THE CHAPLAIN [_rising frantically_] No: it was not. There was only one Englishman there that disgraced his country; and that was the mad dog de Stogumber. [_He rushes wildly out, shrieking_] Let them torture him. Let them burn him. I will go pray among her ashes. I am no better than Judas: I will hang myself. WARWICK. Quick, Brother Martin: follow him: he will do himself some mischief. After him, quick. _Ladvenu hurries out, Warwick urging him. The Executioner comes in by the door behind the judges’ chairs; and Warwick, returning, finds himself face to face with him._ WARWICK. Well, fellow: who are you? THE EXECUTIONER [_with dignity_] I am not addressed as fellow, my lord. I am the Master Executioner of Rouen: it is a highly skilled mystery. I am come to tell your lordship that your orders have been obeyed. WARWICK. I crave your pardon, Master Executioner; and I will see that you lose nothing by having no relics to sell. I have your word, have I, that nothing remains, not a bone, not a nail, not a hair? THE EXECUTIONER. Her heart would not burn, my lord; but everything that was left is at the bottom of the river. You have heard the last of her. WARWICK [_with a wry smile, thinking of what Ladvenu said_] The last of her? Hm! I wonder! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ EPILOGUE _A restless fitfully windy night in June 1456, full of summer lightning after many days of heat. King Charles the Seventh of France, formerly Joan’s Dauphin, now Charles the Victorious, aged 51, is in bed in one of his royal chateaux. The bed, raised on a dais of two steps, is towards the side of the room so as to avoid blocking a tall lancet window in the middle. Its canopy bears the royal arms in embroidery. Except for the canopy and the huge down pillows there is nothing to distinguish it from a broad settee with bed-clothes and a valance. Thus its occupant is in full view from the foot._ _Charles is not asleep: he is reading in bed, or rather looking at the pictures in Fouquet’s Boccaccio with his knees doubled up to make a reading desk. Beside the bed on his left is a little table with a picture of the Virgin, lighted by candles of painted wax. The walls are hung from ceiling to floor with painted curtains which stir at times in the draughts. At first glance the prevailing yellow and red in these hanging pictures is somewhat flamelike when the folds breathe in the wind._ _The door is on Charles’s left, but in front of him close to the corner farthest from him. A large watchman’s rattle, handsomely designed and gaily painted, is in the bed under his hand._