Arrows flew round her on every side but never touched her.She struck no blow，but the folds of her standard blew against the wall，and her voice rose through all the tumult."On！Enter！/de la part de Dieu！/for all is yours."
The Maid had other words to say，"/Renty，renty/，Classidas！"she cried，"you called me vile names，but I have a great pity for your soul."He on his side showered down blasphemies.He was at the last gasp；one desperate last effort he made with a handful of men to escape from the boulevard by the drawbridge to Les Tourelles，which crossed a narrow strip of the river.But the bridge had been fired by a fire-ship from Orleans and gave way under the rush of the heavily-armed men；and the fierce Classidas and his companions were plunged into the river，where a knight in armour，like a tower falling，went to the bottom in a moment.Nearly thirty of them，it is said，plunged thus into the great Loire and were seen no more.
It was the end of the struggle.The French flag swung forth on the parapet，the French shout rose to heaven.Meanwhile a strange sight was to be seen--the St.Michael in shining armour，who had led that assault，shedding tears for the ferocious Classidas，who had cursed her with his last breath."/J'ai grande pitiéde ton ame./"Had he but had time to clear his soul and reconcile himself with God！
This was virtually the end of the siege of Orleans.The broken bridge on the Loire had been rudely mended，with a great /gouttière/and planks，and the people of Orleans had poured out over it to take the Tourelles in flank--the English being thus taken between Jeanne's army on the one side and the citizens on the other.The whole south bank of the river was cleared，not an Englishman left to threaten the richest part of France，the land flowing with milk and honey.And though there still remained several great generals on the other side with strong fortifications to fall back upon，they seem to have been paralysed，and did not strike a blow.Jeanne was not afraid of them，but her ardour to continue the fight dropped all at once；enough had been done.She awaited the conclusion with confidence.Needless to say that Orleans was half mad with joy，every church sounding its bells，singing its song of triumph and praise，the streets so crowded that it was with difficulty that the Maid could make her progress through them，with throngs of people pressing round to kiss her hand，if might be，her greaves，her mailed shoes，her charger，the floating folds of her banner.She had said she would be wounded and so she was，as might be seen，the envious rent of the arrow showing through the white plates of metal on her shoulder.She had said all should be theirs /de par Dieu：/and all was theirs，thanks to our Lord and also to St.
Aignan and St.Euvert，patrons of Orleans，and to St.Louis and St.
Charlemagne in heaven who had so great pity of the kingdom of France：
and to the Maid on earth，the Heaven-sent deliverer，the spotless virgin，the celestial warrior--happy he who could reach to kiss it，the point of her mailed shoe.
Someone says that she rode through all this half-delirious joy like a creature in a dream，--fatigue，pain，the happy languor of the end attained，and also the profound pity that was the very inspiration of her spirit，for all those souls of men gone to their account without help of Church or comfort of priest--overwhelming her.But next day，which was Sunday，she was up again and eagerly watching all that went on.A strange sight was Orleans on that Sunday of May.On the south side of the Loire，all those half-ruined bastilles smoking and silenced，which once had threatened not the city only but all the south of France；on the north the remaining bands of English drawn up in order of battle.The excitement of the town and of the generals in it，was intense；worn as they were with three days of continuous fighting，should they sally forth again and meet that compact，silent，doubly defiant army，which was more or less fresh and unexhausted？
Jeanne's opinion was，No；there had been enough of fighting，and it was Sunday，the holy day；but apparently the French did go out though keeping at a distance，watching the enemy.By orders of the Maid an altar was raised between the two armies in full sight of both sides，and there mass was celebrated，under the sunshine，by the side of the river which had swallowed Classidas and all his men.French and English together devoutly turned towards and responded to that Mass in the pause of bewildering uncertainty."Which way are their heads turned？"Jeanne asked when it was over."They are turned away from us，they are turned to Meung，"was the reply."Then let them go，/de par Dieu/，"the Maid replied.
The siege had lasted for seven months，but eight days of the Maid were enough to bring it to an end.The people of Orleans still，every year，on the 8th of May，make a procession round the town and give thanks to God for its deliverance.Henceforth，the Maid was known no longer as Jeanne d'Arc，the peasant of Domremy，but as /La Pucelle d'Orléans/，in the same manner in which one might speak of the Prince of Waterloo，or the Duc de Malakoff.
[1]Their special mission seems to have been a demand for the return of a herald previously sent who had never come back.As Dunois accompanied the demand by a threat to kill the English prisoners in Orleans if the herald was not sent back，the request was at once accorded，with fierce defiances to the Maid，the dairy-maid as she is called，bidding her go back to her cows，and threatening to burn her if they caught her.
[2]I avail myself here as elsewhere of Mr.Lang's lucid description.
"It is really perfectly intelligible.The Council wanted a feint on the left bank，Jeanne an attack on the right.She knew their scheme，untold，but entered into it.There was，however，no feint.
She deliberately forced the fighting.There was grand fighting，well worth telling，"adds my martial critic，who understands it so much better than I do，and who I am happy to think is himself telling the tale in another way.
[3]She had made this prophecy a month before，and it was recorded three weeks before the event in the Town Book of Brabant.--A.L.
