victory, even though because of a wound in her foot she was not able to lead her forces, with her great white banner floating before them as usual. But she was none the less the inspiration of the day, and was also able to show a woman's tender pity and care for those of the enemy who were wounded and in their need of loving ministration turned to the gentle girl as to an angel sent from heaven.

News of the French victories flew like wildfire over all the country. Three fortified towns taken, a great army of the enemy disorganised and put to flight, the whole country almost to the gates of Paris cleared of the enemy in a single brilliant week's campaign, and all through the commands, the inspiration, the invincible courage, the Vision of a slender slip of a girl! It seemed incredible except to those who had been with her through so many crucial tests, who had proved the fibre of her mental, physical and spiritual force, and reverenced her as one truly inspired by God's own voice.

After the capture of Pâtay back again to Orléans went the victorious army, and there were no bounds now to the enthusiasm expressed for the Maid who had done such marvellous things. It was supposed that the Dauphin would surely meet the victors at Orléans, but he was enjoying himself elsewhere, and Jeanne, cruelly impatient, set off to meet him at St. Bênoit, on the Loire, where again she begged him to help in the great work on hand, and again was met with cold inaction, but notwithstanding this, the Maid with her dauntless purpose left the Court, still repeating, "By my staff, I will lead the gentle King Charles and his company safely, and he shall be consecrated at Rheims!" showing that all the human weakness, which she could not have failed to see in the Dauphin, did not deter her in the accomplishing of a purpose which she felt she owed to France.

Across the Loire went the Maid and her men, and then as if impelled by some impulse, on the twenty-ninth of June, the Dauphin suddenly followed her on to Champagne. To Trôyes went the army now, headed by no less formidable personage than the King-to-be and the Maid, and to one homage was paid because of his royal lineage, and to the other honour because of her marvellous achievements and gracious personality. Never once did Jeanne's martial spirit fail, or her belief in her vision weaken: even the Dauphin was a better and stronger man while under the spell of her wonder-working personality, and ever his reverence for her grew, seeing her exquisite personal purity, although surrounded by men and under circumstances which made purity difficult; and her great piety, her more than human achievement and her flaming spirit, gave him food for as much serious thought as he ever devoted to anything.

"Work, and God will work," was Jeanne's motto, and faithfully did she live it out, working for the King as he never would have done either for himself or for anyone else, and on the morning of Saturday, July sixteenth, the Maid and the Dauphin together rode into the city of Jeanne's vision.

At nine o'clock in the morning, on Sunday, July seventeenth, the great cathedral of Rheims was filled to its doors for the crowning of the King. The deep-toned organ and a great choir filled the Cathedral with music as the Abbot entered, carrying a vial of sacred oil for the anointing; then came the Archbishop and his canons, followed by five great lords, stately figures indeed, each carrying his banner, and each riding a richly caparisoned horse. Down the length of the aisle made for them, to the choir they rode, then as the Archbishop dismissed them, each made a deep bow till the plumes of his hat touched his horse's neck, and then each wheeling his steed around, they passed out as they had come.

There was a deep hush through all the vast Cathedral, one could have heard a dropped pin in all that surging mass of people, then came the peals of four silver trumpets. Jeanne, the Maid of France, and Charles the Dauphin, stood framed in the pointed archway of the great west door. Slowly they advanced up the long aisle, the organ pealing its welcome, the people shouting their applause, and behind the two figures came a stately array of royal personages and church dignitaries, and then, standing before the altar, the solemn Coronation ceremony began, while beside the King, during the long prayers and anthems and sermons, stood Jeanne, with her beloved standard in her hand. The King took the oath, was anointed with the sacred oil, then came the bearer of the crown, and kneeling, offered it. For one moment the King hesitated,—was it because of a thought of his unworthiness, or because of the great responsibilities wearing it would impose? At all events, hesitate he did, then he caught Jeanne's eyes, beaming with all the pride and joy of her inspired nature, and Charles took up the crown and placed it on his head, while choir and organ and people made the vast building resound and echo with music and with shouts. Jeanne alone stood as though transfixed, then sinking on her knees she said:

"Now, oh, gentle King, now, is accomplished the will of God, who decreed that I should raise the siege of Orléans, and bring you to the city of Rheims for your consecration, thereby showing that you are the true King, and that to you the realm of France should belong."

And at sight of her, so young and human in her beauty, so inspired in that which she had done, many wept for very enthusiasm, and all hearts honoured her.

With gracious words the King lifted her up, and there before that vast assemblage of nobles he made her the equal of a count in rank, appointed a household and officers for her according to her dignity, and begged her to name some wish which he could fulfil.

Jeanne was on her knees again in a moment at his words, "You have saved the throne, ask what you will."

With sweet simplicity she pleaded, "Oh, gentle King, I ask only that the taxes of Domrémy, now so impoverished by war, be remitted."

On hearing her request, the King seemed momentarily bewildered by so great unselfishness, then he exclaimed:

"She has won a kingdom, and crowned a King, and all she asks and all she will take, is this poor grace, and even this is for others. And it is well. Her act being proportioned to the dignity of one who carries in her head and heart riches which outvalue any King could give and though he gave his all. She shall have her way. Now therefore it is decreed that from this day, Domrémy, natal village of Jeanne d'Arc, Deliverer of France, called the Maid of Orléans, is freed from all taxation for ever."

At this the silver horns blew a long blast, and from that day, for three hundred and sixty years was the little village of Jeanne's birth without taxation, because of her deeds of valour.

On went the ceremony to an imposing finish, when the procession with Jeanne and the King at its head marched out of the Cathedral with all possible pomp and solemnity, and the great day on which Jeanne had fulfilled the third and greatest of those achievements to which her voices had called her, was over. She had led the King to his crowning,—and as the people of Rheims gazed on her in her silver mail, glittering as if in a more than earthly light, carrying the white standard embellished with the emblems of her belief, it seemed as though the Maid in her purity, and her consecration to France was set apart from all other human beings, not less for what she was, than for what she had done—and never was warrior or woman more fitly reverenced.

Jeanne, the peasant maid of Domrémy, led by her vision, had marshalled her forces like a seasoned veteran, and with them had raised the siege of Orléans,—had led the King to his crowning, and yet instead of longing for more conquests, still further glory, in a later conversation