“The saints fight for her!” I said, “for we have done our part thus far, and I would that I may be well ere she raises her standard.”

But here Elliot turned right pale, at the thought of my going to the wars, she holding my face off and gazing steadily upon me with wistful eyes.

“O God, send that the Maid go speedily!” she cried, “for as now you are not fit to bear arms.”

“Thou wouldst not have me lag behind, when the Maid’s banner is on the wind?”

“Nay,” she said, but slowly, “thee and all that I have would I give for her and for her cause, and for the saints.  But now thou must not go,”—­and her eyes yearned upon me—­“now that I could overthrow thee if we came to war.”

So here she laughed again, being like the weather without—­a changeful thing of shower and shine.

Thus we continued devising, and she told me that, some days after my wounding, the Maid had held converse apart with the King, and then gave him to wit of certain marvellous matters, that none might know save by heavenly inspiration.  But what these matters might be none could tell, save the King and the Maiden only.

That this was sooth I can affirm, having myself been present in later years, when one that affected to be the very Pucelle, never slain, or re-arisen by miracle, came before the King, and truly she had beguiled many.  Then the King said, “Welcome Pucelle, ma mie, thou art welcome if thou hast memory of that secret thing which is between thee and me.”  Whereon this false woman, as one confounded, fell on her knees and confessed her treason.

This that Elliot told me, therefore, while the sun shone into the chamber through the bare vine-tendrils, was sooth, and by this miracle, it seems, the Maid had at last won the ear of the King.  So he bade carry her to Poictiers, where the doctors and the learned were but now examining into her holy life, and her knowledge of religion, being amazed by the wisdom of her answers.  The noble ladies about her, too, and these mendicant friars that were sent to hold inquisition concerning her at Domremy, had found in her nothing but simplicity and holy maidenhood, pity and piety.  But, as for a sign of her sending, and a marvel to convince all men’s hearts, that, she said, she would only work at Orleans.  So now she was being accepted, and was to raise her standard, as we had cause to believe.

“But,” said Elliot, “the weeks go by, and much is said, and men and victual are to be gathered, and still they tarry, doing no great deed.  Oh, would that to-day her standard were on the wind! for to-day, and for these many days, I must have you here, and tend you till you be fit to bear arms.”

Therewith she made me much good cheer; then, very tenderly taking her arms from about me, lest I should be hurt again, she cried—­

“But we speak idly, and thou hast not seen the standard, and the banner, and the pennon of the Maid that my father is painting.”