"Think of accepting the penitence of so infamous a cheat!" "Upon my word, comrades, she is quite capable of being possessed of the devil as the English claimed! The strumpet and liar!" "And yet her victories were none the less brilliant for all that!" "Aye! through witchcraft! Are you going to show pity for the liar?" "Fear of the fagot makes one admit many a thing!" "Then she is a coward! She has not the courage to uphold the truth in the face of death! What faint-heartedness!" Silence is restored only by degrees. Joan Darc hears the frightful accusations hurled at her. To return to her first declarations would be an admission of fear. Her mind wanders again. Continuing to read from the formula of abjuration, Bishop Cauchon says: "'Secondly, I, Joan, confess to have grievously sinned by seducing people with superstitious divinations, by blaspheming the angels and the saints, and by despising the divine law of Holy Writ and the canonical laws.'" Addressing Joan the Bishop asks: "Do you confess it?' "I confess it!" murmurs Joan. Bishop Cauchon proceeds to read: "'Thirdly, I, Joan confess having grievously sinned by wearing a dissolute garb, deformed and dishonest, in violation of decency and nature; and by wearing my hair cut round, after the fashion of men, and contrary to modesty'--Do you confess that sin?" "I confess it!" "'Fourthly, I, Joan, confess having grievously sinned by boastfully carrying armor of war, and by cruelly desiring the shedding of human blood.'--Do you confess it?" Joan Darc wrings her hands and exclaims: "My God! Can I affirm such things?" "What! You hesitate!" exclaims Bishop Cauchon, and he adds, addressing her in a low voice: "Be careful, the fagots await you!" "I confess it, Father," stammers Joan. "Joan, do you confess having cruelly desired the effusion of human blood?" asks Bishop Cauchon in a thundering voice. "I confess it!" Loud cries of horror go up from the mob, while the English soldiers brandish their weapons at Joan. Some men pick up stones to stone the heroine to death. The imprecations against her redouble threateningly. "The harpy waged war out of pure cruelty!" "She merely wished to soak herself in blood!" "And the Church pardons her!" "At one time I felt great pity for the wretch. Now I say with the English, Death to the tigress who lived on blood!" "You fools! Do you believe these priests? Do you think Joan went after battle to drink the blood of the slain?" "You defend her?" "Yes! Oh, why am I alone?" "You are a traitor!" "He is an Armagnac!" "Death to the Armagnac!"