annihilate her. He was a wise old experienced
general, was Fastolfe. But that fierce Talbot would hear of no delay. He
was in a rage over the punishment which the Maid had inflicted upon him
at Orleans and since, and he swore by God and Saint George that he
would have it out with her if he had to fight her all alone. So Fastolfe
yielded, though he said they were now risking the loss of everything
which the English had gained by so many years' work and so many hard
knocks.

The enemy had taken up a strong position, and were waiting, in order of
battle, with their archers to the front and a stockade before them.

Night was coming on. A messenger came from the English with a rude
defiance and an offer of battle. But Joan's dignity was not ruffled, her
bearing was not discomposed. She said to the herald:

"Go back and say it is too late to meet to-night; but to-morrow, please
God and our Lady, we will come to close quarters."

The night fell dark and rainy. It was that sort of light steady rain
which falls so softly and brings to one's spirit such serenity and
peace. About ten o'clock D'Alencon, the Bastard of Orleans, La Hire,
Pothon of Saintrailles, and two or three other generals came to our
headquarters tent, and sat down to discuss matters with Joan. Some
thought it was a pity that Joan had declined battle, some thought not.
Then Pothon asked her why she had declined it. She said:

"There was more than one reason. These English are ours--they cannot
get away from us. Wherefore there is no need to take risks, as at other
times. The day was far spent. It is good to have much time and the fair
light of day when one's force is in a weakened state--nine hundred of
us yonder keeping the bridge of Meung under the Marshal de Rais, fifteen
hundred with the Constable of France keeping the bridge and watching the
castle of Beaugency."

Dunois said:

"I grieve for this decision, Excellency, but it cannot be helped. And
the case will be the same the morrow, as to that."

Joan was walking up and down just then. She laughed her affectionate,
comrady laugh, and stopping before that old war-tiger she put her small
hand above his head and touched one of his plumes, saying:

"Now tell me, wise man, which feather is it that I touch?"

"In sooth, Excellency, that I cannot."

"Name of God, Bastard, Bastard! you cannot tell me this small thing, yet
are bold to name a large one--telling us what is in the stomach of the
unborn mor