Jeanne stood; but first she picked up a long stick from the ground. The stick turned into a sword—a glittering sword.
Jeanne was dressed in shining steel armor. Pierrot's tiny clown suit changed to a coat of mail. They were ready for the battle.
"Forward, my brave men of France," called Joan of Arc. And the little puppet saluted Jeanne. But Jeanne cried, "My horse! Where is my horse?"
A large statue appeared before them. It was the iron statue of a horse. It was twice the size of a real horse.
Jeanne tried to mount. She could not. She was too small. The horse was too high. But Pierrot mounted. With a graceful leap, he was upon the charger's back. Then down he flew and offered Jeanne his hand. Up flew the puppet, and Jeanne flew with him.
They sat upon the iron charger. Slowly he moved his joints, and then off, off he galloped with the little girl and the puppet.
All the time Jeanne was brandishing her sword. She was Joan of Arc and she was riding at the head of her army of France as Joan of Arc had done long, long ago.
"Wait, wait!" called a voice. A policeman was running after them through the Bois. "Stop! You have stolen a statue from the park. Bring back the iron horse!"
He was so little—that policeman—and the horse was so big that they did not mind him.
"He is only a policeman," said Jeanne to Pierrot. "He is always clubbed and kicked in the Guignol plays."