“He had signs; also the counsel of the clergy.”

“What revelations were made to the King?”

“You will not get that out of me this year.”

Presently she added:  “During three weeks I was questioned by the clergy at Chinon and Poitiers.  The King had a sign before he would believe; and the clergy were of opinion that my acts were good and not evil.”

The subject was dropped now for a while, and Beaupere took up the matter of the miraculous sword of Fierbois to see if he could not find a chance there to fix the crime of sorcery upon Joan.

“How did you know that there was an ancient sword buried in the ground under the rear of the altar of the church of St. Catherine of Fierbois?”

Joan had no concealments to make as to this: 

“I knew the sword was there because my Voices told me so; and I sent to ask that it be given to me to carry in the wars.  It seemed to me that it was not very deep in the ground.  The clergy of the church caused it to be sought for and dug up; and they polished it, and the rust fell easily off from it.”

“Were you wearing it when you were taken in battle at Compiegne?”

“No.  But I wore it constantly until I left St. Denis after the attack upon Paris.”

This sword, so mysteriously discovered and so long and so constantly victorious, was suspected of being under the protection of enchantment.

“Was that sword blest?  What blessing had been invoked upon it?”

“None.  I loved it because it was found in the church of St. Catherine, for I loved that church very dearly.”

She loved it because it had been built in honor of one of her angels.

“Didn’t you lay it upon the altar, to the end that it might be lucky?” (The altar of St. Denis.) “No.”

“Didn’t you pray that it might be made lucky?”

“Truly it were no harm to wish that my harness might be fortunate.”

“Then it was not that sword which you wore in the field of Compiegne?  What sword did you wear there?”

“The sword of the Burgundian Franquet d’Arras, whom I took prisoner in the engagement at Lagny.  I kept it because it was a good war-sword—­good to lay on stout thumps and blows with.”

She said that quite simply; and the contrast between her delicate little self and the grim soldier words which she dropped with such easy familiarity from her lips made many spectators smile.

“What is become of the other sword?  Where is it now?”

“Is that in the proces verbal?”

Beaupere did not answer.

“Which do you love best, your banner or your sword?”

Her eye lighted gladly at the mention of her banner, and she cried out: 

“I love my banner best—­oh, forty times more than the sword!  Sometimes I carried it myself when I charged the enemy, to avoid killing any one.”  Then she added, naively, and with again that curious contrast between her girlish little personality and her subject, “I have never killed anyone.”