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dure to let her die in peace, but went toward her, all black with crimes and sins as he was, and cried out—
"I am come, Joan, to exhort you for the last time to repent and seek the pardon of God."
"I die through you," she said, and these were the last words she spoke to any upon earth.
Then the pitchy smoke, shot through with red flashes of flame, rolled up in a thick volume and hid her from sight; and from the heart of this darkness her voice rose strong and eloquent in prayer, and when by moments the wind shredded somewhat of the smoke aside, there were veiled glimpses of an upturned face and moving lips. At last a mercifully swift tide of flame burst upward, and none saw that face any more nor that form, and the voice was still.
Yes, she was gone from us: Joan of Arc! What little words they are, to tell of a rich world made empty and poor!
