ated that Talbot and the leaders of the siege would
give such a welcome to a letter inspired by Saint Catherine and Saint
Margaret and Saint Michael; but so broad was her charity that she was
still willing to offer peace to the English. In her innocence she may
have believed that her proclamations in God's name were misunderstood
after all. Besides, whatever happened, she was determined to go
through with her duty to the end. At night she sallied forth from the
Bridge Gate and went as far as the outwork of La Belle-Croix. It was
not unusual for the two sides to address each other. La Belle-Croix
was within ear-shot of Les Tourelles. The Maid mounted the rampart and
cried to the English: "Surrender in God's name. I will grant you your
lives only."

But the garrison and even the Captain, William Glasdale himself,
hurled back at her coarse insults and horrible threats.

"Milk-maid! If ever we get you, you shall be burned alive."[980]

[Footnote 980: _Journal du siege_, p. 79. _Chronique de la Pucelle_,
p. 290.]

She answered that it was a lie. But they were in earnest and sincere.
They firmly believed that this damsel was arming legions of devils
against them.

On Sunday, the 1st of May, my Lord the Bastard went to meet the army
from Blois.[981] He knew the country; and, being both energetic and
cautious, he was desirous to superintend the entrance of this convoy
as he had done that of the other. He set out with a small escort. He
did not dare to take with him the Saint herself; but, in order, so to
speak, to put himself under her protection and tactfully to flatter
the piety and affections of the folk of Orleans, he took a member of
her suite, her steward, Sire Jean d'Aulon.[982] Thus he grasped the
first opportunity of showing his good will to the Maid, feeling that
henceforth nothing could be done except with her or under her
patronage.

[Footnote 981: _Trial_, vol. iii, p. 7. _Journal du siege_, p. 79.]

[Footnote 982: _Trial_, vol. iii, p. 211.]

The fervour of the citizens was not abated. That very day, in their
passionate desire to see the Saint, they crowded round Jacques
Boucher's house as turbulently as the pilgrims from Puy pressed into
the sanctuary of La Vierge Noire. There was a danger of the doors
being broken in. The cries of the townsfolk reached her. Then she
appeared: good, wise, equal to her mission, one born for the salvation
of the people. In the absence of captains and men-at-arms, this wil