ment, then gave in and conceded that a blunder had been made.
"Yes, a blunder has been made," said Joan, "and except God take your proper work upon Himself and change the wind and correct your blunder for you, there is none else that can devise a remedy."
Some of these people began to perceive that with all her technical ignorance she had practical good sense, and that with all her native sweetness and charm she was not the right kind of a person to play with.
Presently God did take the blunder in hand, and by His grace the wind did change. So the fleet of boats came up and went away loaded with provisions and cattle, and conveyed that welcome succor to the hungry city, managing the matter successfully under protection of a sortie from the walls against the bastille of St. Loup. Then Joan began on the Bastard again:
"You see here the army?"
"It is here on this side by advice of your council?"
"Now, in God's name, can that wise council explain why it is better to have it here than it would be to have it in the bottom of the sea?"
Dunois made some wandering attempts to explain the inexplicable and excuse the inexcusable, but Joan cut him short and said—
"Answer me this, good sir—has the army any value on this side of the river?"
The Bastard confessed that it hadn't—that is, in view of the plan of campaign which she had devised and decreed.
"And yet, knowing this, you had the hardihood to disobey my orders. Since the army's place is on the other side, will you explain to me how it is to get there?"
The whole size of the needless muddle was apparent. Evasions were of no use; therefore Dunois admitted that there was no way to correct the blunder but to send the army all