Clad in a semi-male attire, composed of a tight-fitting doublet of dark cloth and tunic reaching to the knees, high leggings and spurred boots, with a black cap on her head, and a hauberk, the Maid was armed with lance and sword, the latter the gift of de Baudricourt.  Her good friends of Vaucouleurs had also subscribed for a horse.  Thus completely equipped, she prepared for war, ready for her eventful voyage.  Her escort consisted of a knight named Colet de Vienne, accompanied by his squire, one Richard l’Archer, two men-at-arms from Vaucouleurs, and the two knights Bertrand de Poulangy and Jean de Metz—­eight men in all, well armed and well mounted, and thoroughly prepared to defend their charge should the occasion arise.  Nor were precautions and means of repelling an attack unnecessary, for at this time the country around Vaucouleurs was infested by roving bands of soldiers belonging to the Anglo-Burgundian party.  Especially dangerous was that stretch of country lying between Vaucouleurs and Joinville, the first of the many stages on the way to Chinon.  Although the knights and men of the small expedition were not without apprehension, Joan seems to have shown no sign of fear:  calm and cheerful, she said that, being under the protection of Heaven, they had nothing to fear, for that no evil could befall her.

There still exists the narrow gate of the old castle of Vaucouleurs through which that little band rode out into the night; hard by is the small subterranean chapel, now under repair, where Joan had passed so many hours of her weary weeks of waiting at Vaucouleurs.  The old gate is still called the French Gate, as it was in the days of the Maid.

[Illustration:  Street in Chinon.]

It was the evening of the 23rd of February, 1429, that the little band rode away into the open country on their perilous journey.  Joan, besides adopting a military attire, had trimmed her dark hair close, as it was then the fashion of knights to do—­cut round above the ears.  Even this harmless act was later brought as an accusation against her.  Joan was then in her seventeenth year, and, although nothing but tradition has reached us of her looks and outward form, it is not difficult to imagine her as she rides out of that old gate, a comely maid, with a frank, brave countenance, lit up by the flame of an intense enthusiasm for her country and people.  There can be no doubt that by her companions in arms—­rough soldiers though most of them were—­she was held in veneration; they bore testimony to their feelings by a kind of adoration for one who seemed indeed to them more than mortal.  Wherever Joan appeared, this feeling of veneration spread rapidly through the length and breadth of the land; and the people were wont to speak of the future saviour of France, not by the name of Joan the Maid, or Joan of Arc, but as the Angelic One—­’l’Angelique.’

Among the crowd who gathered to see Joan depart was de Baudricourt, who then made amends for his rudeness and churlish behaviour on her first visit by presenting her with his own sword, and bidding her heartily god-speed. ‘Advienne que pourra!’ was his parting salute.