Bastard's; and even La Hire's thunder-blast, which took the place by
storm; but at last, as I have said, they brought a force to bear which
was too strong for her. For at the close the King put up his hand to
command silence, and so waited, with his hand up, till every sound was
dead and it was as if one could almost the stillness, so profound it
was. Then out of some remote corner of that vast place there rose a
plaintive voice, and in tones most tender and sweet and rich came
floating through that enchanted hush our poor old simple song "L'Arbre
Fee Bourlemont!" and then Joan broke down and put her face in her hands
and cried. Yes, you see, all in a moment the pomps and grandeurs
dissolved away and she was a little child again herding her sheep with
the tranquil pastures stretched about her, and war and wounds and blood
and death and the mad frenzy and turmoil of battle a dream. Ah, that
shows you the power of music, that magician of magicians, who lifts his
wand and says his mysterious word and all things real pass away and the
phantoms of your mind walk before you clothed in flesh.

That was the King's invention, that sweet and dear surprise. Indeed, he
had fine things hidden away in his nature, though one seldom got a
glimpse of them, with that scheming Tremouille and those others always
standing in the light, and he so indolently content to save himself fuss
and argument and let them have their way.

At the fall of night we the Domremy contingent of the personal staff were
with the father and uncle at the inn, in their private parlor, brewing
generous drinks and breaking ground for a homely talk about Domremy and
the neighbors, when a large parcel arrived from Joan to be kept till she
came; and soon she came herself and sent her guard away, saying she would
take one of her father's rooms and sleep under his roof, and so be at
home again. We of the staff rose and stood, as was meet, until she made