ll have passed for a
page, her black hair being cut "en ronde," as was and is the fashion
among men-at-arms. Thus much have I written concerning her bodily
aspect, because many have asked me what manner of woman was the blessed
Maid, and whether she was beautiful. I gazed at her like one
moon-struck, then, remembering my courtesy, I doffed my cap, and louted
low; and she bowed, smiling graciously like a great lady, but with such
an air as if her mind was far away.

She passed, with her two gentlemen, but the French sentinel barred the
way, holding his fauchard thwartwise.

"On what business come you, and by what right?" he cried, in a rude
voice.

"By the Dauphin's gracious command, to see the Dauphin," said one of the
gentlemen right courteously. "Here is his own letter, and you may know
the seal, bidding La Pucelle to come before him at this hour."

The fellow looked at the seal, and could not but acknowledge the arms of
France thereon. He dropped his fauchard over his shoulder, and stood
aside, staring impudently at the Maiden, and muttering foul words.

"So this is the renowned Pucelle," he cried; "by God's name" . . . and
here he spoke words such as I may not set down in writing, blaspheming
God and the Maid.

She turned and looked at him, but as if she saw him not; and then, a
light of joy and love transfiguring her face, she knelt down on the
drawbridge, folding her hands, her face bowed, and so abode while one
might count twenty, we that beheld her being amazed. Then she rose and
bent as if in salutation to one we saw not; next, addressing herself to
the sentinel, she said, very gently--

"Sir, how canst thou take in vain the name of God, thou that art in this
very hour to die?"

So speaking, she with her gentlemen went within the gate, while the
soldier stood gazing after her like a man turned to stone.

The Maid passed from our sight, and then the sentinel, coming to himself,
turned in great wrath on me, who stood hard by.

"What make you gaping here, you lousy wine-sack of Scotland?" he cried;
and at the word, my prayer which I had made to St. Andrew in my bonds
came into my mind, namely, that I should not endure to hear my country
defamed.

I stopped not to think of words, wherein I never had a ready wit, but his
were still in his mouth when I had leaped within his guard, so that he
might not swing out his long halberd.

"Blasphemer and liar!" I cried, gripping his neck with my left hand,