All Orleans met the army at the gate and huzzaed it through the bannered streets to its various quarters, but nobody had to rock it to sleep; it slumped down dog-tired, for Dunois had rushed it without mercy, and for the next twenty-four hours it would be quiet, all but the snoring.

Chapter 17 Sweet Fruit of Bitter Truth

When we got home, breakfast for us minor fry was waiting in our mess-room and the family honored us by coming in to eat it with us.  The nice old treasurer, and in fact all three were flatteringly eager to hear about our adventures.  Nobody asked the Paladin to begin, but he did begin, because now that his specially ordained and peculiar military rank set him above everybody on the personal staff but old D’Aulon, who didn’t eat with us, he didn’t care a farthing for the knights’ nobility no mine, but took precedence in the talk whenever it suited him, which was all the time, because he was born that way.  He said: 

“God be thanked, we found the army in admirable condition I think I have never seen a finer body of animals.”

“Animals!” said Miss Catherine.

“I will explain to you what he means,” said Noel.  “He—­”

“I will trouble you not to trouble yourself to explain anything for me,” said the Paladin, loftily.  “I have reason to think—­”

“That is his way,” said Noel; “always when he thinks he has reason to think, he thinks he does think, but this is an error.  He didn’t see the army.  I noticed him, and he didn’t see it.  He was troubled by his old complaint.”

“What s his old complaint?” Catherine asked.

“Prudence,” I said, seeing my chance to help.

But it was not a fortunate remark, for the Paladin said: 

“It probably isn’t your turn to criticize people’s prudence—­you who fall out of the saddle when a donkey brays.”

They all laughed, and I was ashamed of myself for my hasty smartness.  I said: 

“It isn’t quite fair for you to say I fell out on account of the donkey’s braying.  It was emotion, just ordinary emotion.”

“Very well, if you want to call it that, I am not objecting.  What would you call it, Sir Bertrand?”

“Well, it—­well, whatever it was, it was excusable, I think.  All of you have learned how to behave in hot hand-to-hand engagements, and you don’t need to be ashamed of your record in that matter; but to walk along in front of death, with one’s hands idle, and no noise, no music, and nothing going on, is a very trying situation.  If I were you, De Conte, I would name the emotion; it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

It was as straight and sensible a speech as ever I heard, and I was grateful for the opening it gave me; so I came out and said: 

“It was fear—­and thank you for the honest idea, too.”

“It was the cleanest and best way out,” said the old treasurer; “you’ve done well, my lad.”