hen spurred she her horse, and
turned him gracefully and put out the flame, as if she had long followed
the wars, which the men-at-arms beheld with wonder, and the folk of
Orleans.' So they led her with great joy to the Regnart Gate, and the
house of Jacques Boucher, treasurer of the Duke of Orleans, and there
was she gladly received, with her two brothers and her gentlemen, her
old friends, Nouillompont and Poulengy.

Next day, without leave from Joan, La Hire led a sally against the
English, fought bravely, but failed, and Joan wished once more to bid
the English go in peace. The English, of course, did not obey her
summons, and it is said that they answered with wicked words which made
her weep. For she wept readily, and blushed when she was moved. In her
anger she went to a rampart, and, crying aloud, bade the English begone;
but they repeated their insults, and threatened yet again to burn her.
Next day (May 1), Dunois went off to bring the troops from Blois, and
Joan rode round and inspected the English position. They made no attempt
to take her. A superstitious fear of her 'witchcraft' had already fallen
on them; they had lost heart and soon lost all. On May 4 the army
returned from Blois. Joan rode out to meet them, priests marched in
procession, singing hymns, but the English never stirred. They were
expecting fresh troops under Fastolf. 'If you do not let me know when
Fastolf comes,' cried the Maid merrily to Dunois, 'I will have your head
cut off.' But for some reason, probably because they did not wish her to
run risk, they did not tell Joan when the next fight began. She had just
lain down to sleep when she leaped up with a noise, wakening her squire.
'My Voices tell me,' she said, 'that I must go against the English, but
whether to their forts or against Fastolf I know not.'

There was a cry in the street; Joan armed herself; her page came in.

'Wretched boy!' she said. 'French blood is flowing, and you never told
me!'

In a moment she was in the street, the page handed to her the lily flag
from the upper window. Followed by her squire, d'Aulon, she galloped to
the Burgundy Gate. They met wounded men. 'Never do I see French blood
but my hair stands up on my head,' said Joan. She rode out of the gate
to the English fort of St. Loup, which the Orleans men were attacking.
Joan leaped into the fosse, under fire, holding her banner, and cheering
on her men. St. Loup was taken by the French, in spite of a gal