No acclamation of welcome greeted us, nor did any murmurs of distrust smite upon our ears.

There was whispering and a rustling of garments, and the clank of arms; but no articulate words, either friendly or hostile, till, as we passed the drawbridge, one of the sentries, a great, brawny fellow, half French half Scottish, uttered an insult to the Maid, accompanying his words by a horrible blasphemy.
My hand was upon my sword hilt.

I could have slain the man where he stood; but I felt the Maid's touch on my shoulder, and my hand sank to my side.

She paused before the sentry, gazing at him with earnest eyes, full of mournful reproach and sorrow.
"O Lord Jesu, forgive him!" she breathed softly, and as the fellow, half ashamed, but truculent still, and defiant, turned upon her as though he would have repeated either his insult or his blasphemy, she held up her hand and spoke aloud, so that all who stood by might hear her words: "O, my friend, speak not so rashly, but seek to make your peace with God.

Know you not how near you stand to death this night?
May God pardon and receive your soul!" The man shrank back as one affrighted.