Her face was pale and rapt.
None of us spoke to her, and Pasquerel, her good chaplain, rode
behind telling his beads as he went.
We reached the Burgundy Gate; and behold it was fast shut. At the
portal stood De Gaucourt, a notable warrior, with a grim look about
his mouth. The Maid saluted him courteously, and quietly bid him
open the gate. But he budged not an inch.
"Madam," he said, "I have my commands from the Generals of the
army. The gate is to remain shut. No one is to be suffered to pass
forth today."
We understood in a moment. This was a ruse to trap the Maid within
the city walls. Our hands were upon the hilts of our swords. At a
word from her, they would have flashed forth, and De Gaucourt would
have been a dead man had he sought to hinder us in the opening of
the gate. But the Maid read our purpose in our eyes and in our
gestures, and she stayed us by her lifted hand.
"Not so, my friends," she answered gravely, "but the Chevalier de
Gaucourt will himself order the opening of the gate. I have to ride
through it and at once.
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