[Illustration:  Herself drew out the Arrow——­109]

Some one proposed to her to charm the wound by means of cabalistic words; but “I would rather die,” she said, “than so sin against the will of God.  I know full well that I must die some day; but I know nor where nor when nor how.  If, without sin, my wound may be healed, I am right willing.”  A dressing of oil and lard was applied to the wound; and she retired apart into a vineyard, and was continually in prayer.  Fatigue and discouragement were overcoming the French; and the captains ordered the retreat to be sounded.  Joan begged Dunois to wait a while.  “My God,” said she, “we shall soon be inside.  Give your people a little rest; eat and drink.”  She resumed her arms and remounted her horse; her banner floated in the air; the French took fresh courage; the English, who thought Joan half dead, were seized with surprise and fear; and one of their principal leaders, Sir William Gladesdale, made up his mind to abandon the outwork which he had hitherto so well kept, and retire within the bastille itself.  Joan perceived his movement.  “Yield thee,” she shouted to him from afar; “yield thee to the King of Heaven!  Ah!  Glacidas, thou hast basely insulted me; but I have great pity on the souls of thee and thine.”  The Englishman continued his retreat.  Whilst he was passing over the drawbridge which reached from the out-work to the bastille, a shot from the side of Orleans broke down the bridge; Gladesdale fell into the water and was drowned, together with many of his comrades; the French got into the bastille without any fresh fighting; and Joan re-entered Orleans amidst the joy and acclamations of the people.  The bells rang all through the night, and the Te Deum was chanted.  The day of combat was about to be succeeded by the day of deliverance.

On the morrow, the 8th of May, 1429, at daybreak, the English leaders drew up their troops close to the very moats of the city, and seemed to offer battle to the French.  Many of the Orleannese leaders would have liked to accept this challenge; but Joan got up from her bed, where she was resting because of her wound, put on a light suit of armor, and ran to the city gates.  “For the love and honor of holy Sunday,” said she to the assembled warriors, “do not be the first to attack, and make to them no demand; it is God’s good will and pleasure that they be allowed to get them gone if they be minded to go away; if they attack you, defend yourselves boldly; you will be the masters.”  She caused an altar to be raised; thanksgivings were sung, and mass was celebrated.  “See!” said Joan; “are the English turning to you their faces, or verily their backs?” They had commenced their retreat in good order, with standards flying.  “Let them go:  my Lord willeth not that there be any fighting to-day; you shall have them another time.”  The good words spoken by Joan were not so preventive but that many men set off to pursue the English, and cut off stragglers and baggage.  Their bastilles were found to be full of victual and munitions; and they had abandoned their sick and many of their prisoners.  The siege of Orleans was raised.