eir clothes, and
borrowed or bought from the townsfolk such things as were most
lacking; and now, drawn up in array in the great square, with
tossing banners, and all the gay panoply of martial glory, they
looked like some great victorious band--as, indeed, they
were--celebrating the last act of a great and wonderful triumph.

As for the knights, nobles, and courtiers, one need not speak of
the outward glory of their aspect--the shining armour, the gay
dresses, the magnificent trappings of the sleek horses--that can
well be pictured by those who have ever witnessed a like brilliant
scene.

But for the first part of the day, with its many and varied
ceremonies, there was lacking the shining figure of the Maid; nor
did the King himself appear. But forth from the Palace of the
Archeveche rode four of the greatest and most notable peers of the
realm, attended by a gorgeous retinue; and with banners waving, and
trumpets blowing great martial blasts, they paced proudly through
the streets, between the closely-packed ranks of soldiers and
citizens, till they reached the ancient Abbey of Sainte Remy, where
the monks of Sainte Ampoule guard within their shrine the holy oil
of consecration, in that most precious vial which, they said, was
sent down from heaven itself for the consecration of King Clovis
and his successors.

Upon bended knees and with bared heads these great peers of France
then took their solemn oath that the sacred vial should never leave
their sight or care, night or day, till it was restored to the
keeping of the shrine from which the Abbot was about to take it.
Then, and only then, would the Abbot, clothed in his most sumptuous
vestments, and attended by his robed monks, take from its place that
holy vessel, and place it in the hands of the messengers--Knights
Hostages, as they were termed for the nonce--and as they carried it
slowly and reverently forth, and retraced their steps to the Cathedral,
accompanied now by the Abbot and monks, every knee was bent and every
head bowed.

But all the while that this ceremony was taking place, the Maid was
shut up in her room in the Palace, dictating a letter of appeal to
the Duke of Burgundy, and praying him in gentle, yet authoritative
terms, to be reconciled to his King, join hands with him against
the English foe, and then, if need there were to fight, to turn his
arms against the Saracens, instead of warring with his brethren and
kinsmen. I trow that this thi