But fairies there were none visible to our eyes, and we moved softly onwards towards the spreading tree hard by.  But ere we reached it, we both drew rein as by a common impulse, for we had seen a sight which arrested and held us spellbound, ay, and more than that, for the wonder and amaze of it fell also upon the horses we bestrode.  For scarcely had we drawn rein, before they both began to tremble and to sweat, and stood with their forefeet planted, their necks outstretched, their nostrils distended; uttering short, gasping, snorting sounds, as a horse will do when overcome by some terror.  But for all this they were as rigid as if they had been carved in stone.

And now, what did we see?  Let me try and tell, so far as my poor words may avail.  Beneath a spreading tree just a stone’s throw to the right of where we stood, and with nothing between to hinder our view of her, a peasant maiden, dressed in the white coif, red skirt, and jacket and kerchief of her class, had been bending over some fine embroidery which she held in her hands.  We just caught a glimpse of her thus before the strange thing happened which caused us to stop short, as though some power from without restrained us.

Hard by, as I know now, stood the village, shut out from view by the trees, with its little church, and the homestead of Jacques d’Arc nestling almost within its shadow.  At the moment of which I speak the bell rang forth for the Angelus, with a full, sweet tone of silvery melody; and at the very same instant the work dropped from the girl’s hands, and she sank upon her knees.  At the first moment, although instinctively, we reined back our horses and uncovered our heads, I had no thought but that she was a devout maiden following the office of the Church out here in the wood.  But as she turned her upraised face a little towards us, I saw upon it such a look as I have never seen on human countenance before, nor have ever seen (save upon hers) since.  A light seemed to shine either from it or upon it—­how can I tell which?—­a light so pure and heavenly that no words can fully describe it, but which seemed like the radiance of heaven itself.  Her eyes were raised towards the sky, her lips parted, and through the breathless hush of silence which had fallen upon the wood, we heard the soft, sweet tones of her voice.

“Speak, my Lord—­Thy servant heareth!”

It was then that our horses showed the signs of terror of which I have before spoken.  For myself, I saw nothing save the shining face of the Maid—­I knew who it was—­there was no need for Bertrand’s breathless whisper—­“It is she—­herself!”—­I knew it in my heart before.

She knelt there amid the fallen leaves, her face raised, her lips parted, her eyes shining as surely never human eyes have shone before.  A deep strange hush had fallen over all nature, broken only by the gentle music of the bell.  The ruddy gold light of approaching sunset bathed all the wood in glory, and the rays fell upon the kneeling figure, forming a halo of glory round it.  But she did not heed, she did not see.  She was as one in a trance, insensible to outward vision.  Once and again her lips moved, but we heard no word proceed from them, only the rapt look upon her face increased in intensity, and once I thought (for I could not turn my gaze away) that I saw the gleam of tears in her eyes.