"By the Dauphin's gracious command, to see the Dauphin," said one of the
gentlemen right courteously. "Here is his own letter, and you may know
the seal, bidding La Pucelle to come before him at this hour."

The fellow looked at the seal, and could not but acknowledge the arms of
France thereon. He dropped his fauchard over his shoulder, and stood
aside, staring impudently at the Maiden, and muttering foul words.

"So this is the renowned Pucelle," he cried; "by God's name" . . . and
here he spoke words such as I may not set down in writing, blaspheming
God and the Maid.

She turned and looked at him, but as if she saw him not; and then, a
light of joy and love transfiguring her face, she knelt down on the
drawbridge, folding her hands, her face bowed, and so abode while one
might count twenty, we that beheld her being amazed. Then she rose and
bent as if in salutation to one we saw not; next, addressing herself to
the sentinel, she said, very gently--

"Sir, how canst thou take in vain the name of God, thou that art in this
very hour to die?"

So speaking, she with her gentlemen went within the gate, while the
soldier stood gazing after her like a man turned to stone.

The Maid passed from our sight, and then the sentinel, coming to himself,
turned in great wrath on me, who stood hard by.

"What make you gaping here, you lousy wine-sack of Scotland?" he cried;
and at the word, my prayer which I had made to St. Andrew in my bonds