n itself throw a certain glory through the
dimness of the night, as she passed the gates and came into view by the
blaze of all the torches, and the lights in the windows, over the dark
swarming crowds of the citizens. Her white banner waving, her white
armour shining, it was little wonder that the throng that filled the
streets received the Maid "as if they had seen God descending among
them." "And they had good reason," says the Chronicle, "for they had
suffered many disturbances, labours, and pains, and, what is worse,
great doubt whether they ever should be delivered. But now all were
comforted, as if the siege were over, by the divine strength that was in
this simple Maid whom they regarded most affectionately, men, women, and
little children. There was a marvellous press around her to touch her
or the horse on which she rode, so much so that one of the torchbearers
approached too near and set fire to her pennon; upon which she touched
her horse with her spurs, and turning him cleverly, extinguished the
flame, as if she had long followed the wars."

There could have been nothing she resembled so much as St. Michael, the
warrior-angel, who, as all the world knew, was her chief counsellor and
guide, and who, no doubt, blazed, a familiar figure, from some window in
the cathedral to which this his living picture rode without a pause, to
give thanks to God before she thought of refreshment or rest. She spoke
to the people who surrounded her on every side as she went on through
the tumultuous streets, bidding them be of good courage and that if they
had faith they should escape from all their troubles. And it was only
after she had said her prayers and rendered her thanksgiving, that
she returned to the house selected for her--the house of an important
personage, Jacques Boucher, treasurer to the Duke of Orleans, not like
the humble places where she had formerly lodged. The houses of that age
were beautiful, airy and light, with much graceful ornament and solid
comfort, the arched and vaulted Gothic beginning to give place to those
models of domestic architecture which followed the Renaissance, with
their ample windows and pleasant space and breadth. There the table was
spread with a joyous meal in honour of this wonderful guest, to which,
let us hope, Dunois and La Hire and the rest did full justice. But
Jeanne was indifferent to the feast. She mixed with water the wine
poured for her into a silver cup, and dipped her br