armor be white, as also one of her chargers, her pennon and her standard, on the latter of which she ordered two blue-winged angels to be painted, holding in their hands the stalk of a lily in blossom. Furious at not being able to catch Joan in the snares that they had spread for her, George of La Tremouille and his two accomplices, the Bishop of Chartres and the Sire of Gaucourt, pursued their darksome plots with increased intensity. It was agreed among them, and in line with their previously laid plans, that Gaucourt was to demand of Charles VII the command of the town of Orleans. The three intriguers expected by that means to block the Maid's movements, ruin her military operations, and expose her to a first check that would forever confound her, or to allow her to be captured by the English in some sally when she was to be left in the lurch. On Thursday the 28th of April, 1429, Joan Darc left Chinon for Blois, where she was to join Dunois and Marshal Retz, before proceeding to Orleans. The peasant girl, now fast maturing into a warrior, started on the journey, her mind occupied with recollections of the child's combat between the urchins of Maxey and of Domremy, a battle where she had for the first time vaguely felt her vocation for war, and also recalling the passage in the prophecy where the Gallic bard declared: "I see an angel with wings of azure and dazzling with light. He holds in his hands a royal crown. I see a steed of battle as white as snow-- I see an armor of battle as brilliant as silver.-- For whom is that crown, that steed, that armor? Gaul, lost by a woman, will be saved by a virgin From the borders of Lorraine and a forest of oaks.-- For whom that crown, that steed, that armor? Oh, how much blood! It spouts up, it flows in torrents! Oh, how much blood do I see! It is a lake, It is a sea of blood! It steams; its vapor rises--rises like an autumn mist to heaven, Where the thunder peals and where the lightning flashes. Athwart those peals of thunder, those flashes of lightning, That crimson mist, I see a martial virgin. White is her armor and white is her steed. She battles--she battles--she battles still In the midst of a forest of lances. And seems to be riding on the backs of the archers. The steed, as white as snow, was for the martial virgin. For her was the armor of battle as brilliant as silver. But for whom the royal crown? Gaul, lost by a woman, will be saved by a virgin From the borders of Lorraine and a forest of oaks." PART III. ORLEANS. CHAPTER I. FRIDAY, APRIL 29, 1429.