emoved his
morion for him; for weapon he had a big ax in his broad leathern belt.
Standing by Joan's horse, he made Joan look littler than ever, for
his head was about on a level with her own. His face was profoundly
melancholy; all interest in life seemed to be dead in the man. Joan
said:

"Hold up your hands."

The man's head was down. He lifted it when he heard that soft friendly
voice, and there was a wistful something in his face which made one
think that there had been music in it for him and that he would like
to hear it again. When he raised his hands Joan laid her sword to his
bonds, but the officer said with apprehension:

"Ah, madam--my General!"

"What is it?" she said.

"He is under sentence!"

"Yes, I know. I am responsible for him"; and she cut the bonds. They had
lacerated his wrists, and they were bleeding. "Ah, pitiful!" she said;
"blood--I do not like it"; and she shrank from the sight. But only for a
moment. "Give me something, somebody, to bandage his wrists with."

The officer said:

"Ah, my General! it is not fitting. Let me bring another to do it."

"Another? De par le Dieu! You would seek far to find one that can do it
better than I, for I learned it long ago among both men and beasts. And
I can tie better than those that did this; if I had tied him the ropes
had not cut his flesh."

The man looked on silent, while he was being bandaged, stealing a
furtive glance at Joan's face occasionally, such as an animal might
that is receiving a kindness form an unexpected quarter and is gropingly
trying to reconcile the act with its source. All the staff had forgotten
the huzzaing army drifting by in its rolling clouds of dust, to crane
their necks and watch the bandaging as if it was the most interesting
and absorbing novelty that ever was. I have often seen people do like
that--get entirely lost in the simplest trifle, when it is something that
is out of their line. Now there in Poitiers, once, I saw two bishops and
a dozen of those grave and famous scholars grouped together watching a
man paint a sign on a shop; they didn't breathe, they were as good as
dead; and when it began to sprinkle they didn't know it at first; then
they noticed it, and each man hove a deep sigh, and glanced up with a
surprised look as wondering to see the others there, and how he came to
be there himself--but that is the way with people, as I have said. There
is no way of accounting for people. You have to take the