“I submit them to God and the Pope.”

The Pope once more!  It was very embarrassing.  Here was a person who was asked to submit her case to the Church, and who frankly consents—­offers to submit it to the very head of it.  What more could any one require?  How was one to answer such a formidably unanswerable answer as that?

The worried judges put their heads together and whispered and planned and discussed.  Then they brought forth this sufficiently shambling conclusion—­but it was the best they could do, in so close a place:  they said the Pope was so far away; and it was not necessary to go to him anyway, because the present judges had sufficient power and authority to deal with the present case, and were in effect “the Church” to that extent.  At another time they could have smiled at this conceit, but not now; they were not comfortable enough now.

The mob was getting impatient.  It was beginning to put on a threatening aspect; it was tired of standing, tired of the scorching heat; and the thunder was coming nearer, the lightning was flashing brighter.  It was necessary to hurry this matter to a close.  Erard showed Joan a written form, which had been prepared and made all ready beforehand, and asked her to abjure.

“Abjure?  What is abjure?”

She did not know the word.  It was explained to her by Massieu.  She tried to understand, but she was breaking, under exhaustion, and she could not gather the meaning.  It was all a jumble and confusion of strange words.  In her despair she sent out this beseeching cry: 

“I appeal to the Church universal whether I ought to abjure or not!”

Erard exclaimed: 

“You shall abjure instantly, or instantly be burnt!”

She glanced up, at those awful words, and for the first time she saw the stake and the mass of red coals—­redder and angrier than ever now under the constantly deepening storm-gloom.  She gasped and staggered up out of her seat muttering and mumbling incoherently, and gazed vacantly upon the people and the scene about her like one who is dazed, or thinks he dreams, and does not know where he is.

The priests crowded about her imploring her to sign the paper, there were many voices beseeching and urging her at once, there was great turmoil and shouting and excitement among the populace and everywhere.

“Sign! sign!” from the priests; “sign—­sign and be saved!” And Loyseleur was urging at her ear, “Do as I told you—­do not destroy yourself!”

Joan said plaintively to these people: 

“Ah, you do not do well to seduce me.”

The judges joined their voices to the others.  Yes, even the iron in their hearts melted, and they said: 

“O Joan, we pity you so!  Take back what you have said, or we must deliver you up to punishment.”

And now there was another voice—­it was from the other platform—­pealing solemnly above the din:  Cauchon’s—­reading the sentence of death!