Oh, how joyous were our hearts! Now did we believe
truly that the tide had turned, and that we were marching on to
victory.
But upon the Maid's face a shadow might often be seen to rest; and
once or twice when I would ask her of it, she replied in a low,
sorrowful voice:
"My year is well-nigh ended. Something looms before me. My voices
have told me to be ready for what is coming. I fear me it will be
my fate to fall into the hands of the foe!"
I would not believe it! Almost I was resolved to plunge mine own
dagger into her heart sooner than she should fall into the hand of
the pitiless English. But woe is me! I was not at her side that
dreadful evening at Compiegne, when this terrible mishap befell. I
had been stricken down in that horrid death trap, when, hemmed in
between the ranks of the Burgundians and English, we found our
retreat into the city cut off.
Was it treachery? Was it incapacity upon the part of the leaders of
the garrison, or what was the reason that no rush from the city
behind took the English in the rear, and effected the rescue of the
Maid?
I know not--I have never known--all to me is black mystery.
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