"Oh, Satan and his Hellions, see them go!" Somebody muttered it in deep
admiration.

And now he was closing up--closing up on Fastolfe's rushing corps.

And now he struck it--struck it hard, and broke its order. It lifted the
duke and the Bastard in their saddles to see it; and they turned,
trembling with excitement, to Joan, saying:

"Now!"

But she put up her hand, still gazing, weighing, calculating, and said
again:

"Wait--not yet."

Fastolfe's hard-driven battle-corps raged on like an avalanche toward the
waiting advance-guard. Suddenly these conceived the idea that it was
flying in panic before Joan; and so in that instant it broke and swarmed
away in a mad panic itself, with Talbot storming and cursing after it.

Now was the golden time. Joan drove her spurs home and waved the advance
with her sword. "Follow me!" she cried, and bent her head to her horse's
neck and sped away like the wind!

We went down into the confusion of that flying rout, and for three long
hours we cut and hacked and stabbed. At last the bugles sang "Halt!"

The Battle of Patay was won.