said she went to consult the fairies.  Concerning her banner, Joan said that she carried it on purpose to spare the sword, so she might not kill any one with her own hand; of the tree, she denied that she knew any thing about fairies, or was acquainted with any one who had seen them there.  She was tormented with questions as to whether the saints spoke English when she saw them, what they wore, how they smelt, whether she helped the banner or the banner her, whether she was in mortal sin when she rode the horse belonging to the bishop of Senlis, whether she could commit mortal sin, whether the saints hated the English.  Every trap they could lay for her they laid.  She answered all clearly; when she had forgotten any thing she said so; her patience never gave way; she was never confused.  When asked whether she was in a state of grace, she said:  “If I am not, I pray to God to bring me to it; and, if I am, may he keep me in it.”

After all, they did not dare condemn her.  Try as they could, they could draw nothing from her that was wrong.  They teased her to give the matter into the hands of the Church.  She put the Church in heaven, and its head, above the Church on earth and the pope.  The English were afraid that after all she might escape, and pressed on the judgment.  The lawyers at Rouen would say nothing, neither would the chapter.  The only way to take was to send the report of the trial to the University of Paris, and wait the answer.

On the 19th of May arrived the answer from Paris.  It was this:  that the Maid of Orleans was either a liar or in alliance with Satan and with Behemoth; that she was given to superstition, most likely an idolater; that she lowered the angels, and vainly boasted and exalted herself; that she was a blasphemer and a traitor thirsting for blood, a heretic and an apostate.  Yet they would not burn her at once; they would first disgrace her in the eyes of people.  This was done on the 23d of May.  A scaffold was put up behind the Cathedral of St. Onen; here in solemn state sat the cardinal of Winchester, two judges, and thirty-three helpers.  On another scaffold was Joan of Arc, in the midst of guards, notaries to take reports, and the most famous preacher of France to admonish her.  Below was seen the rack upon a cart.

The preacher began his discourse.  Joan let him speak against herself, but she stopped him when he spoke against the king, that king for whom she had risked every thing, but who was dreaming at Chinon, and had not stretched out a finger to save her.  Their labor was nearly lost; her enemies became furious.  Persuading was of no use; she refused to go back from any thing she had said or done.  Her instant death was threatened if she continued obstinate, but if she would recant she was promised deliverance from the English.  “I will sign,” she said at last.  The cardinal drew a paper from his sleeve with a short denial.  She put her mark to it.  They kept their promise of mercy by passing this sentence upon her:  “Joan, we condemn you, through our grace and moderation, to pass the rest of your days in prison, to eat the bread of grief and drink the water of anguish, and to bewail your sins.”