No one could deny the Maid those things she asked, knowing well that others in her place would have issued commands without stooping to petition.  But with the Maid it was never so.  Her gentle courtesy never deserted her.  No association with men, no military dignity of command, which she could so well assume, ever tarnished the lustre of her sweet humility.  A gentle maiden, full of tenderness and compassion, she showed herself now.  Instead of resting after the sore strife of the battle, which had exhausted even strong men, nothing would serve her but that she must herself dress the wounds of these English prisoners; and so deft was her touch, and so soft and tender her methods with them, that not a groan passed the lips of any of them; they only watched her with wondering eyes of gratitude; and when she had left the room they looked at each other and asked: 

“Who is it?  Is it boy, or angel, or what?  The voice is as the voice of a woman, and the touch is as soft; but the dress is the dress of a man.  Who can it be?”

I understood them, for I knew something of the English tongue, and I saw that they were in great amazement; for all who had seen the Maid bore her image stamped upon their hearts; and yet it was impossible for these prisoners of war to believe that the triumphant, angelic Commander of the Forces could stoop to tend the hurts of wounded prisoners with her own hands.

“Gentlemen,” I said, “that is the Angelic Maid herself—­she who has been sent of Heaven for the deliverance of France.  I trow that you soldiers and knights of England have called her witch, and threatened to burn her if you can lay hands upon her.  Perchance now that you have seen her thus face to face, your thoughts towards her will somewhat change.”

They gazed at me and at one another in amaze.  They broke into questions, eager and full of curiosity.  When I had answered them they were ready to tell me what was spoken of her in the English ranks; all averred that some strange power seemed to fall upon them with the advent of the Maid into the city—­a power that withheld them from sallying forth to hinder her coming, or that of the relieving army.

“We had meant to fight her to the death,” spoke one English knight.  “I was in counsel with the Generals when it was so proposed; and yet more resolved were we to keep out the army from Blois, which we heard must needs pass straight through our lines—­an easy prey, we said, to our gunners, archers and swordsmen.  All was in readiness for the attack—­and yet no word was ever given.  No trumpet sounded, though the men were drawn up ready.  We all stood to arms; but the sight of that dazzling white figure seemed to close the lips of our commanders, to numb the limbs of our soldiers.  I can say no more.  When the chance was gone—­the hour passed—­we gazed into each other’s face as men awaking from a dream.  We cursed ourselves.  We cursed the witch who had bound us by her spells.