n when the French
climbed over the walls.

This was only the commencement of the fighting, for the French with
Jeanne to lead them, now commenced a determined series of attacks
against the English forts that lay about the city. And everywhere
Jeanne and her white standard were in the front rank of the battle, and
she risked her life a thousand times each day.

At last the French attacked one of the strongest of all the English
forts, the bastille of Les Tourelles. Before the fight began Jeanne
told the men-at-arms who were detailed to accompany her on the field to
stay particularly close to her that day--"For," said she, "I have much
work to do, and blood will flow from my body--above the breast."

As the French approached the stronghold they were met with showers of
stones and arrows. The English crossbowmen did deadly work and the
English cannon fired stone balls into the ranks of the French soldiers.
The French brought scaling ladders to mount the walls, but above them
the English stood ready with boiling pitch and melted lead to hurl into
the faces of those who succeeded in mounting.

In spite of all these dangers Jeanne was constantly close to the
English walls and her white standard always rose where the fighting was
hottest. When a scaling ladder was placed against the wall she was the
first to mount and was half way to the top when an English crossbowman,
taking careful aim, fired an arrow with such force that it pierced
right through her steel coat of mail and stood out behind her shoulder.
Her grip relaxed from the ladder and she fell.

A mighty cheer went up from the English who believed that in drawing
the blood of the witch they had drawn her power too. And for a time it
seemed as if this really were so, for Jeanne's wound was very painful
and she seemed no longer a warrior, but a pitiful little girl, overcome
with tears and faintness. At last, however, when her steel shirt had
been removed, she grasped the arrow with her own hands and drew it from
the wound. And after this she rose and insisted on donning her armor
once more.

The French had seen her fall and their courage had left them, and they
were in full retreat when Jeanne returned to the battle.

"In God's name," she cried, riding toward them, "forward once more. Do
not fly when the place is almost ours. One more brave charge and I
promise you shall succeed."

The English were still rejoicing at what they had accomplished when to
their dis