Then we heard the far clank of chains, and presently Joan entered with her keepers and took her seat upon her isolated bench.  She was looking well now, and most fair and beautiful after her fortnight’s rest from wordy persecution.

She glanced about and noted the orator.  Doubtless she divined the situation.

The orator had written his speech all out, and had it in his hand, though he held it back of him out of sight.  It was so thick that it resembled a book.  He began flowing, but in the midst of a flowery period his memory failed him and he had to snatch a furtive glance at his manuscript—­which much injured the effect.  Again this happened, and then a third time.  The poor man’s face was red with embarrassment, the whole great house was pitying him, which made the matter worse; then Joan dropped in a remark which completed the trouble.  She said: 

“Read your book—­and then I will answer you!”

Why, it was almost cruel the way those moldy veterans laughed; and as for the orator, he looked so flustered and helpless that almost anybody would have pitied him, and I had difficulty to keep from doing it myself.  Yes, Joan was feeling very well after her rest, and the native mischief that was in her lay near the surface.  It did not show when she made the remark, but I knew it was close in there back of the words.

When the orator had gotten back his composure he did a wise thing; for he followed Joan’s advice:  he made no more attempts at sham impromptu oratory, but read his speech straight from his “book.”  In the speech he compressed the Twelve Articles into six, and made these his text.

Every now and then he stopped and asked questions, and Joan replied.  The nature of the Church Militant was explained, and once more Joan was asked to submit herself to it.

She gave her usual answer.

Then she was asked: 

“Do you believe the Church can err?”

“I believe it cannot err; but for those deeds and words of mine which were done and uttered by command of God, I will answer to Him alone.”

“Will you say that you have no judge upon earth?  Is not our Holy Father the Pope your judge?”

“I will say nothing about it.  I have a good Master who is our Lord, and to Him I will submit all.”

Then came these terrible words: 

“If you do not submit to the Church you will be pronounced a heretic by these judges here present and burned at the stake!”

Ah, that would have smitten you or me dead with fright, but it only roused the lion heart of Joan of Arc, and in her answer rang that martial note which had used to stir her soldiers like a bugle-call: 

“I will not say otherwise than I have said already; and if I saw the fire before me I would say it again!”

It was uplifting to hear her battle-voice once more and see the battle-light burn in her eye.  Many there were stirred; every man that was a man was stirred, whether friend or foe; and Manchon risked his life again, good soul, for he wrote in the margin of the record in good plain letters these brave words:  “Superba responsio!” and there they have remained these sixty years, and there you may read them to this day.