Well, there is no denying it, the Paladin was in great form that night.  Such style! such noble grace of gesture, such grandeur of attitude, such energy when he got going! such steady rise, on such sure wing, such nicely graduated expenditures of voice according to the weight of the matter, such skilfully calculated approaches to his surprises and explosions, such belief-compelling sincerity of tone and manner, such a climaxing peal from his brazen lungs, and such a lightning-vivid picture of his mailed form and flaunting banner when he burst out before that despairing army!  And oh, the gentle art of the last half of his last sentence—­delivered in the careless and indolent tone of one who has finished his real story, and only adds a colorless and inconsequential detail because it has happened to occur to him in a lazy way.

It was a marvel to see those innocent peasants.  Why, they went all to pieces with enthusiasm, and roared out applauses fit to raise the roof and wake the dead.  When they had cooled down at last and there was silence but for the heaving and panting, old Laxart said, admiringly: 

“As it seems to me, you are an army in your single person.”

“Yes, that is what he is,” said Noel Rainguesson, convincingly.  “He is a terror; and not just in this vicinity.  His mere name carries a shudder with it to distant lands—­just he mere name; and when he frowns, the shadow of it falls as far as Rome, and the chickens go to roost an hour before schedule time.  Yes; and some say—­”

“Noel Rainguesson, you are preparing yourself for trouble.  I will say just one word to you, and it will be to your advantage to—­”

I saw that the usual thing had got a start.  No man could prophesy when it would end.  So I delivered Joan’s message and went off to bed.

Joan made her good-byes to those old fellows in the morning, with loving embraces and many tears, and with a packed multitude for sympathizers, and they rode proudly away on their precious horses to carry their great news home.  I had seen better riders, some will say that; for horsemanship was a new art to them.

The vanguard moved out at dawn and took the road, with bands braying and banners flying; the second division followed at eight.  Then came the Burgundian ambassadors, and lost us the rest of that day and the whole of the next.  But Joan was on hand, and so they had their journey for their pains.  The rest of us took the road at dawn, next morning, July 20th.  And got how far?  Six leagues.  Tremouille was getting in his sly work with the vacillating King, you see.  The King stopped at St. Marcoul and prayed three days.  Precious time lost—­for us; precious time gained for Bedford.  He would know how to use it.

We could not go on without the King; that would be to leave him in the conspirators’ camp.  Joan argued, reasoned, implored; and at last we got under way again.