Well, here were these poor Frenchmen being carried off. What could we do?
Very little of a permanent sort, but we did what we could. We sent a
messenger flying to Joan, and we and the French guards halted the
procession for a parley--to gain time, you see. A big Burgundian lost his
temper and swore a great oath that none should stop him; he would go, and
would take his prisoner with him. But we blocked him off, and he saw that
he was mistaken about going--he couldn't do it. He exploded into the
maddest cursings and revilings, then, and, unlashing his prisoner from
his back, stood him up, all bound and helpless; then drew his knife, and
said to us with a light of sarcasting triumph in his eye:

"I may not carry him away, you say--yet he is mine, none will dispute it.
Since I may not convey him hence, this property of mine, there is another
way. Yes, I can kill him; not even the dullest among you will question
that right. Ah, you had not thought of that--vermin!"

That poor starved fellow begged us with his piteous eyes to save him;
then spoke, and said he had a wife and little children at home. Think how
it wrung our heartstrings. But what could we do? The Burgundian was
within his right. We could only beg and plead for the prisoner. Which we
did. And the Burgundian enjoyed it. He stayed his hand to hear more of
it, and laugh at it. That stung. Then the Dwarf said:

"Prithee, young sirs, let me beguile him; for when a matter requiring
permission is to the fore, I have indeed a gift in that sort, as any will
tell you that know me well. You smile; and that is punishment for my
vanity; and fairly earned, I grant you. Still, if I may toy a little,
just a little--" saying which he stepped to the Burgundian and began a
fair soft speech, all of goodly and gentle tenor; and in the midst he