he was so gray and so far along in
his pilgrimage of life, she so youthful; his face was so bronzed
and scarred, hers so fair and pink, so fresh and smooth; she was so
gracious, and he so stern; she was so pure, so innocent, he such a
cyclopedia of sin. In her eye was stored all charity and compassion,
in his lightnings; when her glance fell upon you it seemed to bring
benediction and the peace of God, but with his it was different,
generally.

They rode through the camp a dozen times a day, visiting every corner
of it, observing, inspecting, perfecting; and wherever they appeared
the enthusiasm broke forth. They rode side by side, he a great figure of
brawn and muscle, she a little masterwork of roundness and grace; he a
fortress of rusty iron, she a shining statuette of silver; and when the
reformed raiders and bandits caught sight of them they spoke out, with
affection and welcome in their voices, and said:

"There they come--Satan and the Page of Christ!"

All the three days that we were in Blois, Joan worked earnestly and
tirelessly to bring La Hire to God--to rescue him from the bondage of
sin--to breathe into his stormy heart the serenity and peace of religion.
She urged, she begged, she implored him to pray. He stood out, three
days of our stay, begging about piteously to be let off--to be let off
from just that one thing, that impossible thing; he would do anything
else--anything--command, and he would obey--he would go through the fire
for her if she said the word--but spare him this, only this, for he
couldn't pray, had never prayed, he was ignorant of how to frame a
prayer, he had no words to put it in.

And yet--can any believe it?--she carried even that point, she won that
incredible victory. She made La Hire pray. It shows, I think, that
nothing was impossible to Joan of Arc. Yes, he stood there before her
and put up his mailed hands and made a prayer. And it was not borrowed,
but was his very own; he had none to help him frame it, he made it out
of his own head--saying:

"Fair Sir God, I pray you to do by La Hire as he would do by you if you
were La Hire and he were God." 1

Then he put on his helmet and marched out of Joan's tent as satisfied
with himself as any one might be who had arranged a perplexed and
difficult business to the content and admiration of all the parties
concerned in the matter.

If I had know that he had been praying, I could have understood why he
was feeling so superior,