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Then followed fifteen days of hard fighting, for the enemy manfully resisted the onslaught of Jeanne’s army, but at last, the English, vanquished, were obliged to retreat, telling marvellous tales of the Maid who was less than an angel, more than a soldier, and only a girl who had done this thing.

The attack on the city had begun at six in the morning and lasted for thirteen hours, and was indeed a marvellous assault on both sides. A hundred times the English mounted the walls, and a hundred times were thrown back into the moat, and the Maid with her floating banner, was everywhere at once, encouraging her men with the ringing cry, “Fear not. The place is yours!” Then she received a wound in her shoulder above the breast, and at the first flash of severe pain, like any other girl, she shivered with fear, and hot tears came, while they carried her off the field and dressed the wound. After that she was obliged to entrust her standard to a faithful man, but she still inspired and comforted her army from the position to which she had been carried, and as the sounds of battle deepened, above the tumult rang out her clear voice of ringing command,–then came victory and the retreat of the enemy. Orleans was delivered from the hands of the English. France still held “the key to the Loire,” and the Maid of France had gained one of the fifteen battles of the world.

The bells of Orleans rang out victoriously, while all the citizens in all the churches chanted Te Deums and sang praises of the wonderful Maid who had saved France.

In all the records of history no other girl ever reached such a height of glory as did Jeanne that day, and yet instead of revelling in the praise showered on her, and in her popularity, when the battle was over, she went to bed and to sleep like a tired child, and when the people saw how exhausted she was, they stood guard over the house where she slept, and would allow no traffic to disturb her rest. And from that day to this, the eighth of May has ever been “Jeanne d’Arc’s Day” in Orleans.

Jeanne had now fulfilled her second task. She had raised the siege of Orleans. Now for the third. Forward to the Dauphin’s crowning at Rheims,–forward to the anointing of the rightful Sovereign of France!–that was her one thought and cry. But the Dauphin himself was in no such hurry to save his kingdom, now that the distress of the moment had been allayed. However, he met the Maid at Tours soon afterwards, and not only sang her praises for what she had done, but also acting on an impulse, his eyes lit with sudden fire, suddenly rose, and raising his sword aloft, brought it down slowly on Jeanne’s shoulder, saying, that in so doing he joined her, her family, her kin and her descendants to the nobility of France, adding “Rise, Jeanne d’Arc, now and henceforth surnamed DU LIS, in grateful acknowledgment of the good blow you have struck for the lilies of France, and they and the royal crown and your own victorious sword shall be grouped in your escutcheon, and be and remain the symbol of your high nobility for ever.”

Great indeed was this honour, with all that it meant to the family of Jeanne, and she received it with fitting appreciation, but it was not what she craved; yet still the King loitered and lingered in his chateau, giving heed to the arguments of his counsellors,–who for reasons of their own, desired to thwart the plans of the Maid–rather than to her whose Voices told her that the Dauphin should set out at once for Rheims, while the French army was still hot with the enthusiasm of victory. At last seeing it was useless to wait any longer, Jeanne and her men were obliged to press on without any definite news of when or where they would be joined by the Dauphin, and three days later, after raising the siege of Orleans, her army took Jargeau, a town twelve miles from Orleans, and then marched back to Orleans to be received as conquering heroes.