A great wave of patriotism swept over France. Men asked one another whether this was not the prelude to deliverance from 300 years of foreign aggression, and the first step towards the reformation of civil disorder. Charles rose to his magnificent opportunity, and rallied all the French Sovereigns in a league of peace and stability. Even the implacable Duke of Burgundy, who hated René de Bar and Charles de Lorraine irreconcilably, was minded to join in the general _rapprochement_. La Pucelle dictated a letter to him, conjuring him to renounce his petty jealousies for the love of Christ and St. Mary, to make his peace complete with King Charles of France, and to turn his hand against the common enemy. “Come,” she said, “with us to Reims, there to cement the good-will of all good men in France.” The Duke actually made some preparations for the journey, but at the eleventh hour pride got the better of his reason, and his hand never grasped those of his brother Sovereigns nor that of La Pucelle. Notwithstanding all France was _en route_ to Reims that July, attracted magnet-like by the Maid’s white steel mail and oriflamme. The Cathedral of Reims,--whose marvellous “Glory of Mary” over the great western portal Viollet le Duc called “the most splendid piece of Gothic architecture in the world,”--had been the coronation theatre of all the Kings of France since Henry I. in 1027; but no such ceremony had equalled in interest and in grandeur that of July 17, 1429. The summer sun awoke betimes the loyal citizens and the thousands of strangers within their gates; the genial morning breeze ruffled out gay banners and pageant garlands which decorated lavishly each house and street, and soon the world and his wife were on foot to the cathedral. There was certainly very much more than a mere suspicion of _fin bouquet_ in that fresh morning air; each worthy had filled his flask with generous _vin de la montaigne_, with which to quaff jovially the good healths of Charles and Jeanne and René, inseparable in the popular mind. “_Le Roy, La Pucelle, et le preux Cavalier_”--that was the toast. What a motley crowd it was! Some, too, of the hated English were there, courageously incognito; but, then, Reims was quite as cosmopolitan in the fifteenth century as she is in the twentieth, with her 30,000 Yorkshire and Worcestershire wool-weavers. Probably, however, no forced Yorkshire rhubarb found its way then, as now, into the vats of the vintners! It was a well-dressed crowd, for St. Frisette,--one of the patrons of the city,--has all along had her devotees, and no coiffeurs are so famous as those of her romantic cult. Indeed, her influence in fashion is for ever memoralized by the costumes and headgear, correctly chiselled, of the statues of the cathedral.