It would require，however，no great persuasion on L'Oyseleur's part to convince her that this was a more than usually important day，and that something decisive must be done，now or never.Why should she be so determined to resist her only chance of safety？If she were but delivered from the hands of the English，safe in the gentler keeping of the Church，there would be time to think of everything，even to make her peace with her voices who would surely understand if，for the saving of her life，and out of terror for the dreadful fire，she abandoned them for a moment.She had disobeyed them at Beaurevoir and they had forgiven.One faltering word now，a mark of her hand upon a paper，and she would be safe--even if still all they said was true；and if indeed and in fact，after buoying her up from day to day，such a dreadful thing might be as that they were not true --The traitor was at her ear whispering；the cold chill of disappointment，of disillusion，of sickening doubt was in her heart.
Then there came into the prison a better man than L'Oyseleur，Jean Beaupère，her questioner in the public trial，the representative of all these notabilities.What he said was spoken with authority and he came in all seriousness，may not we believe in some kindness too？to warn her.He came with permission of the Bishop，no stealthy visitor.
"Jean Beaupère entered alone into the prison of the said Jeanne by permission，and advertised her that she would straightway be taken to the scaffold to be addressed (/pour y être preschée/)，and that if she was a good Christian she would on that scaffold place all her acts and words under the jurisdiction of our Holy Mother，the Church，and specially of the ecclesiastical judges.""Accept the woman's dress and do all that you are told，"her other adviser had said.When the car that was to convey her came to the prison doors，L'Oyseleur accompanied her，no doubt with a show of supporting her to the end.
What a change from the confined and gloomy prison to the dazzling clearness of the May daylight，the air，the murmuring streets，the throng that gazed and shouted and followed！Life that had run so low in the prisoner's veins must have bounded up within her in response to that sunshine and open sky，and movement and sound of existence--summer weather too，and everything softened in the medium of that soft breathing air，sound and sensation and hope.She had been three months in her prison.As the charrette rumbled along the roughly paved streets drawing all those crowds after it，a strange object appeared to Jeanne's eyes in the midst of the market-place，a lofty scaffold with a stake upon it，rising over the heads of the crowd，the logs all arranged ready for the fire，a car waiting below with four horses，to bring hither the victim.The place of sacrifice was ready，everything arranged--for whom？for her？They drove her noisily past that she might see the preparations.It was all ready；and where then was the great victory，the deliverance in which she had believed？
In front of the beautiful gates of St.Ouen there was a different scene.That stately church was surrounded then by a churchyard，a great open space，which afforded room for a very large assembly.In this were erected two platforms，one facing the other.On the first sat the court of judges in number about forty，Cardinal Winchester having a place by the side of Monseigneur de Beauvais，the president，with several other bishops and dignified ecclesiastics.Opposite，on the other platform，were a pulpit and a place for the accused，to which Jeanne was conducted by Massieu，who never left her，and L'Oyseleur，who kept as near as he could，the rest of the platform being immediately covered by lawyers，doctors，all the camp followers，so to speak，of the black army，who could find footing there.Jeanne was in her usual male dress，the doublet and hose，with her short-clipped hair--no doubt looking like a slim boy among all this dark crowd of men.The people swayed like a sea all about and around--the throng which had gathered in her progress through the streets pushing out the crowd already assembled with a movement like the waves of the sea.Every step of the trial all through had been attended by preaching，by discourses and reasoning and admonishments，charitable and otherwise.Now she was to be "preached"for the last time.
It was Doctor Guillaume érard who ascended the pulpit，a great preacher，one whom the "copious multitude"ran after and were eager to hear.He himself had not been disposed to accept this office，but no doubt，set up there on that height before the eyes of all the people，he thought of his own reputation，and of the great audience，and Winchester the more than king，the great English Prince，the wealthiest and most influential of men.The preacher took his text from a verse in St.John's Gospel："A branch cannot bear fruit except it remain in the vine."The centre circle containing the two platforms was surrounded by a close ring of English soldiers，understanding none of it，and anxious only that the witch should be condemned.
