No more could I do that night, but next morning D’Aulon awoke me a little after dawn.

“It is a true tale,” he said, “and worse than I deemed, for your bird has flown!  Last night he so spoke with me in the church when I lodged him there, that I reckoned him a simple man and a pious.  But he has vanished from among his brethren, none knows how or whither.”

“The devil, his master, knows,” I said.  “Faith, he has a shrewd care of his own.  But this, I misdoubt me, is the beginning of evil to us and to the Maid.”

“A knave more or less is of little count in the world,” said he; “but now I must make your peace with the Maid, for she speaks of no less than sending you forth from her household.”

His promise he kept so well—­for he was a very honourable man, as any in France—­that the Maid sent for me and showed me the best countenance, even begging my pardon with all sweetness, and in so fair a manner that I could have wept.

“It was my first blow in war,” she said, smiling kindly, as was her manner, “and I hope to strike no more as with my own hand, wherefore I carry my banner to avoid the slaying of men.  But verily I deemed that you were about stabbing my prisoner, and him a priest.  Belike we shall hear no more of him, and I misdoubt that he is no true son of Holy Church.  To-day let me see you bear yourself as boldly against armed men, that I may report well of you to your lady and my friend.”

Therewith she held out her hands and took mine, as frankly as does one brother in arms with another.  And I kissed her hand, and kept my tears in my own heart.  But no deadlier blow for France and for herself was ever dealt than when the Maid struck down my sword, that was thirsting for the blood of Brother Thomas, and was within an inch of his throat.  Often have I marvelled how the saints, who, as then, guarded her, gave her no warning, as they did of the onslaught on St. Loup; but it might not be, or it was not their will, to which we must humbly submit ourselves.  And now I think I see that wolf’s face, under the hood, with anger and fear in the ominous eyes.  In the Church of St. Loup we found him, and he was a wolf of the holy places.  None the less, the words of the Maid brought more keenly to my mind the thought of Elliot, whom in these crowded hours, between my sorrow and anger, and fear of the Maid’s wrath, I had to some degree forgotten.  They were now ordering an onslaught on a post of the English beyond the river, and there came into my heart that verse of the “Book of a Hundred Ballades”:  how a lover must press into breach, and mine, and escalade to win advancement and his lady’s favour; and I swore within myself that to-day I would be among the foremost.

CHAPTER XIII—­OF THE FIGHTING AT LES AUGUSTINS AND THE PROPHECY OF THE MAID