"What? Alive? Noel Rainguesson!"

It was indeed he. It was a most joyful meeting, that you will easily
know; and also as sad as it was joyful. We could not speak Joan's name.
One's voice would have broken down. We knew who was meant when she was
mentioned; we could say "she" and "her," but we could not speak the name.

We talked of the personal staff. Old D'Aulon, wounded and a prisoner, was
still with Joan and serving her, by permission of the Duke of Burgundy.
Joan was being treated with respect due to her rank and to her character
as a prisoner of war taken in honorable conflict. And this was
continued--as we learned later--until she fell into the hands of that
bastard of Satan, Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais.

Noel was full of noble and affectionate praises and appreciations of our
old boastful big Standard-Bearer, now gone silent forever, his real and
imaginary battles all fought, his work done, his life honorably closed
and completed.

"And think of his luck!" burst out Noel, with his eyes full of tears.
"Always the pet child of luck!

"See how it followed him and stayed by him, from his first step all
through, in the field or out of it; always a splendid figure in the
public eye, courted and envied everywhere; always having a chance to do
fine things and always doing them; in the beginning called the Paladin in
joke, and called it afterward in earnest because he magnificently made
the title good; and at last--supremest luck of all--died in the field!
died with his harness on; died faithful to his charge the Standard in his