He had to name John Grey, and was an esquire of the body of the English King, Henry, then a boy.

This miscreant it was often my fortune to meet, at his uncle's table, and to hear his pitiless and cruel speech.

Yet, making friends, as Scripture commands us, of the Mammon of unrighteousness, I set myself to win the affection of John Grey by laughing at his jests and doing him what service I might.
Once or twice I dropped to him a word of my great desire to see the famed Puzel, for the trials that had been held in open hall were now done in the dungeon, where only the bishop, the doctors of law, and the notaries might hear them.

Her noble bearing, indeed, and wise answers (which were plainly put into her mouth by the Saints, for she was simple and ignorant) had gained men's hearts.
One day, they told me, an English lord had cried--"The brave lass, pity she is not English." For to the English all the rest of God's earth is as Nazareth, out of which can come no good thing.

Thus none might see the Maid, and, once and again, I let fall a word in John Grey's ear concerning my desire to look on her in prison.