“Sire, it is madness, sheer madness! Your Excellency, we cannot, we must not go back from what we have done; we have proposed to treat, we must treat with the Duke of Burgundy.”
“And we will!” said Joan.
“Ah? How?”
“At the point of the lance!”
The house rose, to a man—all that had French hearts—and let go a crack of applause—and kept it up; and in the midst of it one heard La Hire growl out: “At the point of the lance! By God, that is music!” The King was up, too, and drew his sword, and took it by the blade and strode to Joan and delivered the hilt of it into her hand, saying:
“There, the King surrenders. Carry it to Paris.”
And so the applause burst out again, and the historical council of war that has bred so many legends was over.
39 We Win, But the King Balks
