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 labor and talent what those
others get by chance. It was No‰l 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 awed
voice, “‘Ssh!–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
bastilles on the other side of the river; and in the evening, seeking
further, he found a deserter from the fortress called the
“Augustins,” who said that the English were going to send me 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 bastilles 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
leave 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,
then 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 La Hire’s quarters
with orders for him and the Lord de Villars and Florent d’Illiers 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 huzza 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 ruse to revive their courage.
So she took position at the side of the road with her staff, and the
battalions swung by with a martial stride, huzzaing. Joan was
armed, except her head. She was wearing the cunning little velvet
cap with the 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 H“tel de
Ville at Rouen. She was looking about fifteen. The sight of
soldiers always set her blood to leaping, and lit the fires in her eyes