he twenty-fifth, a strong army of Englishmen had entered
Paris. Whether their hearts were high may not be known, but on their
banner they had hung a distaff, and had painted the flag with the words--

"Ores viegne la Belle,"

meaning, "Let the fair Maid come, and we shall give her wool to spin."
Next we heard, and were loth to believe it, that a new truce of fifteen
days more had been made with Burgundy. The Maid, indeed, said openly
that she loved not the truce, and that she kept it only for the honour of
the King, which was dearer to her than her life, as she proved in the
end.

Then came marchings, this way and that, all about the Isle of France,
Bedford leaving Paris to fight the King, and then refusing battle, though
the Maid rode up to the English palisades, and smote them with her sword,
defying the English to come out, if they were men. So the English betook
them back to Paris, after certain light skirmishes only. Meanwhile some
of his good towns that had been in the hands of the English yielded to
the King, or rather to the Maid. Among these the most notable was
Compiegne, a city as great as Orleans. Many a time it had been taken and
retaken in the wars, but now the burgesses swore that they would rather
all die, with their wives and children, than open their gates again to
the English. And this oath they kept well, as shall be seen in the end.

CHAPTER XIX--HOW NORMAN LESLIE RODE AGAIN TO THE WARS

Tidings of these parleys, and marches, and surrenders of cities came to
us at Tours, the King sending letters to his good towns by messengers.
One of these, the very Thomas Scott of whom I have before spoken, a man
out of Rankelburn, in Ettrick Forest, brought a letter for me, which was
from Randal Rutherford.

"Mess-John Urquhart writes for me, that am no clerk," said Randal, "and,
to spare his pains, as he writes for the most of us, I say no more than
this: come now, or come never, for the Maid will ride to see Paris in
three days, or four, let the King follow or not as he will."

There was no more but a cross marked opposite the name of Randal
Rutherford, and the date of place and day, August the nineteenth, at
Compiegne.

My face fired, for I felt it, when I had read this, and I made no more
ado, but, covenanting with Thomas Scott to be with him when he rode forth
at dawn, I went home, put my harness in order, and hired a horse from him
that kept the hostelry of the "Hanging Sword," whi