r it because it was Joan of Arc's cat. Everybody will tell you
that; and one day when a stranger threw a stone at it, not knowing it
was your cat, the village rose against him as one man and hanged him!
And but for Pere Fronte--"

There was an interruption. It was a messenger from the King, bearing
a note for Joan, which I read to her, saying he had reflected, and had
consulted his other generals, and was obliged to ask her to remain at
the head of the army and withdraw her resignation. Also, would she
come immediately and attend a council of war? Straightway, at a little
distance, military commands and the rumble of drums broke on the still
night, and we knew that her guard was approaching.

Deep disappointment clouded her face for just one moment and no
more--it passed, and with it the homesick girl, and she was Joan of Arc,
Commander-in-Chief again, and ready for duty.

38 The King Cries "Forward!"

IN MY double quality of page and secretary I followed Joan to the
council. She entered that presence with the bearing of a grieved
goddess. What was become of the volatile child that so lately was
enchanted with a ribbon and suffocated with laughter over the distress
of a foolish peasant who had stormed a funeral on the back of a
bee-stung bull? One may not guess. Simply it was gone, and had left no
sign. She moved straight to the council-table, and stood. Her glance
swept from face to face there, and where it fell, these lit it as with a
torch, those it scorched as with a brand. She knew where to strike. She
indicated the generals with a nod, and said:

"My business is not with you. You have not craved a council of war."
Then she turned toward the King's privy council, and continued: "No; it
is with you. A council of war! It is amazing. There is but one thing to
do, and only one, and lo, ye call a council of war! Councils of war have
no value but to decide between two or several doubtful courses. But a
council of war when there is only one course? Conceive of a man in a
boat and his family in the water, and he goes out among his friends to
ask what he would better do? A council of war, name of God! To determine
what?"

She stopped, and turned till her eyes rested upon the face of La
Tremouille; and so she stood, silent, measuring him, the excitement in
all faces burning steadily higher and higher, and all pulses beating
faster and faster; then she said, with deliberation:

"Every sane man--whose loyalty is