Her voice was heard all over the field.  The white folds of the banner still fluttered against the wall, the white armour of the Maid shone dazzling in the sunshine as she dashed forward.  The army to a man sprang forward in her wake with that rush, with that power of confidence against which nothing can stand.

The English shrieked in their astonishment and affright.  The dead had come to life!  The White Witch, struck down as they thought by mortal wound, was charging at the head of her armies.  The French were swarming up the scaling ladders, pouring into their tower, carrying all before them.

Fighting was useless.  Nothing remained but flight.  Helter skelter, like rabbits or rats, they fled this way and that before us.  Not an Englishman remained upon the south side of the river.  The French flag waved from the top of the tower.  The seven months’ siege was raised by the Maid eight days after her entrance into the city.

CHAPTER XIII.  HOW THE MAID WON A NEW NAME.

“Entrez, entrez—­de la part de Dieu—­all is yours!”

Thus spoke the Maid, as we rushed the tower of the boulevard, the English flying this way and that before us.  The Maid found herself face to face with the commander—­that Sir William Glasdale, who had called her vile names a few days before, and had promised to burn her for a witch if once she fell into his hands.

But she had no ill words for him, as she saw him, sword in hand, seeking to make a last stand upon the drawbridge leading to Les Tourelles.

“Now yield you, Classidas,” she said; “I bear you no ill will.  I have great pity for your soul.  Yield you, and all shall be well.”

But he would not listen; his face was black like a thundercloud, and with his picked bodyguard of men, he retreated backwards, sword in hand, upon the bridge, seeking to gain the other tower, not knowing its desperate condition, and hoping there to make a last stand.

But he was not destined to achieve his end.  Suddenly the bridge gave way beneath his feet, and he and his men were all precipitated into the water.  It looked to us as though a miracle had been wrought before our eyes; as though the gaze of the Maid had done it.  But the truth was afterwards told us, that a fire ship from the city had been sent across and had burned the bridge, cutting off the retreat of the English that way.

And now we heard the din of battle going on within Les Tourelles; for La Hire had crossed the repaired bridge with a gallant band of soldiers, and our men, hearing the shouts of their comrades, and the cries of the trapped English, flung themselves into boats, or swam over, sword in mouth, anything to get to the scene of the fray; whilst others set to work with planks, and whatever they could lay hands upon, to mend the broken drawbridge that they might swarm across into Les Tourelles and join in the final act of victory, that should free Orleans from the iron grip in which she had been held so long.