d taken, upon which the Maid, indignant, flung
herself from her horse, and, seating herself on the ground beside the
unfortunate Englishman, took his bleeding head upon her lap and, sending
for a priest, made his departure from life at least as easy as pity and
spiritual consolation could make it on such a disastrous field. In all
the records there is no mention of any actual fighting on her part.
She stands in the thick of the flying arrows with her banner, exposing
herself to every danger; in moments of alarm, when her forces seem
flagging, she seizes and places a ladder against the wall for an
assault, and climbs the first as some say; but we never see her strike
a blow. On the banks of the Loire the fate of the mail-clad Glasdale,
hopeless in the strong stream underneath the ruined bridge, brought
tears to her eyes, and now all the excitement of the pursuit vanished
in an instant from her mind, when she saw the English man-at-arms dying
without the succour of the Church. Pity was always in her heart; she was
ever on the side of the angels, though an angel of war and not of peace.

It is perhaps because the numbers engaged were so few that this flight
or "Chasse de Patay," has not taken a more important place in the
records of French historians. In general it is only by means of Fontenoy
that the _amour propre_ of the French nation defends itself against the
overwhelming list of battles in which the English have had the better of
it. But this was probably the most complete victory that has ever been
gained over the stubborn enemy whom French tactics are so seldom able to
touch; and the conquerors were purely French without any alloy of alien
arms, except a few Scots, to help them. The entire campaign on the Loire
was one of triumph for the French arms, and of disaster for the English.
They--it is perhaps a point of national pride to admit it frankly--were
as well beaten as heart of Frenchman could desire, beaten not only in
the result, but in the conduct of the campaign, in heart and in courage,
in skill and in genius. There is no reason in the world why it should
not be admitted. But it was not the French generals, not even Dunois,
who secured these victories. It was the young peasant woman, the
dauntless Maid, who underneath the white mantle of her inspiration,
miraculous indeed, but not so miraculous as this, had already developed
the genius of a soldier, and who in her simplicity, thinking nothing
but of her "voic