The castle was shrouded in outer darkness, but brilliantly lit within,
as Joan entered its gates. The King's Chamberlain, the Comte de
Vendôme, received the Maid at the entrance of the royal apartments,
and ushered her into the great gallery, of which fragments still
exist--a blasted fireplace, and sufficient remains of the original
stone-work to prove that this hall was the principal apartment in the
palace. Flambeaux and torches glowed from the roof and from the sides
of this hall, and here the Court had assembled, half amused, half
serious, as to the arrival of the peasant girl, about whom there had
been so much strange gossip stirring. Now the grass grows in wild
luxuriance over the pavement, and the ivy clings to the old walls of
that noble room, in which, perhaps, the most noteworthy of all
recorded meetings between king and subject then took place. A score of
torches held by pages lit the sides of the chamber. Before these were
ranged the knights and ladies, the latter clothed in the fantastically
rich costume of that time, with high erections on their heads, from
which floated long festoons of cloth, and glittering with the emblems
of their families on their storied robes. The King, in order to test
the divination of the Maid, had purposely clad himself in common garb,
and had withdrawn himself behind his more brilliantly attired
courtiers.

Ascending the flight of eighteen steps which led into the hall, and
following Vendôme, Joan passed across the threshold of the hall, and,
without a moment's hesitation singling out the King at the end of the
gallery, walked to within a few paces of him, and falling on her knees
before him--'the length of a lance,' as one of the spectators
recorded--said, 'God give you good life, noble King!' ('_Dieu vous
donne bonne vie, gentil Roi_').