And, till the Maid came, ten of them could chase a hundred of the French.
So the Maid returned, leading the army, and then, being very weary, she went into her chamber, and lay down on a couch to sleep, her esquire, D'Aulon, also resting in the room, where were the lady and a daughter of the house, one Charlotte Boucher.

There was I, devising idly with her page, Louis de Coutes, a boy half Scots by birth, and good-brother to Messire Florent d'Illiers, who had married his sister.

But alas! he was more French than Scots, and later he left the Maid.

But then we were playing ourselves at the door of the house, and all was still, the men-at- arms reposing, as we deemed, after their march.

Then suddenly the Maid ran forth to us, her face white and her eyes shining, and cried to Louis de Coutes, in great anger-- "Wretched boy, the blood of France is being shed, and you told me no word of it!" "Demoiselle," said he, trembling, "I wotted not of it.