"It is well. Mark my words. Do not stay there—not a night—not a night."
"Why so?"
"Why so? Do you ask that? Is not the wrath of God hanging as a thundercloud over that rock? Is it not full charged with lightnings? When it bursts will it spare the innocent? Will it not involve all in one sudden destruction? Mark my words: do not tarry there—no, not an hour. Your men who came with you are here. They are at Le Peuch, and ready to attend you on your return. Do not tarry. Take counsel. L'Eglise de Guillem is no place for innocent maidens. It is no church where are holy thoughts and devout prayers—it is the Church of the Foul Fiend, and the mouth of the bottomless pit yawns there."
"I thank you," said Noémi. "I know what it is. I am not going to tarry there."
"There is one favour I ask of you," said the old man. "It is to take a message from me to—to the Big Guillem."
"I will take it."
"Tell him that when one gentleman is about to do the other the favour of a visit he sends a notice that he is coming. That is true courtesy. He forgot to do that to me. I was not ready to receive him with hospitality. Now, render me the grace to hand him this."
Ogier extended to the girl a leather glove singed by fire and the ends of the fingers burnt off.
Noémi hesitated to take it.
"Do not fear," said the old man; "it will not hurt you. It is but a token. Your fa—I mean Le Gros Guillem, will accept the courtesy. Take it, and go."