Every now and then an isolated figure would detach itself from out the watching throng, and go up to the heavy, oaken door, in order to gaze at the proclamation.

Then the light of the lantern illumined a dark head or a grey one, for a moment or two: black or white locks were stirred gently in the wind, and a sigh of puzzlement and disappointment would be distinctly heard.
At times a group of three or four would stand there for awhile, not speaking, only sighing and casting eager questioning glances at one another, whilst trying vainly to find some hopeful word, some turn of phrase of meaning that would be less direful, in that grim and ferocious proclamation.

Then a rough word from the sentinel, a push from the butt-end of a bayonet would disperse the little group and send the men, sullen and silent, back into the crowd.
Thus they watched for hours whilst the bell of the Beffroi tolled all the hours of that tedious night.

A thin rain began to fall in the small hours of the morning, a wetting, soaking drizzle which chilled the weary watchers to the bone.
But they did not care.
"We must not sleep, for the woman might escape." Some of them squatted down in the muddy road, the luckier ones managed to lean their backs against the slimy walls.
Twice before the hour of midnight they heard that same quaint and merry laugh proceeding from the lighted room, through the open window.

Once it sounded very low and very prolonged, as if in response to a delightful joke.
Anon the heavy gateway of Gayole was opened from within, and half a dozen soldiers came walking out of the courtyard.