journey, had also stretched himself
on a couch to rest. They were all tired, the entry of the troops
having been early in the morning, a fact of which the angry captains of
Orleans, who had not shared in that expedition, took advantage to make
a secret sortie unknown to the new chiefs. All at once the Maid awoke in
agitation and alarm. Her "voices" had awakened her from her sleep. "My
council tell me to go against the English," she cried; "but if to assail
their towers or to meet Fastolfe I cannot tell." As she came to the full
command of her faculties her trouble grew. "The blood of our soldiers is
flowing," she said; "why did they not tell me? My arms, my arms!" Then
she rushed down stairs to find her page amusing himself in the tranquil
afternoon, and called to him for her horse. All was quiet, and no doubt
her attendants thought her mad: but D'Aulon, who knew better than to
contradict his mistress, armed her rapidly, and Luis, the page, brought
her horse to the door. By this time there began to rise a distant rumour
and outcry, at which they all pricked their ears. As Jeanne put her foot
in the stirrup she perceived that her standard was wanting, and called
to the page, Louis de Contes, above, to hand it to her out of the
window. Then with the heavy flag-staff in her hand she set spurs to her
horse, her attendants one by one clattering after her, and dashed onward
"so that the fire flashed from the pavement under the horse's feet."

Jeanne's presentiment was well-founded. There had been a private
expedition against the English fort of St. Loup carried out quietly to
steal a march upon her--Gamache, possibly, or other malcontents of his
temper, in the hope perhaps of making use of her prestige to gain a
victory without her presence. But it had happened with this sally as
with many others which had been made from Orleans; and when Jeanne
appeared outside the gate which she and the rest of the followers
after her had almost forced--coming down upon them at full gallop, her
standard streaming, her white armour in a blaze of reflection, she met
the fugitives flying back towards the shelter of the town. She does not
seem to have paused or to have deigned to address a word to them, though
the troop of soldiers and citizens who had snatched arms and flung
themselves after her, arrested and turned them back. Straight to the
foot of the tower she went, Dunois startled in his turn, thundering
after her. It is not for a woman to