“Seize him!” I cried to Father Francois, pointing down at the cordelier.  “Seize that Franciscan, he has betrayed her!  Run, man, it was he who cried in Flavy’s voice, bidding them raise drawbridge and let fall portcullis.  The devil gave him that craft to counterfeit men’s voices.  I know the man.  Run, Father Francois, run!”

“You are distraught with very grief,” said the good father, the tears running down his own cheeks; “that is Brother Thomas, the best artilleryman in France, and Flavy’s chief trust with the couleuvrine.  He came in but four days agone, and there was great joy of his coming.”

Thus was the Maid taken, by art and device of the devil and Brother Thomas, and in no otherwise.  They who tell that Flavy sold her, closing the gates in her face, do him wrong; he was an ill man, but loyal to France, as was seen by the very defence he made at Compiegne, for there was none like it in this war.  But of what avail was that to us who loved the Maid?  Rather, many times, would I have died in that hour than have seen what I saw.  For our enemies made no more tarrying, nor any onslaught on the boulevard, but rode swiftly back with the prize they had taken, with her whom they feared more than any knight or captain of France.  This page whereon I work, in a hand feeble and old, and weary with much writing, is blotted with tears that will not be held in.  But we must bow humbly to the will of God and of His Saints.  “Dominus dedit, et Dominus abstulit; benedictum sit nomen Domini.”

Wherefore should I say more?  They carried me back in litter over the bridge, through the growing darkness.  Every church was full of women weeping and praying for her that was the friend of them, and the playmate of their children, for all children she dearly loved.

Concerning Flavy, it was said, by them who loved him not, that he showed no sign of sorrow.  But when his own brother Louis fell, later in the siege, a brother whom he dearly loved, none saw him weep, or alter the fashion of his countenance; nay, he bade musicians play music before him.

I besought the Prior, when I was borne home, that I might be carried to Flavy, and tell him that I knew.  But he forbade me, saying that, in very truth, I knew nought, or nothing that could be brought against a Churchman, and one in a place of trust.  For I had not seen the lips of the cordelier move when that command was given—­nay, at the moment I saw him not at all.  Nor could I even prove to others that he had this devilish art, there being but my oath against his, and assuredly he would deny the thing.  And though I might be assured and certain within myself, yet other witness I had none at all, nor were any of my friends there who could speak with me.  For D’Aulon, and Pasquerel, and Pierre du Lys had all been taken with the Maid.  It was long indeed before Pierre du Lys was free, for he had no money to ransom himself withal.  Therefore Flavy, knowing me only for a wounded Scot of the Maid’s, would think me a brain-sick man, and as like as not give me more of Oise river to drink than I craved.