To my mind these were as good as dead men.  How many of them would still be alive after the rescue that was coming?  Not more than enough to amuse the executioner a short half-hour, certainly.

It turned out that the report was true.  Joan had relapsed.  She was sitting there in her chains, clothed again in her male attire.

She accused nobody.  That was her way.  It was not in her character to hold a servant to account for what his master had made him do, and her mind had cleared now, and she knew that the advantage which had been taken of her the previous morning had its origin, not in the subordinate but in the master—­Cauchon.

Here is what had happened.  While Joan slept, in the early morning of Sunday, one of the guards stole her female apparel and put her male attire in its place.  When she woke she asked for the other dress, but the guards refused to give it back.  She protested, and said she was forbidden to wear the male dress.  But they continued to refuse.  She had to have clothing, for modesty’s sake; moreover, she saw that she could not save her life if she must fight for it against treacheries like this; so she put on the forbidden garments, knowing what the end would be.  She was weary of the struggle, poor thing.

We had followed in the wake of Cauchon, the Vice-Inquisitor, and the others—­six or eight—­and when I saw Joan sitting there, despondent, forlorn, and still in chains, when I was expecting to find her situation so different, I did not know what to make of it.  The shock was very great.  I had doubted the relapse perhaps; possibly I had believed in it, but had not realized it.

Cauchon’s victory was complete.  He had had a harassed and irritated and disgusted look for a long time, but that was all gone now, and contentment and serenity had taken its place.  His purple face was full of tranquil and malicious happiness.  He went trailing his robes and stood grandly in front of Joan, with his legs apart, and remained so more than a minute, gloating over her and enjoying the sight of this poor ruined creature, who had won so lofty a place for him in the service of the meek and merciful Jesus, Saviour of the World, Lord of the Universe—­in case England kept her promise to him, who kept no promises himself.

Presently the judges began to question Joan.  One of them, named Marguerie, who was a man with more insight than prudence, remarked upon Joan’s change of clothing, and said: 

“There is something suspicious about this.  How could it have come about without connivance on the part of others?  Perhaps even something worse?”

“Thousand devils!” screamed Cauchon, in a fury.  “Will you shut your mouth?”

“Armagnac!  Traitor!” shouted the soldiers on guard, and made a rush for Marguerie with their lances leveled.  It was with the greatest difficulty that he was saved from being run through the body.  He made no more attempts to help the inquiry, poor man.  The other judges proceeded with the questionings.