CAUCHON. You have spoken for me, and spoken better than I could. I do not see how any sane man could disagree with a word that has fallen from you. But this I will add. The crude heresies of which you have told us are horrible; but their horror is like that of the black death: they rage for a while and then die out, because sound and sensible men will not under any incitement be reconciled to nakedness and incest and polygamy and the like. But we are confronted today throughout Europe with a heresy that is spreading among men not weak in mind nor diseased in brain: nay, the stronger the mind, the more obstinate the heretic. It is neither discredited by fantastic extremes nor corrupted by the common lusts of the flesh; but it, too, sets up the private judgment of the single erring mortal against the considered wisdom and experience of the Church. The mighty structure of Catholic Christendom will never be shaken by naked madmen or by the sins of Moab and Ammon. But it may be betrayed from within, and brought to barbarous ruin and desolation, by this arch heresy which the English Commander calls Protestantism. THE ASSESSORS [_whispering_] Protestantism! What was that? What does the Bishop mean? Is it a new heresy? The English Commander, he said. Did you ever hear of Protestantism? etc., etc. CAUCHON [_continuing_] And that reminds me. What provision has the Earl of Warwick made for the defence of the secular arm should The Maid prove obdurate, and the people be moved to pity her? THE CHAPLAIN. Have no fear on that score, my lord. The noble earl has eight hundred men-at-arms at the gates. She will not slip through our English fingers even if the whole city be on her side. CAUCHON [_revolted_] Will you not add, God grant that she repent and purge her sin? THE CHAPLAIN. That does not seem to me to be consistent; but of course I agree with your lordship. CAUCHON [_giving him up with a shrug of contempt_] The court sits. THE INQUISITOR. Let the accused be brought in. LADVENU [_calling_] The accused. Let her be brought in. _Joan, chained by the ankles, is brought in through the arched door behind the prisoner’s stool by a guard of English soldiers. With them is the Executioner and his assistants. They lead her to the prisoner’s stool, and place themselves behind it after taking off her chain. She wears a page’s black suit. Her long imprisonment and the strain of the examinations which have preceded the trial have left their mark on her; but her vitality still holds: she confronts the court unabashed, without a trace of the awe which their formal solemnity seems to require for the complete success of its impressiveness._ THE INQUISITOR [_kindly_] Sit down, Joan. [_She sits on the prisoner’s stool_]. You look very pale today. Are you not well? JOAN. Thank you kindly: I am well enough. But the Bishop sent me some carp; and it made me ill. CAUCHON. I am sorry. I told them to see that it was fresh.