been
admitted to repentance, and how, "seduced by the Prince of Lies, she had
fallen, O grief! 'like the dog which returns to his vomit.' Therefore,
we pronounce you to be a rotten limb, and, as such, to be lopped off
from the Church. We deliver you over to the secular power, praying it at
the same time to relax its sentence and to spare you death and the
mutilation of your members."

Deserted thus by the Church, she put her whole trust in God. She asked
for the cross. An Englishman handed her a cross which he made out of a
stick; she took it, rudely fashioned as it was, with not less devotion,
kissed it, and placed it under her garments, next to her skin. But what
she desired was the crucifix belonging to the Church, to have it before
her eyes till she breathed her last. The good huissier Massieu and
Brother Isambart interfered with such effect that it was brought her
from St. Sauveur's. While she was embracing this crucifix, and Brother
Isambart was encouraging her, the English began to think all this
exceedingly tedious; it was now noon at least; the soldiers grumbled,
and the captains called out: "What's this, priest; do you mean us to
dine here?"

Then, losing patience, and without waiting for the order from the
bailiff, who alone had authority to dismiss her to death, they sent two
constables to take her out of the hands of the priests. She was seized
at the foot of the tribunal by the men-at-arms, who dragged her to the
executioner with the words, "Do thy office." The fury of the soldiery
filled all present with horror; and many there, even of the judges, fled
the spot, that they might see no more.

When she found herself brought down to the market-place, surrounded by
English, laying rude hands on her, nature asserted her rights and the
flesh was troubled. Again she cried out, "O Rouen, thou art then to be
my last abode!" She said no more, and, in this hour of fear and trouble,
did not sin with her lips.

She accused neither her King nor her holy ones. But when she set foot on
the top of the pile, on viewing this great city, this motionless and
silent crowd, she could not refrain from exclaiming, "Ah! Rouen, Rouen,
much do I fear you will suffer from my death!" She who had saved the
people, and whom that people deserted, gave voice to no other sentiment
when dying--admirable sweetness of soul!--than that of compassion for
it.

She was made fast under the infamous placard, mitred with a mitre on
which was