“They are my own people.  I am one of them.  At home when any was sick in the village, I was always sent for.  And wherefore not now?  I am the same as I was then.  Soon I shall be going back to them, my task accomplished.  Wherefore should I not be their friend and sister still?”

Then all would laugh to think of the Maid of Orleans going back to take up the life of a peasant again at Domremy; but the Maid’s face grew grave and earnest as she would make reply: 

“Indeed, if my work for my King is accomplished, I would fain do so.  I was so happy, so happy in my sweet home.”

But now our triumphal march was suddenly brought to a halt; for we were approaching the town of Troyes—­a place of ill omen to France, and to the young King in particular, for there the shameful treaty was signed which robbed him of his crown; and great was the dissension amongst the King’s counsellors as to what should be done.

The place was strong, the English garrison there large.  A summons to surrender sent on in advance had been ignored, and now came the question—­should the army pass on its way to Rheims leaving this place in the rear unattacked and untaken, or should it run the risk of a long delay, and perhaps some peril and loss in attempting to reduce it?

La Hire and Dunois spoke out insistently.  At all costs the town must be taken.  It would be folly and madness to leave such a stronghold of the enemy in the rear.  Other places had fallen before the victorious Maid, and why not this?  The army would go anywhere with her.  The soldiers only desired to be told what she counselled, and to a man they would support her.  They had lost all fear of the foe, if only the Maid led them into battle, whether in the open or against massive walls.

But as usual the King’s nearest counsellors were all for delay, for avoiding battle, for retreat rather than risk.  The Archbishop of Rheims, instead of being eager to push on to the place which so far was only his in name, for he had never been aught but titular Archbishop as yet, was always one with La Tremouille in advising caution and a timid policy.  Both were the enemies of the Maid, jealous of her gifts and of her influence with the King, and fearful lest her power over him should grow and increase.  They even plotted that she should be excluded from the council now sitting anent this very matter, and it was only when the King and the Duc d’Alencon, growing restless and impatient at her absence, desired her presence instantly, that she was sent for.

There was a grave dignity about her as she entered, which sat impressively upon her young face, so fair and sweet and gentle.  She knew that timid counsels were being held, and that she, the Commander-in-Chief of the army, was being set aside—­the Messenger from the Lord was being ignored.  Not for herself, but for Him was her spirit moved.

The Archbishop with much circumlocution told her of the difficulty in which the King’s Council was placed, and would have discoursed for long upon the situation, only that in his first pause the Maid spoke, addressing herself to the King: