"It touches! It touches!" cried D'Aulon.
"It touches! It touches!" we shouted in response.
"It touches! It touches!" came an echoing wave sound from the
soldiers watching from their resting places.
The Maid was on her feet in a moment. Where was the weakness, the
feebleness, the faintness of the wounded girl? All gone--all
swallowed up in the triumph of the victorious warrior.
"Onward! Onward, my children. Onward, de la part de Dieu! He has
given you the victory! Onwards and take the tower! Nothing can
resist you now!"
Her voice was heard all over the field. The white folds of the
banner still fluttered against the wall, the white armour of the
Maid shone dazzling in the sunshine as she dashed forward. The army
to a man sprang forward in her wake with that rush, with that power
of confidence against which nothing can stand.
The English shrieked in their astonishment and affright. The dead
had come to life! The White Witch, struck down as they thought by
mortal wound, was charging at the head of her armies.
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