At nine of the clock Claes was led out of his prison. He was dressed in a shirt only, and his hands were tied behind his back. In accordance with the sentence that had been passed upon him, the pile was set up in the rue Notre Dame, with a stake in the midst, just in front of the hoarding of the Town Hall. When they arrived there the executioner and his assistants had not yet completed the work of stacking the wood. Claes stood patiently in the midst of his tormentors watching while the work was finished, and all the time the provost on his horse, with the officers of the tribunal and the nine foot-soldiers that had been summoned from Bruges, had the greatest difficulty in keeping order among the people. For they murmured one to another, saying that it was cruelty thus to do to death unjustly a man like Claes, a poor man and already old in years, and one that was so gentle, so forgiving, and such a good and steady workman. Suddenly they all fell upon their knees and began to pray, for the bells of Notre Dame were heard tolling for the dead. Katheline also was among the crowd, right in the front, mad as she was. Fixing her eye on Claes and the pile of wood, she wagged her head and cried continually: "Fire! Fire! Dig a hole! My soul wants to get out!" When Nele and Soetkin heard the sound of the tolling they crossed themselves. But Ulenspiegel did not cross himself, saying that he would never pray to God after the same fashion as those hangmen. But he ran about the cottage, trying to force open the doors or jump from the windows. But they were shut and fastened well. Suddenly Soetkin hid her face in her apron. "The smoke!" she cried. And in very fact, the three mourners could see, mounting high to heaven, a great eddy of smoke; all black it was, the smoke of the funeral pile whereon was Claes, tied to a stake, the smoke of that fire which the executioner had just set burning in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Claes looked around for Soetkin or Ulenspiegel. But not seeing them anywhere in the crowd he felt happier and more at ease, thinking that they would not know how he suffered. And all the time there was a silence like death, except for the sound of Claes' voice praying, and the crackling of the wood, the murmuring of men, the weeping of the women, the voice of Katheline as she cried: "Put out the fire! Make a hole! My soul wants to get out!" and over all, the bells of Notre Dame tolling for the dead. Suddenly Soetkin's face went as white as snow, and her body trembled all over. She did not utter a sound, but pointed to the sky with her finger. For there a long, straight flame of fire had risen above the pyre, and now was leaping high above the roofs of the lower houses. It was a flame of pain and cruelty to Claes, for following the caprice of the breeze, it preyed upon his legs, or touched his head so that it smoked, licking and singeing his hair.