heart was great and its enthusiasm high, and that with
it at her back she did not fear to face all the might of England.

All arrangements having been completed for the return of the main body of
the army, she took the Bastard and La Hire and a thousand men and went
down to Orleans, where all the town was in a fever of impatience to have
sight of her face. It was eight in the evening when she and the troops
rode in at the Burgundy gate, with the Paladin preceding her with her
standard. She was riding a white horse, and she carried in her hand the
sacred sword of Fierbois. You should have seen Orleans then. What a
picture it was! Such black seas of people, such a starry firmament of
torches, such roaring whirlwinds of welcome, such booming of bells and
thundering of cannon! It was as if the world was come to an end.
Everywhere in the glare of the torches one saw rank upon rank of upturned
white faces, the mouths wide open, shouting, and the unchecked tears
running down; Joan forged her slow way through the solid masses, her
mailed form projecting above the pavement of heads like a silver statue.
The people about her struggled along, gazing up at her through their
tears with the rapt look of men and women who believe they are seeing one
who is divine; and always her feet were being kissed by grateful folk,
and such as failed of that privilege touched her horse and then kissed
their fingers.

Nothing that Joan did escaped notice; everything she did was commented
upon and applauded. You could hear the remarks going all the time.

"There--she's smiling--see!"

"Now she's taking her little plumed cap off to somebody--ah, it's fine
and graceful!"

"She's patting that woman on the head with her gauntlet."

"Oh, she was born on a horse--see her turn in her saddle, and kiss the
hilt of her sword to the ladies in the window that threw the flowers
down."

"Now there's a poor woman lifting up a child--she's kissed it--oh, she's
divine!"

"What a dainty little figure it is, and what a lovely face--and such
color and animation!"

Joan's slender long banner streaming backward had an accident--the fringe
caught fire from a torch. She leaned forward and crushed the flame in her
hand.

"She's not afraid of fire nor anything!" they shouted, and delivered a
storm of admiring applause that made everything quake.

She rode to the cathedral and gave thanks to God, and the people crammed
the place and added their devotions to hers