A stag, frightened by our approach, broke from the thicket, and went thundering across the plain.  All at once a shower of arrows let loose from English bows followed the creature’s flight, together with eager shouts and laughter, betraying the presence of the unsuspecting foe.

With a lightning swiftness the Maid grasped the whole situation.  Here was an army, waiting to fight, it is true, but for the moment off its guard.  Here were we, in order of march.  One word from her, and our whole force would charge straight upon the foe!

And was that word lacking?  Was there an instant’s hesitation?  Need such a question be asked of the Maid?  Clear and sweet rose her wonderful voice, thrilling through the hot summer air.

“Forward, my children, forward, and fear not.  Fly boldly upon them, and the day shall be yours!”

She charged, herself, at the head of one column; but La Hire, in the vanguard, was before her.  With shouts of triumph and joy the old veteran and his followers thundered into the very midst of the startled English, and we followed in their wake.

The Duc d’Alencon rode beside the Maid.  His face was pale with excitement—­perhaps with a touch of fear.  He remembered the fight at Agincourt, and the wound received there, the captivity and weary waiting for release.

“How will it end, my General, how will it end?” he said, and I heard his words and her reply, for I was riding close behind.

“Have you good spurs, M. de Duc?” she asked, with one flashing smile showing the gleam of white teeth.

“Ah Ciel!” he cried in dismay; “then shall we fly before them?”

“Not so,” she answered; “but they will fly so fast before us that we shall need good spurs to keep up with them!”

And so, indeed, it was.  Perhaps it was the sight of the elan of the French troops, perhaps the fear of the White Witch, perhaps because taken at unawares and in confusion, but the English for once made no stand.  Fastolffe and his men, on the outer skirts of the force, rode off at once in some order, heading straight for Paris, but the braver and less prudent Talbot sought, again and again, to rally his men, and bring them to face the foe.

But it was useless.  The rout was utter and complete.  They could not stand before the Maid; and when Talbot himself had fallen a prisoner into our hands, the army melted away and ran for its life, so that this engagement is called the “Chasse de Patay” to this day.

CHAPTER XV.  HOW THE MAID RODE WITH THE KING.

Thus the English were routed with great loss, their leading generals prisoners in the hands of the Maid, and the road for the King open, not to Rheims alone, but to the very walls of Paris, had he so chosen.

Indeed, there were those amongst us who would gladly and joyfully have marched under our great white banner right to the capital of the kingdom, and driven forth from it the English Regent and all the soldiers with him, whether Burgundians or those of his own nation.  For Fastolffe was flying along the road which led him thither, and it would have been a joy to many of us to pursue and overtake, to rout him and his army, or put them to the sword, and to march up beneath the walls of Paris itself, and demand its surrender in the name of the Maid!