Jeanne stood transfixed as she heard the words. The feast of St. Jean was near the end of June. Only two months more in which to fight for France. Her face grew white as the words were repeated, and a great fear fell upon her. A prisoner? Better, far better would it be to die than to be a prisoner in the hands of the English. All their taunts, their gibes, their threats came to her in a rush of memory. She knew what to expect; the stake and the fire had been held up as a menace often enough. Terrified, the young girl fell on her knees, uttering a broken cry of appeal: "Not that! Not that! Out of your grace I beseech you that I may die in that hour." "Fear not; so it must be," came the reply. "Be of good courage. God will aid you." "Tell me the hour, and the day," she pleaded brokenly. "Before the St. Jean. Before the St. Jean," came the reply. And that was all. For a long moment Jeanne knelt, her face bowed upon her hands; then she bent and kissed the ground before her. "God's Will be done," she said. Rising she went on with her work, as calmly, as serenely as though knowledge of her fate had not been vouchsafed her. She knew, but she did not falter. A braver deed was never done. Who else has shown such courage and high heart since the beginning of the world? To know that she was to be taken, and yet to proceed with her task as though she knew it not! There is an ecstasy in the whirl of battle; a wild joy in the mad charge of cavalry and the clash of steel on steel. There is contagion in numbers filled with the thought that the enemy must be overcome, the fortress taken; a contagion that leads to deeds of valour. There is inspiration in the call of the bugle, or sound of the trumpet, in the waving of banners, in the war cries of the captains. But for the prisoner there is no ecstasy, no joy, no valorous contagion induced by numbers, no inspiration of music, or banners, or war cries. There are only the chill of the dungeon, the clank of the chain, the friendless loneliness, and at length the awful death. But with capture certain, with the consciousness of what was in store, this girl of eighteen went her way doing all that she could in the little time that was left her for France.