mission was closing--closing in flawless triumph.
To-morrow she could say, "It is finished--let me go free."

We camped, and the hurry and rush and turmoil of the grand preparations
began. The Archbishop and a great deputation arrived; and after these
came flock after flock, crowd after crowd, of citizens and country-folk,
hurrahing, in, with banners and music, and flowed over the camp, one
rejoicing inundation after another, everybody drunk with happiness. And
all night long Rheims was hard at work, hammering away, decorating
the town, building triumphal arches and clothing the ancient cathedral
within and without in a glory of opulent splendors.

We moved betimes in the morning; the coronation ceremonies would begin
at nine and last five hours. We were aware that the garrison of English
and Burgundian soldiers had given up all thought of resisting the Maid,
and that we should find the gates standing hospitably open and the whole
city ready to welcome us with enthusiasm.

It was a delicious morning, brilliant with sunshine, but cool and
fresh and inspiring. The army was in great form, and fine to see, as
it uncoiled from its lair fold by fold, and stretched away on the final
march of the peaceful Coronation Campaign.

Joan, on her black horse, with the Lieutenant-General and the personal
staff grouped about her, took post for a final review and a good-by;
for she was not expecting to ever be a soldier again, or ever serve with
these or any other soldiers any more after this day. The army knew this,
and believed it was looking for the last time upon the girlish face of
its invincible little Chief, its pet, its pride, its darling, whom it
had ennobled in its private heart with nobilities of its own creation,
call her "Daughter of God," "Savior of France," "Victory's Sweetheart,"
"The Page of Christ," together with still softer titles which were
simply naive and frank endearments such as men are used to confer upon
children whom they love. And so one saw a new thing now; a thing bred of
the emotion that was present there on both sides. Always before, in the
march-past, the battalions had gone swinging by in a storm of cheers,
heads up and eyes flashing, the drums rolling, the bands braying paens
of victory; but now there was nothing of that. But for one impressive
sound, one could have closed his eyes and imagined himself in a world
of the dead. That one sound was all that visited the ear in the summer
stillness--just