Jeanne was taken back, dismayed and miserable, to the prison which she had perilled her soul to escape.  It was very little she had done in reality, and at that moment she could scarcely yet have realised what she had done, except that it had failed.  At the end of so long and bitter a struggle she had thrown down her arms—­but for what? to escape those horrible gaolers and that accursed room with its ear of Dionysius, its Judas hole in the wall.  The bitterness of the going back was beyond words.  We hear of no word that she said when she realised the hideous fact that nothing was changed for her; the bitter waters closed over her head.  Again the chains to be locked and double locked that bound her to her dreadful bed, again the presence of those men who must have been all the more odious to her from the momentary hope that she had got free from them for ever.

The same afternoon the Vicar-Inquisitor, who had never been hard upon her, accompanied by Nicole Midi, by the young seraphic doctor, Courcelles, and L’Oyseleur, along with various other ecclesiastical persons, visited her prison.  The Inquisitor congratulated and almost blessed her, sermonising as usual, but briefly and not ungently, though with a word of warning that should she change her mind and return to her evil ways there would be no further place for repentance.  As a return for the mercy and clemency of the Church, he required her immediately to put on the female dress which his attendants had brought.  There is something almost ludicrous, could we forget the tragedy to follow, in the bundle of humble clothing brought by such exalted personages, with the solemnity which became a thing upon which hung the issues of life or death.  Jeanne replied with the humility of a broken spirit.  “I take them willingly,” she said, “and in everything I will obey the Church.”  Then silence closed upon her, the horrible silence of the prison, full of hidden listeners and of watching eyes.

Meantime there was great discontent and strife of tongues outside.  It was said that many even of the doctors who condemned her would fain have seen Jeanne removed to some less dangerous prison:  but Monseigneur de Beauvais had to hold head against the great English authorities who were out of all patience, fearing that the witch might still slip through their fingers and by her spells and incantations make the heart of the troops melt once more within them.  If the mind of the Church had been as charitable as it professed to be, I doubt if all the power of Rome could have got the Maid now out of the English grip.  They were exasperated, and felt that they too, as well as the prisoner, had been played with.  But the Bishop had good hope in his mind, still to be able to content his patrons.  Jeanne had abjured, it was true, but the more he inquired into that act, the less secure he must have felt about it.  And she might relapse; and if she relapsed there would be no longer any place for repentance.  And it is evident that his confidence in the power of the clothes was boundless.  In any case a few days more would make all clear.