“All that I have, which is little but my service and goodwill.  But she knows not where I am, nor know I how she fares, which irks me more than all my misfortunes.  Would that I could send a letter to her father, and tell him how I do, and ask of their tidings.”

“The Dauphin is at Tours,” she said, “and there is much coming and going between Tours and this town.  For the Maid is instant with the Dauphin to ride forthwith to Reims, and there be sacred and crowned; but now he listens and believes, and anon his counsellors tell him that this is foolhardy, and a thing impossible.”

“O they of little faith!” I said, sighing.

“None the less, word has come that the Maid has been in her oratory at prayers, and a Voice from heaven has called to her, saying, ’Fille de Dieu, va, va, va!  Je serai en ton aide.  Va!’ {27} The Dauphin is much confirmed in his faith by this sign, and has vowed that he will indeed march with the Maid to Reims, though his enemies hold all that country which lies between.  But first she must take the towns which the English hold on Loire side, such as Jargeau.  Now on Jargeau, while you lay knowing nothing, the Bastard of Orleans, and Xaintrailles, and other good knights, made an onslaught, and won nothing but loss for their pains, though they slew Messire Henry Bisset, the captain of the town.  But if the Maid takes Jargeau, the Dauphin will indeed believe in her and follow her.”

“He is hard of heart to believe, and would that I were where he should be—­under her holy pennon, for thereon, at least, I should see the face painted of my lady.  But how does all this bring me nearer the hope of hearing about her, and how she fares?”

“There are many messengers coming and going to Tours, for the Dauphin is gathering force under the Maid, and has set the fair Duc d’Alencon to be her lieutenant, with the Bastard, and La Hire, and Messire Florent d’Illiers.  And all are to be here in Orleans within few days; wherefore now write to the father of thy lady, and I will myself write to her.”  With that she gave me paper and pen, and I indited a letter to my master, telling him how I had lain near to death of my old wound, in Orleans, and that I prayed him of his goodness to let me know how he did, and to lay me at the feet of my lady.  Then Charlotte showed me her letter, wherein she bade Elliot know that I had hardly recovered, after winning much fame (for so she said) and a ransom of gold from an English prisoner, which now lay in the hands of her father, the Duke’s treasurer.  Then she said that a word from Elliot, not to say the sight of her face, the fairest in the world (a thing beyond hope), would be of more avail for my healing than all the Pharaoh powders of the apothecaries.  These, in truth, I had never taken, but put them away secretly, as doubting whether such medicaments, the very dust of the persecuting Egyptian and idolatrous race, were fit for a Christian to swallow, with any