ome on, I shall not fly away," she cried,
with, one hopes, a laugh of confident innocence and good-humour, in face
of those significant gestures and the terrified looks of all about her.
French art has been unkind to Jeanne, occupying itself very little about
her till recently; but her short career is full of pictures. Here the
simple page grows bright with the ancient houses and highly coloured
crowd: the frightened and eager faces at every window, the white warrior
in the midst, sending forth a thousand rays from the polished steel
and silver of breastplate and helmet: and the brown Franciscan monk
advancing amid a shower of water drops, a mysterious repetition of
signs. It gives us an extraordinary epitome of the history of France at
that period to turn from this scene to the wild enthusiasm of Orleans,
its crowd of people thronging about her, its shouts rending the air;
while Troyes was full of terror, doubt, and ill-will, though its nearest
neighbour, so to speak, the next town, and so short a distance away.

A little later in the same day, the next after the surrender, Jeanne,
riding with her standard by the side of the King, conducted him to the
cathedral where he confirmed his previous promises and received the
homage of the town. It was a beautiful sight, the chronicle tells us, to
see all these magnificent people, so well dressed and well mounted; "_il
feroit tres beau voir._"

The fate of Troyes decided that of Chalons, the only other important
town on the way, the gates of which were thrown open as Charles and his
army, which grew and increased every day, proceeded on its road. Every
promise of the Maid had been so far accomplished, both in the greater
object and in the details: and now there was nothing between Charles the
disinherited and almost ruined Dauphin of three months ago, trying to
forget himself in the seclusion and the sports of Chinon--and the sacred
ceremonial which drew with it every tradition and every assurance of an
ancient and lawful throne.

Jeanne had her little adventure, personal to herself on the way. Though
there were neither posts nor telegraphs in those days, there has always
been a strange swift current in the air or soil which has conveyed news,
in a great national crisis, from one end of the country to the other. It
was not so great a distance to Domremy on the Meuse from Troyes on the
Loire, and it appears that a little group of peasants, bolder than the
rest, had come forth