"There is the equerry Bertrand of Poulagny, carrying his master's lance and shield."
"Jesus! They have only four armed men with them! All told six persons to escort Joan from here to Touraine! And through such dangerous territories! What an imprudence!"
"God will watch over the holy Maid."
"Look—she is turning in her saddle and seems to wave good-bye to someone in the castle."
"She is taking her handkerchief to her eyes; she is drying her tears."
"She must have been waving good-bye to her uncle and aunt, the old Laxarts."
"Yes; there they are, both of them, at the lower window of the tower; they are holding each other's hands and weep to see their niece depart, perhaps forever! War is so changeable a thing!"
"Poor, dear girl! Her heart must bleed, as she said, to go all alone, far from her folks, and to battle at the mercy of God!"
"She will now turn around the corner of the rampart—"
"Let her at least hear our hearty adieus—Good luck, Joan the Maid! Good luck to Joan! Good luck! Good luck! Death to the English!"