Having moved forward a little way, talking and riding together, they saw in the air above their heads, a crow of great size, on whose neck was perched an angry little sparrow, pecking him, clutching him, pulling out his feathers and piping furiously. Wounded, torn open, flying this way and that, right, left, upward, downward, banging against the trees blindly, and croaking with pain, this crow at length fell dead, with his eyes pecked out, across Halewyn’s saddle. Having looked at it a moment, he tossed it aside into the road; while the sparrow flew off to a bough, and there, shaking out his feathers merrily, fell a-piping at the top of his voice in celebration of his victory.
“Ah,” said Magtelt, laughing to the sparrow, “thou art of noble blood, little bird; come hither, I will find thee a fair cage and give thee thy fill of wheat, millet, hemp, and linseed.”
But Halewyn became mightily angry: “Common little insolent!” he cried, “would that I had thee in a snare! Shouldst not then sing for long thy victory over this noble crow.”
None the less the sparrow went on singing without a break, and in this wise seemed to mock at Halewyn, who said to Magtelt:
“Dost dare to applaud and give heart to this little animal, knowing that my shield bears on it the crow of my glorious ancestor Dirk! Knowest thou not that like him thou hast but little longer to sing?”
“I,” she said, “shall sing as long as it pleases God, my master.”
“There is for thee,” said he, “no other master than I, for here I rule alone.” Suddenly he turned very cold, for the heart of Anne-Mie, though it still beat, was become like ice in his breast. So, thinking that this heart was about to dry up, he said to Magtelt: “Thou comest in good season, fair virgin.”
“Whom God leads,” said she, “comes always in good season.”
“But,” he said, “who art thou, riding in my land, singing and winding the horn, who bringest hither such insolent talk?”
“I,” said she, “am the Lady Magtelt, daughter of Roel le Preux, Lord of Heurne.”