to Jean de Luxembourg to negotiate the purchase of the Maid. He was an enemy

of France; he had a personal grudge toward Jeanne because through her success

in arms he had been expelled from his diocese, and was just the right sort of man to send for dickering in such a trade. Jean de Luxembourg was needy, and already in the pay of the English, but he did not wish to let his prize go until he had his money, so Jeanne was sent north to Beaulieu in the Vermandois, where

he had a strong castle, until the arrangements were perfected for her sale.

D’Aulon, her squire, was sent with her, for during this period of imprisonment Jeanne was treated honourably, and allowed attendance. She was cheerful and hopeful at Beaulieu for a time, and one day D’Aulon said to her:

“That poor town of Compiègne, which you loved so dearly, will now be placed

in the hands of the enemies of France.”

“It shall not be,” cried Jeanne in a flash of inspiration, “for no place which the King of Heaven has put in the hands of the gentle King Charles by my aid, shall be retaken by his enemies while he does his best to keep them.”

But, in spite of these brave words, the fate of the town hung heavy upon her spirit. Her guards told her tales of how the siege was progressing, and of the sufferings of the people. Jeanne chafed under inaction while her friends needed her, and watched eagerly for a chance whereby she might escape and go to their

aid. She had not given her faith to any man, and was not on parole.

In one side of the chamber in which she was confined there was a window opening upon a dark corridor. Across were nailed some narrow planks, the space

between them being sufficient for a very slender person to slip through. Jeanne resolved to risk an attempt.

Her guards were in an adjoining room, which also opened upon the dark

corridor, but once past their room she believed that she might gain the grounds of the château and from thence reach the wooded country that lay beyond its immediate confines. The plan worked perfectly––to a certain point. She was slight enough to slip between the narrow planks, which she did, and found herself in the corridor, which was dark and musty from long disuse. There was a huge key in the lock of the door where the guards were, and this Jeanne turned

as noiselessly as possible, then darted away through the dim passageway. Alas!

the porter of the château, who had not the least business in that part of the castle, suddenly came out of another room opening upon the corridor, and confronted her. Without ado the maiden was marched back to her chamber, like a naughty

child, and the guards were doubled.

“It did not please God that I should escape this time,” she said plaintively to D’Aulon when he came to attend her.

Jean de Luxembourg was alarmed when he heard of the attempt. She was too rich a prize to lose, so he sent her post haste to his stronghold of Beaurevoir, which was forty miles further north, beyond St. Quentin in the plain of Picardy, and was the residence of his wife, aunt, and step-daughter.

She was shut up here at the top of a tower sixty feet high, but notwithstanding this fact her condition was much alleviated, for the ladies of the household visited her daily, becoming greatly attached to her. These good women tried to get her to lay aside her masculine attire, for it troubled and shamed them to see her in the costume of a man. Jeanne explained courteously her reasons for wearing the garb when they brought a woman’s frock to her, and besought her to

put it on.

“It is best to be so dressed while in the serious work of war,” she told them.

“When among men it is more seemly to wear the garb of a soldier; but,” she added graciously, “were it time for me to change the fashion of my dress I would do it for you two ladies who have been so kind rather than for any one in France except my Queen.”

Many persons visited her while she was at this castle, but as Jean de Luxembourg, the master of the house, was himself in camp before Compiègne there was the disadvantage of constant news, and the girl’s anxiety became pitiable as the tidings from her “good friends” at Compiègne daily became more

unfavourable.

D’Aulon was no longer with her, and for the first time Jeanne was entirely without a friend of the old life with her. There was no word that her King or her

friends were doing anything for her, but only talk of the English and how they wished to buy her. Both visitors and guards told her of the besieged city and that their sufferings were driving the citizens to desperation. There was joy and thanksgiving in the castle upon the coming of the heralds with dispatches that seemed to be always to the advantage of the Burgundians. It preyed upon the maiden’s mind; she lost confidence and hope, becoming very despondent.

“When Compiègne is taken all persons beyond the age of seven years are to be

put to the sword,” one of her visitors said one day.

“I would rather die than live after the destruction of such good people,” she said.

“Also I would rather die than be in the hands of my enemies of England.” She

paced the floor in great agitation after the visitor left her.

“How can God leave those good people of Compiègne, who have been and are

so loyal to their King, to perish?” she cried.

And the thought came to her that she must escape, that she must go to the rescue of Compiègne. There were blows to be struck there that only she could strike.

She must go to Compiègne. Jeanne was but a young girl. She could not realize

that her allotted time was over. It is hard for one to accept the fact one is not needed; that everything can go on as usual without one, and Jeanne was very young. All at once the desperate expedient came to her to leap from the tower.

“Do not leap,” admonished her Voices. “Be patient. God will help you, and also

Compiègne.”

“Then since God will aid the good people of Compiègne I desire to be with them,” said Jeanne.

“You must bear these things gladly,” St. Catherine told her. “Delivered you will not be until you have seen the King of England.”

“Verily,” cried the Maid like the child she was, “I have no wish to see him, and would rather die than be in English hands.”

“Do not leap,” came from St. Catherine again. “Be patient. All will be well.”

But Jeanne was wrought up to too great a pitch to heed. For the first time since her Saints had come to her she deliberately disobeyed their counsels. Going to the top of the tower she commended herself to God and Our Lady and leaped.

Some time later she was found at the foot of the tower where she had fallen. She was insensible, and lay so long unconscious that the Luxembourg ladies feared

that she was dead. After a time she regained consciousness, but for three days

could neither eat nor drink. The wonder is that she escaped destruction, but no bones were broken, and she was not even seriously injured.

“I have sinned,” confessed the girl humbly to her Saints when next they visited her. “I have sinned.” And of God she asked pardon for her impatience and disobedience. She was forgiven, and comforted.

“Fear naught,” Saint Catherine said consolingly. “They of Compiègne shall have

succor before St. Martin’s Day.”