st treacheries like
this; so she put on the forbidden garments, knowing what the end would
be. She was weary of the struggle, poor thing.

We had followed in the wake of Cauchon, the Vice-Inquisitor, and the
others--six or eight--and when I saw Joan sitting there, despondent,
forlorn, and still in chains, when I was expecting to find her situation
so different, I did not know what to make of it. The shock was very
great. I had doubted the relapse perhaps; possibly I had believed in it,
but had not realized it.

Cauchon's victory was complete. He had had a harassed and irritated
and disgusted look for a long time, but that was all gone now, and
contentment and serenity had taken its place. His purple face was full
of tranquil and malicious happiness. He went trailing his robes and
stood grandly in front of Joan, with his legs apart, and remained so
more than a minute, gloating over her and enjoying the sight of this
poor ruined creature, who had won so lofty a place for him in the
service of the meek and merciful Jesus, Saviour of the World, Lord
of the Universe--in case England kept her promise to him, who kept no
promises himself.

Presently the judges began to question Joan. One of them, named
Marguerie, who was a man with more insight than prudence, remarked upon
Joan's change of clothing, and said:

"There is something suspicious about this. How could it have come about
without connivance on the part of others? Perhaps even something worse?"

"Thousand devils!" screamed Cauchon, in a fury. "Will you shut your
mouth?"

"Armagnac! Traitor!" shouted the soldiers on guard, and made a rush for
Marguerie with their lances leveled. It was with the greatest difficulty
that he was saved from being run through the body. He made no more
attempts to help the inquiry, poor man. The other judges proceeded with
the questionings.

"Why have you resumed this male habit?"

I did not quite catch her answer, for just then a soldier's halberd
slipped from his fingers and fell on the stone floor with a crash; but
I thought I understood Joan to say that she had resumed it of her own
motion.

"But you have promised and sworn that you would not go back to it."

I was full of anxiety to hear her answer to that question; and when it
came it was just what I was expecting. She said--quiet quietly:

"I have never intended and never understood myself to swear I would not
resume it."

There--I had been sure, all along, that she did