The army from Orleans marched out and stood bareheaded
beneath the walls, unarmed by order of the Maid, save for the small
weapon every man habitually carried at his belt, citizen as well as
soldier. The townspeople flocked to the walls, or out into the
plain, as pleased them best; and from the Renart Gate there issued
forth a grave and sumptuous procession; the Bishop in his
vestments, accompanied by all the ecclesiastics within the city
walls, each of them robed, attended by acolytes swinging censers,
the incense cloud ascending through the sunny air, tapers swaying
in the breeze, their light extinguished by the brilliance of the
sunshine.
The Maid in her white tunic, with a white mantle over her
shoulders, followed with bent head, leading the little Charlotte by
the hand succeeded by her household.
And there, in the sight of the rival armies, High Mass was
celebrated by the Bishop, both armies kneeling devoutly, and
turning towards the Altar as one man. Never have I witnessed such a
scene. Never shall I witness such another.
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