“In sooth, Excellency, that I cannot.”
“Name of God, Bastard, Bastard! you cannot tell me this small thing, yet are bold to name a large one—telling us what is in the stomach of the unborn morrow: that we shall not have those men. Now it is my thought that they will be with us.”
That made a stir. All wanted to know why she thought that. But La Hire took the word and said:
“Let be. If she thinks it, that is enough. It will happen.”
Then Pothon of Santrailles said:
“There were other reasons for declining battle, according to the saying of your Excellency?”
“Yes. One was that we being weak and the day far gone, the battle might not be decisive. When it is fought it must be decisive. And it shall be.”
“God grant it, and amen. There were still other reasons?”
“One other—yes.” She hesitated a moment, then said: “This was not the day. To-morrow is the day. It is so written.”
They were going to assail her with eager questionings, but she put up her hand and prevented them. Then she said: