I had been close beside the Maid for hours; for I never forgot what she had spoken about being wounded that day; yet when she fell I had been parted from her a brief space, by one of those battle waves too strong for resistance.  But now I fought my way to her side with irresistible fury, though there was such a struggling press all about her that I had much ado to force my way through it.  But I was known as one of her especial personal attendants, and way was made for me somehow; yet it was not I who was the first to render her assistance.

When I arrived, De Gamache was holding her in his arms; someone had removed her headpiece, and though her face was as white as the snowy plumes, her eyes were open, and there was a faint brave smile upon her lips.  De Gamache had his horse beside him, his arm slipped through the reins.

“My brave General,” he said, as the Maid looked in his face, “let me lift you to my saddle and convey you to a place of safety.  I have done you wrong before; but I pray you forgive me, and bear no malice; for I am yours till death.  Never was woman so brave.”

“I should be wrong indeed to bear malice against any, my good friend,” spoke the Maid, in her gentle tones, “above all against one so courteous, so brave.”

We lifted her upon the horse.  We formed a bodyguard round her.  We drew her out of the thick of the press, for once unresisting; and we laid her down in a little adjacent vineyard, where the good Pasquerel came instantly, and knelt beside her offering prayers for her recovery.  But the great arrow had pierced right through her shoulder, and stood out a handbreadth upon the other side.  We had sent for a surgeon; but we dreaded to think of the pain she must suffer; must be suffering even now.  Her face was white; her brow was furrowed.

But suddenly, as we stood looking at her in dismay, she sat up, took firm hold of the cruel barb with her own hands, and drew it steadily from the wound.

Was ever courage like hers?  As the blood came gushing forth, staining her white armour red, she uttered a little cry and her lips grew pale.  Yet I think the cry was less from pain than to see the marring of her shining breastplate; and the tears started to her eyes.  Never before had this suffered hurt; the sight of the envious rent hurt her, I trow, as much as did the smart of her wound.

The surgeon came hurrying up, and dressed the wound with a pledget of linen steeped in oil; and the Maid lay very white and still, almost like one dying or dead, so that we all held our breath in fear.  In sooth, the faintness was deathlike for awhile, and she did beckon to her priest to come close to her and receive her confession, whilst we formed round her in a circle, keeping off all idle gazers, and standing facing away from her, with bent, uncovered heads.

Was it possible that her Lord was about to take her from us, her task yet unfulfilled?  It was hard to believe it, and yet we could not but fear; wherefore our hearts were heavy within us during that long hour which followed.