"In God's name," she cried, "they shall not go."[1463]
During this altercation there was standing apart a certain Burgundian squire, and through his mind were passing concerning the Maid of the Armagnacs certain reflections to which he was to give utterance later. "By my faith," he was thinking, "it is the simplest creature that ever I saw. There is neither rhyme nor reason in her, no more than in the greatest stupid. To so valiant a woman as Madame d'Or, I will not compare her, and the Burgundians do but jest when they appear afraid of her."[1464]
To taste the full flavour of this joke it must be explained that Madame d'Or, about as high as one's boot, held the office of fool to my Lord Philip.[1465]
The Maid failed to come to an understanding with the Lords de Rochefort and de Moslant concerning the prisoners. They had right on their side. She had only the promptings of her kind heart. This discussion afforded great entertainment to the men-at-arms of both parties. When King Charles was informed of it, he smiled and said that to settle the dispute he would pay the prisoners' ransom, which was fixed at one silver mark per head. On receiving this sum the Burgundians extolled the generosity of the King of France.[1466]
On that same Sunday, about nine o'clock in the morning, King Charles entered the city. He had put on his festive robes, gleaming with velvet, with gold, and with precious stones. The Duke of Alençon and the Maid, holding her banner in her hand, rode at his side. He was followed by all the knighthood. The townsfolk lit bonfires and danced in rings. The little children cried, "Noël!" Friar Richard preached.[1467]
The Maid prayed in the churches. In one church she held a babe over the baptismal font. Like a princess or a holy woman, she was frequently asked to be godmother to children she did not know and was never to see again. She generally named the children Charles in honour of the King, and to the girls she gave her own name of Jeanne. Sometimes she called the children by names chosen by their mothers.[1468]
On the morrow, the 11th of July, the army, which had remained outside the walls, under the command of Messire Ambroise de Loré, passed through the town. The entrance of men-at-arms was a scourge, of which the citizens were as much afraid as of the Black Death.[1469] King Charles, being careful to spare the citizens, took measures to control this scourge. By his command the heralds cried that under pain of hanging no soldier must enter the houses or take anything against the will of the townsfolk.[1470]