Such things make a life of bitterness, and I do not wish to dwell upon them.  The effect of the poem was spoiled.

Chapter 16 The Finding of the Dwarf

This episode disagreed with me and I was not able to leave my bed the next day.  The others were in the same condition.  But for this, one or another of us might have had the good luck that fell to the Paladin’s share that day; but it is observable that God in His compassion sends the good luck to such as are ill equipped with gifts, as compensation for their defect, but requires such as are more fortunately endowed to get by labor and talent what those others get by chance.  It was Noel who said this, and it seemed to me to be well and justly thought.

The Paladin, going about the town all the day in order to be followed and admired and overhear the people say in an awed voice, “’Ssh! —­look, it is the Standard-Bearer of Joan of Arc!” had speech with all sorts and conditions of folk, and he learned from some boatmen that there was a stir of some kind going on in the bastilles on the other side of the river; and in the evening, seeking further, he found a deserter from the fortress called the “Augustins,” who said that the English were going to send me over to strengthen the garrisons on our side during the darkness of the night, and were exulting greatly, for they meant to spring upon Dunois and the army when it was passing the bastilles and destroy it; a thing quite easy to do, since the “Witch” would not be there, and without her presence the army would do like the French armies of these many years past—­drop their weapons and run when they saw an English face.

It was ten at night when the Paladin brought this news and asked leave to speak to Joan, and I was up and on duty then.  It was a bitter stroke to me to see what a chance I had lost.  Joan made searching inquiries, and satisfied herself that the word was true, then she made this annoying remark: 

“You have done well, and you have my thanks.  It may be that you have prevented a disaster.  Your name and service shall receive official mention.”

Then he bowed low, and when he rose he was eleven feet high.  As he swelled out past me he covertly pulled down the corner of his eye with his finger and muttered part of that defiled refrain, “Oh, tears, ah, tears, oh, sad sweet tears!—­name in General Orders—­personal mention to the King, you see!”

I wished Joan could have seen his conduct, but she was busy thinking what she would do.  Then she had me fetch the knight Jean de Metz, and in a minute he was off for La Hire’s quarters with orders for him and the Lord de Villars and Florent d’Illiers to report to her at five o’clock next morning with five hundred picked men well mounted.  The histories say half past four, but it is not true, I heard the order given.