you still admired the aggravating coolness of him.  And his winding-up was the coolest thing of all.  For he told them how, at the funeral of our old King, the French King-at-Arms had broken his staff of office over the coffin of “Charles VI. and his dynasty,” at the same time saying, in a loud voice, “Good grant long life to Henry, King of France and England, our sovereign lord!” and then he asked them to join him in a hearty Amen to that!  The people were white with wrath, and it tied their tongues for the moment, and they could not speak.  But Joan was standing close by, and she looked up in his face, and said in her sober, earnest way: 

“I would I might see thy head struck from thy body!”—­then, after a pause, and crossing herself—­“if it were the will of God.”

This is worth remembering, and I will tell you why:  it is the only harsh speech Joan ever uttered in her life.  When I shall have revealed to you the storms she went through, and the wrongs and persecutions, then you will see that it was wonderful that she said but one bitter thing while she lived.

From the day that that dreary news came we had one scare after another, the marauders coming almost to our doors every now and then; so that we lived in ever-increasing apprehension, and yet were somehow mercifully spared from actual attack.  But at last our turn did really come.  This was in the spring of ’28.  The Burgundians swarmed in with a great noise, in the middle of a dark night, and we had to jump up and fly for our lives.  We took the road to Neufchateau, and rushed along in the wildest disorder, everybody trying to get ahead, and thus the movements of all were impeded; but Joan had a cool head—­the only cool head there—­and she took command and brought order out of that chaos.  She did her work quickly and with decision and despatch, and soon turned the panic flight into a quite steady-going march.  You will grant that for so young a person, and a girl at that, this was a good piece of work.

She was sixteen now, shapely and graceful, and of a beauty so extraordinary that I might allow myself any extravagance of language in describing it and yet have no fear of going beyond the truth.  There was in her face a sweetness and serenity and purity that justly reflected her spiritual nature.  She was deeply religious, and this is a thing which sometimes gives a melancholy cast to a person’s countenance, but it was not so in her case.  Her religion made her inwardly content and joyous; and if she was troubled at times, and showed the pain of it in her face and bearing, it came of distress for her country; no part of it was chargeable to her religion.

A considerable part of our village was destroyed, and when it became safe for us to venture back there we realized what other people had been suffering in all the various quarters of France for many years—­yes, decades of years.  For the first time we saw wrecked and smoke-blackened homes, and in the lanes and alleys carcasses of dumb creatures that had been slaughtered in pure wantonness—­among them calves and lambs that had been pets of the children; and it was pity to see the children lament over them.