ceded by a company of priests singing the _Veni
Creator_ as they marched.

Jeanne's plan of entry into Orleans was a very simple one. She desired
to march right in under the great forts defending the besieged city, to
flout the enemy, and cheer the desperate citizens by her daring. But the
captains of her army, although they had sworn to obey her every command,
were seasoned veterans in the art of war, and had no intention of
carrying out any plan of campaign laid out by a girl of seventeen, so
they wilfully disregarded her plan, and by so doing delayed their entry
into the city for weary hours, and in the end were obliged to enter in
the very way planned by their young Commander. When at last, at night,
attended by troops of torch bearers, Jeanne went into Orleans sitting
proudly erect on her great white horse, and the people of the city saw
first the Maid who had come to their relief, they could but wonder at
sight of her girlish figure, in its shining armour, and the radiant
young face carried inspiration and comfort to their wearied hearts. So
eager were they to touch her or her horse that in crowding near, a torch
touched her banner, and set it on fire, but wheeling around lightly, she
crushed out the flame, as though she had long been an expert in such
deeds. Then she and her company went to the Cathedral of St. Croix to
return thanks for having entered the city, and afterwards were lodged
for the night at the house of the Duc's treasurer, where Jeanne shared
the room of her host's nine-year-old daughter and slept as sweetly and
soundly as the child herself.

Then followed fifteen days of hard fighting, for the enemy manfully
resisted the onslaught of Jeanne's army, but at last, the English,
vanquished, were obliged to retreat, telling marvellous tales of the
Maid who was less than an angel, more than a soldier, and only a girl
who had done this thing.

The attack on the city had begun at six in the morning and lasted for
thirteen hours, and was indeed a marvellous assault on both sides. A
hundred times the English mounted the walls, and a hundred times were
thrown back into the moat, and the Maid with her floating banner, was
everywhere at once, encouraging her men with the ringing cry, "Fear not.
The place is yours!" Then she received a wound in her shoulder above the
breast, and at the first flash of severe pain, like any other girl, she
shivered with fear, and hot tears came, while they carried her off the