r "goods" with them. This was well, for
otherwise how would they buy the wherewithal to live? Very well; these
people were all to go out by the one gate, and at the time set for them
to depart we young fellows went to that gate, along with the Dwarf, to
see the march-out. Presently here they came in an interminable file, the
foot-soldiers in the lead. As they approached one could see that each
bore a burden of a bulk and weight to sorely tax his strength; and we
said among ourselves, truly these folk are well off for poor common
soldiers. When they were come nearer, what do you think? Every rascal
of them had a French prisoner on his back! They were carrying away their
"goods," you see--their property--strictly according to the permission
granted by the treaty.

Now think how clever that was, how ingenious. What could a body say?
what could a body do? For certainly these people were within their
right. These prisoners were property; nobody could deny that. My dears,
if those had been English captives, conceive of the richness of that
booty! For English prisoners had been scarce and precious for a hundred
years; whereas it was a different matter with French prisoners. They had
been over-abundant for a century. The possessor of a French prisoner
did not hold him long for ransom, as a rule, but presently killed him
to save the cost of his keep. This shows you how small was the value of
such a possession in those times. When we took Troyes a calf was worth
thirty francs, a sheep sixteen, a French prisoner eight. It was an
enormous price for those other animals--a price which naturally seems
incredible to you. It was the war, you see. It worked two ways: it made
meat dear and prisoners cheap.

Well, here were these poor Frenchmen being carried off. What could we
do? Very little of a permanent sort, but we did what we could. We sent
a messenger flying to Joan, and we and the French guards halted the
procession for a parley--to gain time, you see. A big Burgundian lost
his temper and swore a great oath that none should stop him; he would
go, and would take his prisoner with him. But we blocked him off, and
he saw that he was mistaken about going--he couldn't do it. He exploded
into the maddest cursings and revilings, then, and, unlashing his
prisoner from his back, stood him up, all bound and helpless; then drew
his knife, and said to us with a light of sarcasting triumph in his eye:

"I may not carry him away, you say--yet