What presence of mind she had!  One could never surprise her out of it.  She saw Noel and me there when she first took her seat on the bench, and we flushed to the forehead with excitement and emotion, but her face showed nothing, betrayed nothing.  Her eyes sought us fifty times that day, but they passed on and there was never any ray of recognition in them.  Another would have started upon seeing us, and then—­why, then there could have been trouble for us, of course.

We walked slowly home together, each busy with his own grief and saying not a word.

[1] He kept his word.  His account of the Great Trial will be found to be in strict and detailed accordance with the sworn facts of history.  —­Translator.

  6 The Maid Baffles Her Persecutors

That night Manchon told me that all through the day’s proceedings Cauchon had had some clerks concealed in the embrasure of a window who were to make a special report garbling Joan’s answers and twisting them from their right meaning.  Ah, that was surely the cruelest man and the most shameless that has lived in this world.  But his scheme failed.  Those clerks had human hearts in them, and their base work revolted them, and they turned to and boldly made a straight report, whereupon Cauchon curse them and ordered them out of his presence with a threat of drowning, which was his favorite and most frequent menace.  The matter had gotten abroad and was making great and unpleasant talk, and Cauchon would not try to repeat this shabby game right away.  It comforted me to hear that.

When we arrived at the citadel next morning, we found that a change had been made.  The chapel had been found too small.  The court had now removed to a noble chamber situated at the end of the great hall of the castle.  The number of judges was increased to sixty-two—­one ignorant girl against such odds, and none to help her.

The prisoner was brought in.  She was as white as ever, but she was looking no whit worse than she looked when she had first appeared the day before.  Isn’t it a strange thing?  Yesterday she had sat five hours on that backless bench with her chains in her lap, baited, badgered, persecuted by that unholy crew, without even the refreshment of a cup of water—­for she was never offered anything, and if I have made you know her by this time you will know without my telling you that she was not a person likely to ask favors of those people.  And she had spent the night caged in her wintry dungeon with her chains upon her; yet here she was, as I say, collected, unworn, and ready for the conflict; yes, and the only person there who showed no signs of the wear and worry of yesterday.  And her eyes—­ah, you should have seen them and broken your hearts.  Have you seen that veiled deep glow, that pathetic hurt dignity, that unsubdued and unsubduable spirit that burns and smolders in the eye of a caged eagle and makes you feel mean and shabby under the burden