others might have dealt the soldiers,
by refusing to march with them on the morrow. Oh, no; hurt she
might be--indeed we knew she was--her pain being for the dishonour
done her Lord in this disrespect of His messenger; but no thought
of reprisal entered her head. She rose from her seat, and lifted
the little Charlotte in her strong young arms.

"Gentlemen, let us early to rest," she said, holding her head
proudly, "for tomorrow a great work shall be done, and we must all
have our share in it."



CHAPTER XII. HOW THE MAID RAISED THE SIEGE.


To tell the tale of how Les Augustins was taken is but to tell
again the tale of St Loup.

I know not precisely what instructions the lesser officers
received, nor what they told their men. But whether from
preconcerted arrangement that the attack was only to be a feint, or
whether from the dash and energy of the English, it appeared at
first as though the tide of war was rolling back in its old track,
and that the prowess of the English as destined to win the day.

For one thing the assault was commenced before the Maid had crossed
the river and could put herself at the head of the men. A large
body of troops had been transported to the south side in boats
during the night, under cover of darkness; and this was all very
well; but they should have waited hen daylight came for the Maid to
march at their head, instead of which they sought to rush the
fortress before ever she had appeared at all; and when we arrived
at the river's bank, it was to see a furious battle raging round
the base of Les Augustins, and ere we were half across the river,
we saw only too plainly that the French were being badly beaten,
were fleeing in all directions from the pursuing foe, and were
making for the river bank once more as fast as their legs could
carry them.

The Maid watched it all, with that strange, inscrutable look upon
her face, and that battle light in her eyes which we were all
learning to know. She was sitting upon her horse; for though a
number of animals had been taken across in the night, no horse of
hers had been so conducted, and we had led the creature with its
rider into the great flat-bottomed boat; so that she was on a
higher level than the rest of us, and could better see what was
passing, though it was plain to all that our soldiers were getting
badly beaten.

"O foolish children, silly sheep!" murmured the Maid as she
watched, "and yet you are not to blame, but those who lead you.
When will they understand? When will they believe?"

We reached the shore, and the Maid, without waiting for any of us
to mount or form a bodyguard round her, leaped her horse to the
bank, and charged up it, her pennon flying, her eyes alight with
the greatness of her purpose.

But even as she climbed the slippery bank, a great rush of flying
soldiers met her, and by their sheer weight forced back horse and
rider almost to the river's brink before they were aware who or
what it was.

Then her silver trumpet voice rang out. She called upon them to
reform, to follow her. She cried that her Lord would give them the
victory, and almost before we who had accompanied her had formed
into rank for the charge, the flying, panic-stricken men from the
front, ashamed and filled with fresh ardour, had turned themselves
about, closed up their scattered ranks, and were ready to follow
her whithersoever she might lead them.

Yet it was to no speedy victory she urged them. No angel with a
flaming sword came forth to fight and overcome as by a miracle. But
it was enough for that white-clad figure to stand revealed in the
thickest of the carnage to animate the men to heroic effort. As I
say, it was the story of St. Loup over again; but if anything the
fighting was more severe. What the Generals had meant for a mere
feint, the Maid turned into a desperate battle. The English were
reinforced many times; it seemed as though we had a hopeless task
before us. But confidence and assurance of victory were in our
hearts as we saw our Deliverer stand in the thick of the fight and
heard her clarion voice ringing over the field. Ere the shades of
night fell, not only was Les Augustins ours, but its stores of food
and ammunition had been safely transported into the city, and the
place so destroyed and dismantled that never again could it be a
source of peril to the town.

And now the Maid's eyes were fixed full upon the frowning bulk of
Les Tourelles, rising grim and black against the darkening sky,
with its little "tower of the Boulevard," on this side the
drawbridge. Thither had the whole English force retired--all who
were not lying dead or desperately wounded on the plain or round
the gutted tower of Les Augustins--we saw their threatening faces
looking down fiercely upon us, and heard the angry voices from the
walls, heaping abuse and curses upon the "White Witch," who had
wrought them this evil.

"Would that we could attack at once!" spoke the Maid. "Would that
the sun would stay his course! Truly I do believe that we should
carry all before us!"

The leaders came up to praise and glorify her prowess. They heard
her words, but answered how that the men must needs have a night's
rest ere they tried this second great feat of arms. But, they
added, there should be no going back into the city, no delay on the
morrow in crossing the river.

It was a warm summer-like night. Provisions were abundant, shelter
could be obtained beneath the walls of the captured citadel. They,
with the bulk of the army, would remain on the south bank for the
nonce, and the Maid should return to the city with the convoys of
wounded, to spend a quiet night there, returning with the dawn of
the morrow to renew the attack and take Les Tourelles.

