and never waiting for an answer; and finally he stood Joan up in the
middle of the room and stepped off and scanned her critically, and said:

"No--I don't understand it. You are so little. So little and slender.
When you had your armor on, to-day, it gave one a sort of notion of it;
but in these pretty silks and velvets, you are only a dainty page, not a
league-striding war-colossus, moving in clouds and darkness and breathing
smoke and thunder. I would God I might see you at it and go tell your
mother! That would help her sleep, poor thing! Here--teach me the arts of
the soldier, that I may explain them to her."

And she did it. She gave him a pike, and put him through the manual of
arms; and made him do the steps, too. His marching was incredibly awkward
and slovenly, and so was his drill with the pike; but he didn't know it,
and was wonderfully pleased with himself, and mightily excited and
charmed with the ringing, crisp words of command. I am obliged to say
that if looking proud and happy when one is marching were sufficient, he
would have been the perfect soldier.

And he wanted a lesson in sword-play, and got it. But of course that was
beyond him; he was too old. It was beautiful to see Joan handle the
foils, but the old man was a bad failure. He was afraid of the things,
and skipped and dodged and scrambled around like a woman who has lost her
mind on account of the arrival of a bat. He was of no good as an
exhibition. But if La Hire had only come in, that would have been another
matter. Those two fenced often; I saw them many times. True, Joan was
easily his master, but it made a good show for all that, for La Hire was
a grand swordsman. What a swift creature Joan was! You would see her
standing erect with her ankle-bones together and her foil arched over her
head, the hilt in one hand and the button in the other--the old general