We watched D'Aulon move quietly forward to the appointed place, and unfold the great white banner, which hung down limply in the sultry heat of the May afternoon.

He stood there, and we stood beside the Maid a great while; she lay upon the heap of cloaks which had been spread to form a couch for her; her hands were clasped and her eyes closed as though in prayer.
Then a little puff of wind arose, followed by another, and yet another--soft, warm wind, but we saw the folds of the banner begin to unfurl.

Little by little the breeze strengthened; breathlessly we watched the gradual lifting of the silken standard, till, with an indescribably proud motion--as though some spirit was infused into the lifeless silk--it launched itself like a living thing against the tower wall.
"It touches! It touches!" cried D'Aulon.
"It touches! It touches!" we shouted in response.
"It touches! It touches!" came an echoing wave sound from the soldiers watching from their resting places.
The Maid was on her feet in a moment.

Where was the weakness, the feebleness, the faintness of the wounded girl?
All gone--all swallowed up in the triumph of the victorious warrior.
"Onward! Onward, my children.

Onward, de la part de Dieu! He has given you the victory! Onwards and take the tower! Nothing can resist you now!" Her voice was heard all over the field.