And now we marched again; Chalons surrendered to us; and there by Chalons
in a talk, Joan, being asked if she had no fears for the future, said
yes, one--treachery. Who would believe it? who could dream it? And yet in
a sense it was prophecy. Truly, man is a pitiful animal.

We marched, marched, kept on marching; and at last, on the 16th of July,
we came in sight of our goal, and saw the great cathedraled towers of
Rheims rise out of the distance! Huzza after huzza swept the army from
van to rear; and as for Joan of Arc, there where she sat her horse
gazing, clothed all in white armor, dreamy, beautiful, and in her face a
deep, deep joy, a joy not of earth, oh, she was not flesh, she was a
spirit! Her sublime mission was closing--closing in flawless triumph.
To-morrow she could say, "It is finished--let me go free."

We camped, and the hurry and rush and turmoil of the grand preparations
began. The Archbishop and a great deputation arrived; and after these
came flock after flock, crowd after crowd, of citizens and country-folk,
hurrahing, in, with banners and music, and flowed over the camp, one
rejoicing inundation after another, everybody drunk with happiness. And
all night long Rheims was hard at work, hammering away, decorating the
town, building triumphal arches and clothing the ancient cathedral within
and without in a glory of opulent splendors.

We moved betimes in the morning; the coronation ceremonies would begin at
nine and last five hours. We were aware that the garrison of English and
Burgundian soldiers had given up all thought of resisting the Maid, and
that we should find the gates standing hospitably open and the whole city
ready to welcome us with enthusiasm.