e boats and planks
vanished, he might have taken shame to himself of his lack of faith.
Therefore I say it boldly, it was because of men's unbelief that the Maid
at Paris wrought no great works, save that she put her body in such
hazard of war as never did woman, nay, nor man, since the making of the
world.

I have no heart to speak more of this shameful matter, nor of these days
of anger and blasphemy. It was said and believed that her voices bade
the Maid abide at St. Denis till she should take Paris town, but the
King, and Charles de Bourbon, and the Archbishop of Reims refused to
hearken to her. On the thirteenth day of September, after dinner, the
King, with all his counsellors, rode away from St. Denis, towards Gien on
the Loire. The Maiden, for her part, hung up all her harness that she
had worn, save the sword of St. Catherine of Fierbois, in front of the
altar of Our Lady, and the blessed relics of St. Denis in the chapel.
Thereafter she rode, as needs she must, and we of her company with her,
to join the King, for so he commanded.

And now was the will of the Maid and of the Duc d'Alencon broken, and
broken was all that great army, whereof some were free lances out of many
lands, but more were nobles of France with their men, who had served
without price or pay, for love of France and of the Maid. Never again
were they mustered; nay when, after some weeks passed, the gentle Duc
d'Alencon prayed that he might have the Maiden with him, and burst into
Normandy, where the English were strongest, by the Marches of Maine, even
this grace was refused to him, by the malengin and ill-will of La
Tremouille and the Archbishop of Reims. And these two fair friends met
never more again, neither at fray nor feast. May she, among the Saints,
so work by her prayers that the late sin and treason of the gentle Duke
may be washed out and made clean, for while she lived there was no man
more dear to her, nor any that followed her more stoutly in every onfall.

Now concerning the times that came after this shameful treason at Paris,
I have no joy to write. The King's counsellors, as their manner was,
ever hankered after a peace with Burgundy, and they stretched the false
truce that was to have ended at Christmas to Easter Day, "pacem clamantes
quo non fuit pax." For there was no truce with the English, who took St.
Denis again, and made booty of the arms which the Maid had dedicated to
Our Lady. On our part La Hire and X