" Joan raised her head, and her
eyes began to burn and flash. The preacher turned to her: "It is to you,
Joan, that I speak, and I tell you that your King is schismatic and a
heretic!"

Ah, he might abuse her to his heart's content; she could endure that;
but to her dying moment she could never hear in patience a word against
that ingrate, that treacherous dog our King, whose proper place was
here, at this moment, sword in hand, routing these reptiles and saving
this most noble servant that ever King had in this world--and he would
have been there if he had not been what I have called him. Joan's loyal
soul was outraged, and she turned upon the preacher and flung out a few
words with a spirit which the crowd recognized as being in accordance
with the Joan of Arc traditions:

"By my faith, sir! I make bold to say and swear, on pain of death, that
he is the most noble Christian of all Christians, and the best lover of
the faith and the Church!"

There was an explosion of applause from the crowd--which angered the
preacher, for he had been aching long to hear an expression like this,
and now that it was come at last it had fallen to the wrong person:
he had done all the work; the other had carried off all the spoil. He
stamped his foot and shouted to the sheriff:

"Make her shut up!"

That made the crowd laugh.

A mob has small respect for a grown man who has to call on a sheriff to
protect him from a sick girl.

Joan had damaged the preacher's cause more with one sentence than he had
helped it with a hundred; so he was much put out, and had trouble to get
a good start again. But he needn't have bothered; there was no occasion.
It was mainly an English-feeling mob. It had but obeyed a law of
our nature--an irresistible law--to enjoy and applaud a spirited and
promptly delivered retort, no matter who makes it. The mob was with the
preacher; it had been beguiled for a moment, but only that; it would
soon return. It was there to see this girl burnt; so that it got that
satisfaction--without too much delay--it would be content.

Presently the preacher formally summoned Joan to submit to the Church.
He made the demand with confidence, for he had gotten the idea from
Loyseleur and Beaupere that she was worn to the bone, exhausted, and
would not be able to put forth any more resistance; and, indeed, to look
at her it seemed that they must be right. Nevertheless, she made one
more effort to hold her ground, and said, wea