h she laid on good Brother Joconde's bosom.
Then these holy women, and the gardener with them, followed after
Guillaumette Dyonis, who led them by the streets and squares and alleys
as if her eyes had seen the light of day. They reached the foot of the
rampart, and by the stairway of a tower that was left unguarded, they
mounted onto the curtain-wall. There had been no time to furnish it with
its hoardings of wood; so they went along in the open. They proceeded
toward the Porte Saint-Honore, by this time enveloped in clouds of dust
and smoke. It was there the Marechal de Rais and his men were making
assault. Their bolts flew thick and fast against the ramparts, and they
were hurling faggots into the water of the great moat. On the hog's-back
parting the great moat from the little, stood the Maid, crying: "Yield,
yield you to the King of France." The English had abandoned the top
of the wall in terror, leaving their dead and wounded behind them.
Guillaumette Dyonis walked first, her head high and her left arm
extended before her, while with her right hand she kept signing herself
reverently. Simone la Bardine followed close on her heels. Then came
Jeanne Chastenier and Opportune Jadoin. Robin the gardener brought
up the rear, his body all shaking with his infirmity, and showing
the divine stigmata on his hands. They were singing canticles as they
walked.

And Guillaumette, turning now toward the city and now toward the open
country, cried: "Brethren, embrace ye one another. Live in peace
and harmony. Take the iron of your spearheads and forge it into
ploughshares!"

Scarce had she spoken ere a shower of arrows, some from the parapet-way
where a Company of Citizens was defiling, some from the hog's-back
where the Armagnac men-at-arms were massed, flew in her direction, and
therewith a storm of insults:

"Wanton! traitress! witch!"

Meanwhile she went on exhorting the two sides to stablish the Kingdom
of Jesus Christ upon earth and to live in innocency and brotherly love,
till a cross-bow bolt struck her in the throat and she staggered and
fell backward.

It was which could laugh the louder at this, Armagnacs or Burgundians.
Drawing her gown over her feet, she lay still and made no other stir,
but gave up her soul, sighing the name of Jesus. Her eyes, which
remained open, glowed like two opals.

Short while after the death of Guillaumette Dyonis the men of Paris
returned in great force to man their Wall, and defend