Within the few months which had elapsed since she appeared at Chinon every thing that was wonderful had been done for him by her means.  He was then a fugitive pretender, not even very certain of his own claim, driven into a corner of his lawful dominions, and fully prepared to abandon even that small standing ground, to fly into Spain or Scotland, and give up the attempt to hold his place as King of France.  Now he was the consecrated King, with the holy oil upon his brows, and the crown of his ancestors on his head, accepted and proclaimed, all France stirring to her old allegiance, new conquests falling into his hands every day, and the richest portion of his kingdom secure under his sway.  To check thus peremptorily the career of the deliverer who had done so much for him, degrading her from her place, throwing more than doubt upon her inspiration, falsifying by force the promises which she had made—­promises which had never failed before,—­was a worse and deeper sin on the part of a young man, by right of his kingly office the very head of knighthood and every chivalrous undertaking, than it could be on the part of an old and subtle diplomatist who had never believed in such wild measures, and all through had clogged the steps and endeavoured to neutralise the mission of the warrior Maid.  It is very clear, however, that between them it was the King and his chamberlain who made this assault upon Paris so evident and complete a failure.  One day’s repulse was nothing in a siege.  There had been one great repulse and several lesser ones at Orleans.  Jeanne, even though weakened by her wound, had sprung up that morning full of confidence and courage.  In no way was the failure to be laid to her charge.

But this could never, perhaps, have been explained to the whole body of the army, who had believed her word without a doubt and taken her success for granted.  If they had been wavering before, which seems possible—­for they must have been, to a considerable extent, new levies, the campaigners of the Loire having accomplished their period of feudal service,—­this sudden downfall must have strengthened every doubt and damped every enthusiasm.  The Maid of whom such wonderful tales had been told, she who had been the angel of triumph, the irresistible, before whom the English fled, and the very walls fell down—­was she after all only a sorceress, as the others called her, a creature whose incantations had failed after the flash of momentary success?  Such impressions are too apt to come like clouds over every popular enthusiasm, quenching the light and chilling the heart.

Jeanne was thus dragged back to St. Denis against her will and every instinct of her being, and there ensued three days of passionate debate and discussion.  For a moment it appeared as if she would have thrown off the bonds of loyal obedience and pursued her mission at all hazards.  Her “voices,” if they had previously given her uncertain sound, promising only the support and succour of God, but no success,