town to her house, after vespers, and herself went into
the Church of St. Michael to pray.

Though I pondered much on this strange matter, which I laid up in my
heart, I never knew what, belike, the import was, till nigh a year
thereafter, at Rouen.

But there one told me how the Maid, before her judges, had said that, at
Melun, by the fosse, her Saints had told her how she should be made
prisoner before the feast of St. John. And she had prayed them to warn
her of that hour, or in that hour might she die, but they bade her endure
all things patiently, and with a willing mind. At that coming, then, of
the Saints, I was present, though, being a sinful man, I knew not that
the Holy Ones were there. But the birds knew, and stinted in their
singing.

Now that the Maid, knowing by inspiration her hour to be even at the
doors, and wotting well what the end of her captivity was like to be, yet
had the heart to put herself in jeopardy day by day, this I deem the most
valiant deed ever done by man or woman since the making of the world. For
scarce even Wallace wight would have stood to his standard had he known,
by teaching of them who cannot lie, what end awaited him beyond all hope.
Nay, he would have betaken him to France, as once he did in time of less
danger.

Now, I pray you, consider who she was that showed this courage and high
heart. She was but the daughter of a manant, a girl of eighteen years of
age. Remember, then, what manner of creature such a girl is of her
nature; how weak and fearful; how she is discomfited and abashed by the
company of even one gentleman or lady of noble birth; how ignorant she is
of war; how fond to sport and play with wenches of her own degree; how
easily set on fire of love; and how eager to be in the society of young
men amorous. Pondering all these things in your hearts, judge ye whether
this Maid, the bravest leader in breach, the wisest captain, having
foreknowledge of things hidden and of things to come, the most courteous
lady who ever with knights sat in hall, not knowing carnal love, nor
bodily fear, was aught but a thing miraculous, and a sister of the
Saints.

CHAPTER XXV--OF THE ONFALL AT PONT L'EVEQUE, AND HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS
HURT

I have now shown wherefore the fighting, in this spring, was to be up and
down the water of Oise, whence the villagers had withdrawn themselves, of
necessity, into the good towns. For the desire of the Duke of Burgundy
was to