At once a hundred hands were engaged in piling up faggots, heaping casks on them and emptying the sacks over the wood. These sacks had been filled with mutton fat. Stones also were planted on the extreme edge. The process was slow. Caution had to be used lest any of the combustible matter should fall over before set alight, and, dropping on the projecting roof or galleries, give the alarm. The wall of stones erected outside the faggots served a double purpose. In the first place it contained the masses of pine-wood and other combustibles, and preserved them from lapse, but the main object aimed at was, when overthrown, to break in the tiles of the roof so as to allow the molten pitch from the barrels and the flaming tallow to run in among the woodwork and set it on fire. But for this, there would be no assurance of success. Considerable time was allowed to pass. It was thought advisable not to precipitate action, but to allow the freebooters to retire to rest. The men seated themselves in perfect stillness on the grass and on stones. On the inner face of the enormous pile of combustibles lay Rossignol on his bed. The night was without wind. Not a leaf stirred--there was not even a whisper among the short grass--only the continuous twitter of the crickets and, now and then from far below, yet audible at that height, the croak of a bullfrog in a backwater of the Vézère. The sky had been overspread with clouds, which had rendered the night one of pitch blackness; but these dissolved. Whither they went was inexplicable--they were not rolled away by the wind, but appeared to evaporate, and let the stars shine through. Then, in the starlight, the valley below became visible, and the river gleamed up, reflecting the feeble light in the sky. A low-lying fog formed in the valley of the Beune, and lay upon the spongy level, like a fall of sleet. Jean made a sign; he was again thrust forward over the edge of the cliff, and remained for some minutes looking down and listening. Then slowly, with upraised hand, he made the requisite signal. He was hastily drawn back. "All is still," he said. "The fire is nearly out." "Then the other fire shall be kindled!" said one of the men. "Nicole!" said Jean. "A brand." The man addressed went to the charcoal-burner's heap. A thrill ran through the throng. All rose to their feet; even the mutilated man on the mattress lifted himself to a sitting posture. Silently the men moved between the faggots and the wall of loose stones they had raised, each armed with a stout pole. Jean put a cow-horn to his mouth and blew a blast that rang into the night as the blast of Judgment. Instantly the rocks and stones were levered over the edge, and instantly the brand, spluttering and blazing, was put into the hand of Rossignol. It was fitting that he should light the pyre--he who had most suffered. That was why he had been borne to the head of the cliff.