"Very well. Go! So we meet to-morrow. If you fail—if you prove false, old man—terrible will be your lot."
"I shall not fail. Fear not. I shall not eat, I shall not sleep; I shall count the hours till you come."
Le Gros Guillem mused a moment. Then he said: "What shall be the sign by which you will know we are there—at the gate?"
"You will come," answered the old man, "to the little postern at the Sarlat gate. It lays on the right—twenty strides up the slope; you pass by a vineyard to it. I will tarry there till I hear you scratch like a cat."
"Very well—and the word?"
"The word—for a merry jest—as you said it, Le Peuch."
"Le Peuch—so be it," said the Captain. "Further—the main body of men will be posted outside, and they are not to be admitted till the castle is ours. How shall I communicate with them?"
"Nothing is easier," replied the castellan. "When Messire is above, and has got the men of the garrison bound, let him ring the alarm-bell. It is in the tower of the castle gate, and at once your men below will admit their fellows, and the townsfolk will awake to discover themselves betrayed, and in the hands of the illustrious and very generous Captain Guillem."
"It is good!" said the routier."You have thought this plan well out, old man."
"Oh, I have thought it well out. I have been long about it. I took much consideration before all was fitted together. So—there—all is agreed. I wish you well till we meet."