But her spirits were at the very top notch, now.  She was brimming with enthusiasm.  She said she would be carried before the gate in the morning, and in half an hour Paris would be ours without any question.  She could have kept her word.  About this there was no doubt.  But she forgot one factor—­the King, shadow of that substance named La Tremouille.  The King forbade the attempt!

You see, a new Embassy had just come from the Duke of Burgundy, and another sham private trade of some sort was on foot.

You would know, without my telling you, that Joan’s heart was nearly broken.  Because of the pain of her wound and the pain at her heart she slept little that night.  Several times the watchers heard muffled sobs from the dark room where she lay at St. Denis, and many times the grieving words, “It could have been taken!—­it could have been taken!” which were the only ones she said.

She dragged herself out of bed a day later with a new hope.  D’Alencon had thrown a bridge across the Seine near St. Denis.  Might she not cross by that and assault Paris at another point?  But the King got wind of it and broke the bridge down!  And more—­he declared the campaign ended!  And more still—­he had made a new truce and a long one, in which he had agreed to leave Paris unthreatened and unmolested, and go back to the Loire whence he had come!

Joan of Arc, who had never been defeated by the enemy, was defeated by her own King.  She had said once that all she feared for her cause was treachery.  It had struck its first blow now.  She hung up her white armor in the royal basilica of St. Denis, and went and asked the King to relieve her of her functions and let her go home.  As usual, she was wise.  Grand combinations, far-reaching great military moves were at an end, now; for the future, when the truce should end, the war would be merely a war of random and idle skirmishes, apparently; work suitable for subalterns, and not requiring the supervision of a sublime military genius.  But the King would not let her go.  The truce did not embrace all France; there were French strongholds to be watched and preserved; he would need her.  Really, you see, Tremouille wanted to keep her where he could balk and hinder her.

Now came her Voices again.  They said, “Remain at St. Denis.”  There was no explanation.  They did not say why.  That was the voice of God; it took precedence of the command of the King; Joan resolved to stay.  But that filled La Tremouille with dread.  She was too tremendous a force to be left to herself; she would surely defeat all his plans.  He beguiled the King to use compulsion.  Joan had to submit—­because she was wounded and helpless.  In the Great Trial she said she was carried away against her will; and that if she had not been wounded it could not have been accomplished.  Ah, she had a spirit, that slender girl! a spirit to brave all earthly powers and defy them.  We shall never know why the Voices ordered her to stay.  We only know this; that if she could have obeyed, the history of France would not be as it now stands written in the books.  Yes, well we know that.