WARWICK. Our friend here takes the view that the young woman is a sorceress. It would, I presume, be the duty of your reverend lordship to denounce her to the Inquisition, and have her burnt for that offence. CAUCHON. If she were captured in my diocese: yes. WARWICK [_feeling that they are getting on capitally_] Just so. Now I suppose there can be no reasonable doubt that she is a sorceress. THE CHAPLAIN. Not the least. An arrant witch. WARWICK [_gently reproving the interruption_] We are asking for the Bishop’s opinion, Messire John. CAUCHON. We shall have to consider not merely our own opinions here, but the opinions—the prejudices, if you like—of a French court. WARWICK [_correcting_] A Catholic court, my lord. CAUCHON. Catholic courts are composed of mortal men, like other courts, however sacred their function and inspiration may be. And if the men are Frenchmen, as the modern fashion calls them, I am afraid the bare fact that an English army has been defeated by a French one will not convince them that there is any sorcery in the matter. THE CHAPLAIN. What! Not when the famous Sir John Talbot himself has been defeated and actually taken prisoner by a drab from the ditches of Lorraine! CAUCHON. Sir John Talbot, we all know, is a fierce and formidable soldier, Messire; but I have yet to learn that he is an able general. And though it pleases you to say that he has been defeated by this girl, some of us may be disposed to give a little of the credit to Dunois. THE CHAPLAIN [_contemptuously_] The Bastard of Orleans! CAUCHON. Let me remind— WARWICK [_interposing_] I know what you are going to say, my lord. Dunois defeated me at Montargis. CAUCHON [_bowing_] I take that as evidence that the Seigneur Dunois is a very able commander indeed. WARWICK. Your lordship is the flower of courtesy. I admit, on our side, that Talbot is a mere fighting animal, and that it probably served him right to be taken at Patay. THE CHAPLAIN [_chafing_] My lord: at Orleans this woman had her throat pierced by an English arrow, and was seen to cry like a child from the pain of it. It was a death wound; yet she fought all day; and when our men had repulsed all her attacks like true Englishmen, she walked alone to the wall of our fort with a white banner in her hand; and our men were paralyzed, and could neither shoot nor strike whilst the French fell on them and drove them on to the bridge, which immediately burst into flames and crumbled under them, letting them down into the river, where they were drowned in heaps. Was this your bastard’s generalship? or were those flames the flames of hell, conjured up by witchcraft? WARWICK. You will forgive Messire John’s vehemence, my lord; but he has put our case. Dunois is a great captain, we admit; but why could he do nothing until the witch came?