table sat the chief officers of the garrison. At the entrance door stood
a guard of halberdiers, in morion and breastplate.

As for talk, there was but one topic, of course--the desperate situation
of France. There was a rumor, some one said, that Salisbury was making
preparations to march against Orleans. It raised a turmoil of excited
conversation, and opinions fell thick and fast. Some believed he would
march at once, others that he could not accomplish the investment before
fall, others that the siege would be long, and bravely contested; but
upon one thing all voices agreed: that Orleans must eventually fall, and
with it France. With that, the prolonged discussion ended, and there was
silence. Every man seemed to sink himself in his own thoughts, and to
forget where he was. This sudden and profound stillness, where before had
been so much animation, was impressive and solemn. Now came a servant and
whispered something to the governor, who said:

"Would talk with me?"

"Yes, your Excellency."

"H'm! A strange idea, certainly. Bring them in."

It was Joan and her uncle Laxart. At the spectacle of the great people
the courage oozed out of the poor old peasant and he stopped midway and
would come no further, but remained there with his red nightcap crushed
in his hands and bowing humbly here, there, and everywhere, stupefied
with embarrassment and fear. But Joan came steadily forward, erect and
self-possessed, and stood before the governor. She recognized me, but in
no way indicated it. There was a buzz of admiration, even the governor
contributing to it, for I heard him mutter, "By God's grace, it is a