"The age of Chivalry--alas!--is dead. The days of miracles are past
and gone! What future is there for hapless France? She lies in the
dust. How can she hope to rise?"

Sir Guy de Laval looked full in our faces as he spoke these words,
and what could one reply? Ah me!--those were sad and sorrowful days
for France--and for those who thought upon the bygone glories of
the past, when she was mistress of herself, held high her head, and
was a power with hostile nations. What would the great Charlemagne
say, could he see us now? What would even St. Louis of blessed
memory feel, could he witness the changes wrought by only a century
and a half? Surely it were enough to cause them to turn in their
graves! The north lying supine at the feet of the English
conqueror; licking his hand, as a dog licks that of his master,
lost to all sense of shame that an English infant in his cradle (so
to speak) should rule through a regent the fair realm of France,
whilst its own lawful King, banished from his capital and from half
his kingdom, should keep his Court at Bourges or Chinon, passing
his days in idle revelry, heedless of the eclipse of former
greatness, careless of the further aggressions threatened by the
ever-encroaching foe.

Was Orleans to fall next into the greedy maw of the English
adventurers? Was it not already threatened? And how could it be
saved if nothing could rouse the King from his slothful
indifference? O for the days of Chivalry!--the days so long gone
by!

Whilst I, Jean de Novelpont, was musing thus, a curious look
overshadowed the face of Bertrand de Poulengy, our comrade and