Thus they spoke, and spoke suavely and courteously. But I did note
a strange look in the eyes of the Maid; and I wondered why it was
that Dunois, the speaker, grew red and stumbled over his words,
whilst that La Hire, who had done a giant's work in the fighting
that day, ground his teeth and looked both ashamed and disturbed.

The Maid stood a brief while as though in doubt. But then she made
quiet reply:

"Then, gentlemen, it shall be as you will. I will return to the
city for the night. But with the dawn of day I will be here, and
Les Tourelles shall be ours. The siege of Orleans shall be raised!"

They bowed low to her; every one of them made obeisance. Yet was
there something ironical in the very humility of some? I could not
tell; yet my heart burned within me as I followed our mistress; and
never had I known her so silent as she was upon our journey back,
or as we sat at supper, the rest of us telling of the day's doings,
but the Maid speechless, save when she bent her head to answer some
eager question of little Charlotte's, or to smile at her childish
prattle.

Suddenly the door was flung open, and Sir Guy strode in with a face
like a thundercloud. Behind him came a messenger sent by the
Generals to the Maid, and this was the news he brought:

There had been a council held after dark, and it was then
unanimously agreed that all now had been done that was necessary.
The city was provisioned, the power of the English had been greatly
weakened and broken. The army would now be content with the triumphs
already won, and would quietly await further reinforcements before
taking any fresh step.

The man who brought this message faltered as he delivered it. The
Maid sat very still and quiet, her head lifted in a dignified but
most expressive disdain.

"Monsieur," she replied, when the envoy ceased speaking, "go back
to those who sent you. Tell them that they have had their council
and I have had mine. I leave the city at dawn as I have said. I
return not to it till the siege has been raised."

The man bowed and retired confusedly. The Maid lifted the little
child in her arms, as was her wont, to carry her to bed. She turned
to her chaplain as she did so:

"Come to me at dawn, my father, to hear my confession; and I pray
you accompany me upon the morrow; for my blood will be shed. But do
not weep or fear for me, my friends, nor spread any banquet for me
ere I start forth upon the morrow; but keep all for my return in
the evening, when I will come to you by the bridge."

She was gone as she spoke, and we gazed at her and each other in
amaze; for how could she come back by a bridge which had been
destroyed, and how did she brook such slights as were heaped upon
her without showing anger and hurt pride?

"And there is worse yet to come!" cried Sir Guy in a fury of rage,
"for I lingered behind to hear and see. If you will believe it,
there are numbers and numbers of the lesser officers who would
desire that the Maid should now be told that her work is done, and
that she can retire to her home in Domremy; that the King will come
himself with another reinforcing army to raise the siege, so that
they may get rid of her, and take the glory to themselves whenever
the place shall be truly relieved. Could you believe such folly,
such treachery?"

We could not; we could scarce believe our ears, and right glad was
I to hear how that La Hire had had no part in this shameful
council; and I hope that Dunois had not either, though I fear me he
was less staunch.

La Hire had returned to the city to seek to infuse into the
citizens some of the spirit of the Maid. He was always for bold
attack, and would be ready on the morrow, we did not doubt, for
whatever might betide.

It was little after dawn when we rode forth, the Maid in her white
armour at our head, carrying her small pennon, whilst D'Aulon bore
the great white standard close behind. Her face was pale and rapt.
None of us spoke to her, and Pasquerel, her good chaplain, rode
behind telling his beads as he went.

We reached the Burgundy Gate; and behold it was fast shut. At the
portal stood De Gaucourt, a notable warrior, with a grim look about
his mouth. The Maid saluted him courteously, and quietly bid him
open the gate. But he budged not an inch.

"Madam," he said, "I have my commands from the Generals of the
army. The gate is to remain shut. No one is to be suffered to pass
forth today."

We understood in a moment. This was a ruse to trap the Maid within
the city walls. Our hands were upon the hilts of our swords. At a
word from her, they would have flashed forth, and De Gaucourt would
have been a dead man had he sought to hinder us in the opening of
the gate. But the Maid read our purpose in our eyes and in our
gestures, and she stayed us by her lifted hand.

"Not so, my friends," she answered gravely, "but the Chevalier de
Gaucourt will himself order the opening of the gate. I have to ride
through it and at once. My Lord bids it!"

Her eyes flashed full and suddenly upon him. We saw him quiver from
head to foot. With his own hands he unlocked the gate, and it
seemed to swing of its own accord wide open before us. The Maid
bent her head in gracious acknowledgment, swept through and was off
to the river like a flash of white lightning.

The river lay golden in the glory of the morning. The boats which