gels in Article No.
10. However, they had to give it up. They found no way out; and so, to
this day, the University's verdict remains just so--devils in No. 1,
angels in No. 10; and no way to reconcile the discrepancy.

The envoys brought the verdict to Rouen, and with it a letter for
Cauchon which was full of fervid praise. The University complimented
him on his zeal in hunting down this woman "whose venom had infected the
faithful of the whole West," and as recompense it as good as promised
him "a crown of imperishable glory in heaven." Only that!--a crown in
heaven; a promissory note and no indorser; always something away off
yonder; not a word about the Archbishopric of Rouen, which was the thing
Cauchon was destroying his soul for. A crown in heaven; it must have
sounded like a sarcasm to him, after all his hard work. What should he
do in heaven? he did not know anybody there.

On the nineteenth of May a court of fifty judges sat in the
archiepiscopal palace to discuss Joan's fate. A few wanted her delivered
over to the secular arm at once for punishment, but the rest insisted
that she be once more "charitably admonished" first.

So the same court met in the castle on the twenty-third, and Joan was
brought to the bar. Pierre Maurice, a canon of Rouen, made a speech
to Joan in which he admonished her to save her life and her soul by
renouncing her errors and surrendering to the Church. He finished with
a stern threat: if she remained obstinate the damnation of her soul was
certain, the destruction of her body probable. But Joan was immovable.
She said:

"If I were under sentence, and saw the fire before me, and the
executioner ready to light it--more, if I were in the fire itself, I
would say none but the things which I have said in these trials; and I
would abide by them till I died."

A deep silence followed now, which endured some moments. It lay upon me
like a weight. I knew it for an omen. Then Cauchon, grave and solemn,
turned to Pierre Maurice:

"Have you anything further to say?"

The priest bowed low, and said:

"Nothing, my lord."

"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything further to say?"

"Nothing."

"Then the debate is closed. To-morrow, sentence will be pronounced.
Remove the prisoner."

She seemed to go from the place erect and noble. But I do not know; my
sight was dim with tears.

To-morrow--twenty-fourth of May! Exactly a year since I saw her go
speeding across the plain at the head