forget it, and I think never a day comes but he thinks on it."

"And while the Lord waits, the English are active!" cried Sir Guy
with a note of impatience in his voice. "They are already
threatening Orleans. Soon they will march in strength upon it. And
if that city once fall, why what hope is there even for such
remnants of his kingdom as still remain faithful south of the
Loire? The English will have them all. Already they call our King
in mockery 'the King of Bourges;' soon even that small domain will
be reft away, and then what will remain for him or for us? If the
visions of the maiden had been true, why doth not the Lord strike
now, before Salisbury of England can invest the city? If Orleans
fall, all is lost!"

"But Jeanne says that Orleans shall be saved," spoke Bertrand in a
low voice, "and if she speaks sooth, must not she and we alike
leave the times and seasons in the hand of the Lord?"

Sir Guy shrugged his shoulders, and gave me a shrewd glance, the
meaning of which I was at no loss to understand. He thought that
Bertrand's head had been something turned, and that he had become a
visionary, looking rather for a miracle from heaven than for
deliverance from the foe through hard fighting by loyal men
marching under the banner of their King. Truth we all knew well
that little short of a miracle would arouse the indolent and
discouraged Charles, cowed by the English foe, doubtful of his own
right to call himself Dauphin, distrustful of his friends,
despairing of winning the love or trust of his subjects. But could
it indeed be possible that such a miracle could be wrought, and by
an instrument so humble as a village maid--this Jeanne d'Arc?