Xaint. The tide is fiercely set against our squadrons.
Thy presence only can restore the day.
Joan. A cloud is on my mind, a dreadful weight
Bears down my soul. Du Nois!
Enter Valancour.
Val. (aside,) Nought but Dunois.
That name decides thy fate.
Xaint. Far distant yet.
Joan. Alas! and Valancour?
Val. Here by thy side!
Joan. How goes the fight with thine?
Val. All is reversed!
A thousand furies arm the English bands,
While ours, so late extravagantly brave,
Appear irresolute, and struck with dread!
Joan. (aside,) They falter for my sin. The righteous One,
In wakened wrath, has turned away his face,
Since 'gainst conviction's voice I weakly yielded.