Thirdly, I was most sedulous in all duty, and so won the favour of Sir Thomas Grey, the rather that he counted cousins with me, and reckoned that we were of some far-off kindred, wherein he spoke the truth.  Thus, partly for our common blood, partly for that I was ever ready at call, and forward to do his will, and partly because none could carry a message swifter, or adventure further to spy out any bands of the French, he kept me close to him, and trusted me as his galloper.  Nay, he gave me, on occasion, his signet, to open the town gates whensoever he would send me on any errand.  Moreover, the man (noble by birth, but base by breeding) who had the chief charge and custody of the Maid, was the brother’s son of Sir Thomas.  He had to name John Grey, and was an esquire of the body of the English King, Henry, then a boy.  This miscreant it was often my fortune to meet, at his uncle’s table, and to hear his pitiless and cruel speech.  Yet, making friends, as Scripture commands us, of the Mammon of unrighteousness, I set myself to win the affection of John Grey by laughing at his jests and doing him what service I might.

Once or twice I dropped to him a word of my great desire to see the famed Puzel, for the trials that had been held in open hall were now done in the dungeon, where only the bishop, the doctors of law, and the notaries might hear them.  Her noble bearing, indeed, and wise answers (which were plainly put into her mouth by the Saints, for she was simple and ignorant) had gained men’s hearts.

One day, they told me, an English lord had cried—­“The brave lass, pity she is not English.”  For to the English all the rest of God’s earth is as Nazareth, out of which can come no good thing.  Thus none might see the Maid, and, once and again, I let fall a word in John Grey’s ear concerning my desire to look on her in prison.  I dared make no show of eagerness, though now the month of May had come, which was both her good and ill month.  For in May she first went to Vaucouleurs and prophesied, in May she delivered Orleans, and in May she was taken at Compiegne.  Wherefore I deemed, as men will, that in May she should escape her prison, or in May should die.  Moreover, on the first day of March they had asked her, mocking her—­

“Shalt thou be delivered?”

And she had answered—­

“Ask me on this day three months, and I shall declare it to you.”

The English, knowing this, made all haste to end her ere May ended, wherefore I had the more occasion for speed.

Now, on a certain day, being May the eighth, the heart of John Grey was merry within him.  He had well drunk, and I had let him win of me, at the dice, that one of my three horses which most he coveted.

He then struck me in friendly fashion on the back, and cried—­

“An unlucky day for thee, and for England.  This very day, two years agone, that limb of the devil drove us by her sorceries from before Orleans.  But to-morrow—­” and he laughed grossly in his beard.  “Storey, you are a good fellow, though a fool at the dice.”