ing. Our desire, abetted by our imagination,
turned those nine hundred monks into Joan's old campaigners, and their
Abbot into La Hire or the Bastard or D'Alencon; and we watched them file
in, unchallenged, the multitude respectfully dividing and uncovering
while they passed, with our hearts in our throats and our eyes swimming
with tears of joy and pride and exultation; and we tried to catch
glimpses of the faces under the cowls, and were prepared to give signal
to any recognized face that we were Joan's men and ready and eager to
kill and be killed in the good cause. How foolish we were!

But we were young, you know, and youth hopeth all things, believeth all
things.

20 The Betrayal

IN THE MORNING I was at my official post. It was on a platform raised
the height of a man, in the churchyard, under the eaves of St. Ouen. On
this same platform was a crowd of priests and important citizens, and
several lawyers. Abreast it, with a small space between, was another and
larger platform, handsomely canopied against sun and rain, and richly
carpeted; also it was furnished with comfortable chairs, and with two
which were more sumptuous than the others, and raised above the general
level. One of these two was occupied by a prince of the royal blood of
England, his Eminence the Cardinal of Winchester; the other by Cauchon,
Bishop of Beauvais. In the rest of the chairs sat three bishops, the
Vice-Inquisitor, eight abbots, and the sixty-two friars and lawyers who
had sat as Joan's judges in her late trials.

Twenty steps in front of the platforms was another--a table-topped
pyramid of stone, built up in retreating courses, thus forming steps.
Out of this rose that grisly thing, the stake; about the stake bundles
of fagots and firewood were piled. On the ground at the base of the
pyramid stood three crimson figures, the executioner and his assistants.
At their feet lay what had been a goodly heap of brands, but was now
a smokeless nest of ruddy coals; a foot or two from this was
a supplemental supply of wood and fagots compacted into a pile
shoulder-high and containing as much as six packhorse loads. Think of
that. We seem so delicately made, so destructible, so insubstantial; yet
it is easier to reduce a granite statue to ashes than it is to do that
with a man's body.

The sight of the stake sent physical pains tingling down the nerves of
my body; and yet, turn as I would, my eyes would keep coming back t it,
such fasc