to a dreadful pause and did not know what to think.  The last circumstance of which we must remind the reader, and which was of the greatest importance, is, that it was only a small part of France that knew anything personally of Jeanne.  From Tours it is a far cry to Picardy.  All her triumphs had taken place in the south.  The captive of Beaulieu and Beaurevoir spent the sad months of her captivity among a population which could have heard of her only by flying rumours coming from hostile quarters.  From the midland of France to the sea, near to which her prison was situated, is a long way, and those northern districts were as unlike the Orleannais as if they had been in two different countries.  Rouen in Normandy no more resembled Rheims, than Edinburgh resembled London:  and in the fifteenth century that was saying a great deal.  Nothing can be more deceptive than to think of these separate and often hostile duchies as if they bore any resemblance to the France of to-day.

The captor of Jeanne was a vassal of Jean de Luxembourg and took her as we have seen to the quarters of his master at Margny, into whose hands she thenceforward passed.  She was kept in the camp three or four days and then transferred to the castle of Beaulieu, which belonged to him; and afterwards to the more important stronghold of Beaurevoir, which seems to have been his principal residence.  We know very few details of her captivity.  According to one chronicler, d’Aulon, her faithful friend and intendant, was with her at least in the former of those prisons, where at first she would appear to have been hopeful and in good spirits, if we may trust to the brief conversation between her and d’Aulon, which is one of the few details which reach us of that period.  While he lamented over the probable fate of Compiegne she was confident.  “That poor town of Compiegne that you loved so much,” he said, “by this time it will be in the hands of the enemies of France.”  “No,” said the Maid, “the places which the king of Heaven brought back to the allegiance of the gentle King Charles by me, will not be retaken by his enemies.”  In this case at least the prophecy came true.

And perhaps there might have been at first a certain relief in Jeanne’s mind, such as often follows after a long threatened blow has fallen.  She had no longer the vague tortures of suspense, and probably believed that she would be ransomed as was usual:  and in this silence and seclusion her “voices” which she had not obeyed as at first, but yet which had not abandoned her, nor shown estrangement, were more near and audible than amid the noise and tumult of war.  They spoke to her often, sometimes three times a day, as she afterwards said, in the unbroken quiet of her prison.  And though they no longer spoke of new enterprises and victories, their words were full of consolation.  But it was not long that Jeanne’s young and vigorous spirit could content itself with inaction.  She was no mystic;