"Look at her! You would take her for a handsome young page with her black hair cut round, her scarlet cape, her green jacket, her leather hose and her spurred boots! Long live our Joan!" "By my soul, she has a sword on her side!" "Although not a generous man, the Sire of Baudricourt presented her with it." "That's the least he could do! Did not the rest of us in Vaucouleurs go down in our pockets to purchase a horse for the warrior maid?" "Master Simon, the cloth merchant, answered for the palfrey as a patient animal and of a good disposition; a child could lead it; it served as the mount to a noble dame in the hunt with falcons." "Upon the word of an archer," again put in the archer of the Sire of Baudricourt's company, "Joan holds herself in the saddle like a captain! By the bowels of the Pope! She is beautiful and well shaped! How sorry I am not to be among the armed men of her escort! I would go with her to the end of the world, if only for the pleasure of looking at her!" "Indeed, if I were a soldier, I would prefer to obey orders given by a sweet voice and from pretty little lips, than given by a rough voice and from hairy and coarse lips." "Look at the Sire of Novelpont with his iron armor! He rides at Joan's right. Do you see him? He is a worthy seigneur." "He looks as if he would guard her as his own daughter. May God guard them both!" "He is adjusting a strap on the bridle of the Maid's palfrey." "At her left is the Sire of Baudricourt; he will probably accompany her part of the way." "There is the equerry Bertrand of Poulagny, carrying his master's lance and shield." "Jesus! They have only four armed men with them! All told six persons to escort Joan from here to Touraine! And through such dangerous territories! What an imprudence!" "God will watch over the holy Maid." "Look--she is turning in her saddle and seems to wave good-bye to someone in the castle." "She is taking her handkerchief to her eyes; she is drying her tears." "She must have been waving good-bye to her uncle and aunt, the old Laxarts." "Yes; there they are, both of them, at the lower window of the tower; they are holding each other's hands and weep to see their niece depart, perhaps forever! War is so changeable a thing!" "Poor, dear girl! Her heart must bleed, as she said, to go all alone, far from her folks, and to battle at the mercy of God!" "She will now turn around the corner of the rampart--" "Let her at least hear our hearty adieus--Good luck, Joan the Maid! Good luck to Joan! Good luck! Good luck! Death to the English!" "She hears us--she makes a sign--she is waving good-bye to us. Victory to Joan!" "Mother! Mother! Take me up in your arms! Put me on your shoulders. Let me see her again." "Come child! Take a good look! Always remember Joan! Thanks to her, no longer will desolate mothers weep for sons and husbands massacred by the English." "Good luck to Joan--Good luck!" "She has turned the corner of the rampart--she is gone!"