The fight was desperate，and though there was no marked success on the part of the besiegers，yet there seems to have been nothing to discourage them，as the fight raged on.Few were wounded，notwithstanding the noise of the cannons and culverins，"by the grace of God and the good luck of the Maid."But towards the evening Jeanne herself suddenly swayed and fell，an arrow having pierced her thigh；she seems，however，to have struggled to her feet again，undismayed，when a still greater misfortune befell：her standard-bearer was hit，first in the foot，and then，as he raised his visor to pull the arrow from the wound，between his eyes，falling dead at her feet.What happened to the banner，we are not told；Jeanne most likely herself caught it as it fell.But at this stroke，more dreadful than her own wound，her strength failed her，and she crept behind a bush or heap of stones，where she lay，refusing to quit the place.Some say she managed to slide into the dry ditch where there was a little shelter，but resisted all attempts to carry her away，and some add that while she lay there she employed herself in a vain attempt to throw faggots into the ditch to make it passable.It is said that she kept calling out to them to persevere，to go on and Paris would be won.She had promised，they say，to sleep that night within the conquered city；but this promise comes to us with no seal of authority.Jeanne knew that it had taken her eight days to free Orleans，and she could scarcely have promised so sudden a success in the more formidable achievement.
But she was at least determined in her conviction that perseverance only was needed.She must have lain for hours on the slope of the outer moat，urging on the troops with such force as her dauntless voice could give，repeating again and again that the place could be taken if they but held on.But when night came Alen？on and some other of the captains overcame her resistance，and there being clearly no further possibility for the moment，succeeded in setting her upon her horse，and conveyed her back to the camp.While they rode with her，supporting her on her charger，she did nothing but repeat "/Quel dommage！/"Oh，what a misfortune，that the siege of Paris should fail，all for want of constancy and courage."If they had but gone on till morning，"she cried，"the inhabitants would have known."It is evident from this that she must have expected a rising within，and could not yet believe that no such thing was to be looked for."/Par mon martin/，the place would have been taken，"she said in the hearing one cannot but feel of the chronicler，who reports so often those homely words.
Thus Jeanne was led back after the first day's attack.Her wound was not serious，and she had been repulsed during one of the day's fighting at Orleans without losing courage.But something had changed her spirit as well as the spirit of the army she led.There is a curious glimpse given us into her camp at this point，which indeed comes to us through the observation of an enemy，yet seems to have in it an unmistakable gleam of truth.It comes from one of the parties which had been granted a safe-conduct to carry away the dead of the English and Burgundian side.They tell us，among other circumstances，--such as that the French burnt their dead，a manifest falsehood，but admirably calculated to make them a horror to their neighbours，--that many in the ranks cursed the Maid who had promised that they should without any doubt sleep that night in Paris and plunder the wealthy city.The men with their safe-conduct creeping among the dead，to recover those bodies which had fallen on their own side，and furtively to count the fallen on the other--who were delighted to bring a report that the Maid was no longer the fountain of strength and blessing，but secretly cursed by her own forces--are sinister figures groping their way through the darkness of the September night.
Next morning，however，her wound being slight，Jeanne was up early and in conference with Alen？on，begging him to sound his trumpets and set forth once more."I shall not budge from here，till Paris is taken，"she said.No doubt her spirit was up，and a determination to recover lost ground strong in her mind.While the commanders consulted together，there came a band of joyful augury into the camp，the Seigneur of Montmorency with sixty gentlemen，who had left the party of Burgundy in order to take service under the banner of the Maid.No doubt this important and welcome addition to their number exhilarated the entire camp，in the commotion of the reveillé，while each man looked to his weapons，wiping off from breastplate and helmet the heavy dew of the September morning，greeting the new friends and brothers-in-arms who had come in，and arranging，with a better knowledge of the ground than that of yesterday，the mode of attack.
Jeanne would not confess that she felt her wound，in her eagerness to begin the assault a second time.And all were in good spirits，the disappointment of the night having blown away，and the determination to do or die being stronger than ever.Were the men-at-arms perhaps less amenable？Were they whispering to each other that Jeanne had promised them Paris yesterday，and for the first time had not kept her word？It would almost require such a fact as this to explain what follows.For as they began to set out，the whole field in movement，there was suddenly seen approaching another party of cavaliers--perhaps another reinforcement like that of Montmorency？This new band，however，consisted but of two gentlemen and their immediate attendants，the Duc de Bar and the Comte de Clermont，[1]always a bird of evil omen，riding hot from St.Denis with orders from the King.
