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About midnight Gaillard opened his eyes, and sat staring at the dying fire, and though he remained motionless, his face sharpened like the face of one who listens. His eyes moved slowly from figure to figure, to rest at last on the shutter closing a window. And Gaillard saw that the shutter was shaking ever so little, and he knew that there was no wind.

Gaillard did not move. He could hear a vague scuffling as of many men moving about the house. But there were other sounds that made the Gascon’s lips tighten and retract so that the teeth showed, a faint crackling as of dry brushwood being piled against the door of Barnabo’s house.

The Gascon saw the shutter open. A white face peered in with eyes that moved like the eyes of a wonder-working image. Then the face disappeared, and the shutter closed again, but Gaillard was on his feet, and going to and fro, silently rousing his men. Hardly a word was spoken. The men caught up their arms, and stood like listening dogs, while the archers marked the windows.