At last however a reluctant start was made.  Jeanne with her “people,” her little staff, in which, now, were two of her brothers, a second having joined her after Orleans, left Gien on the 28th of June; and the next day the King very unwillingly set out.  There is given a long list of generals who surrounded and accompanied him, three or four princes of the blood, the Bastard of Orleans, the Archbishop of Rheims, marshals, admirals, and innumerable seigneurs, among whom was our young Guy de Laval who wrote the letter to his “mothers” which we have already quoted and whose faith in the Maid we thus know; and our ever faithful La Hire, the big-voiced Gascon who had permission to swear by his baton, the d’Artagnan of this history.  We reckon these names as those of friends:  Dunois the ever-brave, Alencon the gentil Duc for whom Jeanne had a special and protecting kindness, La Hire the rough captain of Free Lances, and the graceful young seigneur, Sir Guy as we should have called him had he been English, who was so ready to sell or mortgage his land that he might convey his troop befittingly to the wars.  This little group brightens the march for us with their friendly faces.  We know that they have but one thought of the warrior maiden in whose genius they had begun to have a wondering confidence as well as in her divine mission.  While they were there we feel that she had at least so many who understood her, and who bore her the affection of brothers.  We are told that in the progress of the army Jeanne had no definite place.  She rode where she pleased, sometimes in the front, sometimes in the rear.  One imagines with pleasure that wherever her charger passed along the lines it would be accompanied by one or other of those valiant and faithful companions.

The first place at which a halt was made was Auxerre, a town occupied chiefly by Burgundians, which closed its gates, but by means of bribes, partly of provisions to be supplied, partly of gifts to La Tremouille, secured itself from the attack which Jeanne longed to lead.  Other smaller strongholds on the road yielded without hesitation.  At last they came to Troyes, a large and strong place, well garrisoned and confident in its strength, the town distinguished in the history of the time by the treaty made there, by which the young King had been disinherited—­and by the marriage of Henry of England with the Princess Catherine of France, in whose right he was to succeed to the throne.  It was an ill-omened place for a French king and the camp was torn with dissensions.  Should the army march by, taking no notice of it and so get all the sooner to Rheims? or should they pause first, to try their fortune against those solid walls?  But indeed it was not the camp that debated this question.  The camp was of Jeanne’s mind whichever side she took, and her side was always that of the promptest action.  The garrison made a bold sortie, the very day of the arrival of Charles and his forces, but had been beaten back:  and the King encamped under the walls, wavering and uncertain whether he might not still depart on the morrow, but sending a repeated summons to surrender, to which no attention was paid.