eath the altar we drew
a sword, once a strong and well-tempered weapon, doubtless, but now
covered with rust, so that the good priests looked askance at it,
and begged to have it to cleanse and polish.

It was then too late for my return the same day, so I left it to
them, and lodged me in the town, where all the people flocked to
hear news of the Maid and of the coming campaign.

Then in the morning, with the first of the light, the sword was
brought to me; and surely many persons in Fierbois must have sat up
all the night, for every speck of rust had been cleansed away, and
a velvet scabbard made or found for the weapon, which the priests
begged of me to take with it to the Maid as their gift, and with
their benediction upon it and her.

My return was awaited with some stir of interest, and before I had
well dismounted I was hurried, all travel stained as I was, into
the presence of the King. There was the Maid waiting also, calm and
serene, and when she saw the thing which I carried in my hands, her
face lighted; she took several steps forward, and bent her knee as
she reverently took the sword, as though she received it from some
Higher Power.

"It was even as she said?" questioned the King, quickly.

"Even so, Sire; the sword of which no man knew aught, was lying
buried beneath the high altar of St. Catherine's Church, in
Fierbois."

A murmur of surprise and gratification ran through the assembly.
But there was no surprise upon the Maid's face.

"Did you doubt, Sire?" she asked, and he could not meet the glance
of her clear eyes.

CHAPTER VIII. HOW THE MAID MARCHED FOR ORLEANS.

Methinks the Maid loved that ancient sword better than all her
shining armour of silver! Strange to say, the jewelled sheath of
the King's Toledo blade fitted the weapon from Fierbois, and he
supplemented the priests' gift of a scabbard by this second rich
one. The Maid accepted it with graceful thanks; yet both the
gorgeous cases were laid away, and a simple sheath of leather made;
for the sword was to be carried at her side into battle, and
neither white nor crimson velvet was suited to such a purpose.

Nor would the Maid let us have her sword sharpened for her. A
curious look came upon her face as Bertrand pointed out that
although now clean and shining, its edges were too blunt for real
use. She looked round upon us as we stood before her, and passed
her fingers lovingly down the edges of the weapon.

"I will keep