“Then she turned her about and viewed the throng with those eyes of hers, which are the clear-shining windows whence her immortal wisdom looketh out upon the world, resolving its falsities and coming at the kernel of truth that is hid within them, and presently they fell upon a young man modestly clothed, and him she proclaimed for what he truly was, saying, ‘I am thy servant—­thou art the King!’ Then all were astonished, and a great shout went up, the whole six thousand joining in it, so that the walls rocked with the volume and the tumult of it.”

He made a fine and picturesque thing of the march-out from the Audience, augmenting the glories of it to the last limit of the impossibilities; then he took from his finger and held up a brass nut from a bolt-head which the head ostler at the castle had given him that morning, and made his conclusion—­thus: 

“Then the King dismissed the Maid most graciously—­as indeed was her desert—­and, turning to me, said, ’Take this signet-ring, son of the Paladins, and command me with it in your day of need; and look you,’ said he, touching my temple, ’preserve this brain, France has use for it; and look well to its casket also, for I foresee that it will be hooped with a ducal coronet one day.’  I took the ring, and knelt and kissed his hand, saying, ’Sire, where glory calls, there will I be found; where danger and death are thickest, that is my native air; when France and the throne need help—­well, I say nothing, for I am not of the talking sort—­let my deeds speak for me, it is all I ask.’

“So ended the most fortunate and memorable episode, so big with future weal for the crown and the nation, and unto God be the thanks!  Rise!  Fill you flagons!  Now—­to France and the King—­drink!”

They emptied them to the bottom, then burst into cheers and huzzas, and kept it up as much as two minutes, the Paladin standing at stately ease the while and smiling benignantly from his platform.

Chapter 8 Joan Persuades Her Inquisitors

When Joan told the King what that deep secret was that was torturing his heart, his doubts were cleared away; he believed she was sent of God, and if he had been let alone he would have set her upon her great mission at once.  But he was not let alone.  Tremouille and the holy fox of Rheims knew their man.  All they needed to say was this—­and they said it: 

“Your Highness says her Voices have revealed to you, by her mouth, a secret known only to yourself and God.  How can you know that her Voices are not of Satan, and she his mouthpiece?—­for does not Satan know the secrets of men and use his knowledge for the destruction of their souls?  It is a dangerous business, and your Highness will do well not to proceed in it without probing the matter to the bottom.”

That was enough.  It shriveled up the King’s little soul like a raisin, with terrors and apprehensions, and straightway he privately appointed a commission of bishops to visit and question Joan daily until they should find out whether her supernatural helps hailed from heaven or from hell.